10

BPOV

"Normal"

"Bella? Bella Swan, is that you?" Mrs. Cope jokes and rounds the reception desk to pull me into her arms. "Where have you been, my sweet?"

I give her a good squeeze. "Busy with work and life in general. How are you? How's Ted?"

"Oh, we're both good aside from Teddy's high cholesterol. I've got him on a diet, but he's been sneaking fast food." She taps her nose. "I can smell it on him when he gets home from work, but he denies it."

I laugh and shake my head because it's always something with those two.

"What brings you by?"

"I was actually hoping you could use a volunteer."

Mrs. Cope's eyes light up. "Did your brother finally give in and let you take some time off for yourself?"

"No. He actually fired me last week."

The older woman gasps. "He didn't."

I nod. "So, my schedule is free, and I was hoping you could use some help down here. I've missed hanging out with the pups."

"You know this place can always use an extra set of hands. Feel free to stop in whenever you'd like. You're always welcome here. We could really use another dog walker today, if you don't mind."

I stow my bag under the desk and grab a handful of leashes. "Not at all. I could use the exercise just as much as they do."

The phone rings, and Mrs. Cope waves as I walk toward the back.

The animal shelter was my second home growing up. I begged and pleaded for Charlie to let me get a dog, but he wouldn't budge, so I started volunteering. I haven't had much time over the past couple years to visit often, but now I've got nothing but time.

The kennels are immaculate, as always, but clearly outdated. The whole place looks exactly as it did when I was in high school, and there are a bunch of rambunctious little furballs ready for a taste of freedom.

Back in the day, I learned to take the younger dogs out first to burn off their boundless energy and save the older ones for later in the day when it starts to cool down.

I take three puppies out to the play yard and let them run around, roughhousing with each other and chasing balls and frisbees. When they're good and tired, I trade them for another three until it's just me and an older basset hound with droopy eyes and big floppy ears named Wanda. Her teets hang low, so I'm sure at some point in her life, she had at least one litter of puppies.

We walk the perimeter of the play yard, and she flops down under a shady tree. I sit down, and she immediately puts her big head in my lap, begging for scratches.

"Aren't you a cute little thing?" I murmur and run my fingers over her soft ears while she snores.

I'm not sure how long we stay out, but eventually, Mrs. Cope finds us.

"She's such a cuddle bug," she says, carefully taking a seat next to me and patting Wanda on the head. "She's been with us for a while now. I've tried rehoming her, but people are only ever interested in the cute little puppies."

"Where did she come from?"

"One of the puppy mills that got raided about a year ago. Wanda is younger than she looks; she was used for breeding, and they expect she had at least two litters. They found her locked in a tiny cage, skin and bones, covered in feces and fleas. I think that's why she enjoys being out here so much. She'll sit under this tree all day if we let her."

"She's such a gem."

"We're about to close for the night, so we need to bring her in for supper."

I hate to wake a still dozing Wanda, but I must. I shake her softly, and she leans up, covering my face in kisses. I laugh and scratch her rump while Mrs. Cope watches on.

As we're walking back to the kennels, an idea strikes.

"Mrs. Cope … what would the process take if I wanted to adopt Wanda?"

She stops and turns to me with a sad face. "I'm sorry, Bella. You just told me you lost your job, and we require proof of income for adoptions."

"What if I told you money wasn't a problem?"

She tilts her head to the side in question.

"What if I told you I'm about to have more money than I'll ever be able to spend in my lifetime? Would that change your mind?"

"I'm not sure I follow."

My heart is beating erratically. I haven't told a soul, but I want Wanda. Now.

"I won the lottery."

Mrs. Cope's eyes widen. "You? You won the lottery?"

"Yes, ma'am. There hasn't been an official statement, and you can't tell anyone because I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but it's true. I hit the Powerball, so trust me when I say I can give Wanda the best home, and she'll never want for anything. Ever."

We convene in Mrs. Cope's office, and I show her pictures of the winning ticket. She helps me fill out the paperwork and gives me a list of dos and don'ts because I've never had a pet before.

It's official. I'm a dog mom.

I take Wanda straight to the pet store and proceed to spoil her rotten, anything she gives a second glance to goes in the cart. An employee helps me find the correct food for her based on her young age and breed, and I add a giant fluffy dog bed that will sit right under my living room windows so she can sunbathe whenever she wants.

Our last stop of the day before I introduce her to her new forever home is my property manager to pay a pet deposit. Embry falls in love with Wanda just as fast as I did and sends her off with a treat that she gladly accepts.

Wanda spends an hour snooping around the apartment while I get her food and water bowls set up and her dog bed in position. I find her in the middle of my bed, napping, and decide to join her.

Our lives are changing for the better, and I'm so glad to have her by my side.