“Esben.” I stand and call more loudly over the barking. “This one. Let’s start with this guy.”
He nods, and Faith comes over with a leash. “You guys can take them outside if you like. Better lighting probably. So, this is Bruce Wayne,” she says with a wistful look. “We give the dogs fun names in hopes of attracting adopters. It sounds silly, but it helps. He’s very shy. Been with us for two years and, before that, at another shelter for four. He’s nine now, and . . .” Faith stops for a second. “No one has ever asked to take him out. It breaks my heart. I love this guy, and I’d take him if I could, but I already have five dogs at home. He needs a break.”
“Can I take him out?” I ask.
“Sure. He’s very nervous, so give him a few minutes, but he’s really gentle.”
I look at Simon for encouragement, and he nods. “You know how to do this. I know you do.”
He’s right. I understand this dog too much. It’s almost heartbreakingly pathetic how much.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Esben raise his phone to capture whatever will happen.
The door to Bruce’s area swings open, and I lower my body slowly and then inch in, keeping close to the entrance. “Hey, Bruce,” I say softly. “Hi, buddy.” He doesn’t respond, so I sit down and lean against the concrete wall. “That’s okay. I’ll just wait for you.”
And I do. For a long time. Every few minutes, Bruce glances at me briefly, then turns away. But then I inch a tiny bit closer, say a few soft words, and wait some more. I will do this all day if necessary. When I am about two feet from him, the dog finally turns his body slightly my way. Then, without warning, Bruce lurches toward me. For a moment, I’m afraid this giant is going to bite my face off, but instead he tries to climb into my lap. He’s so huge that I can barely accommodate his size, but I do what I can. Bruce leans his weight against me, and I start to laugh while petting him. He’s smelly and ungainly and utterly sweet. I rest my face against his stinky fur and will this sweet dog to feel how loved he is, how worthy he is. Bruce starts wagging his tail.
“I can’t believe this,” Faith says, and she slowly comes in and hands me the leash. “He hasn’t wagged his tail since he’s been here. Not once. You’ve got a magic touch.”
I rub Bruce’s ears and slip the leash around his neck. His wagging intensifies when I stand and start to lead him out. I look at Simon with disbelief, and his face mirrors my feelings.
“Well, let’s go for a walk, shall we?” he says.
Bruce practically drags me down the hall as we follow Faith outside, and I’m laughing with delight as we enter the shelter’s good-sized penned area. I wish the leash was a little longer, because crazy Bruce is now hopping around in some kind of celebration. I pet him again, and then he drops onto his back for a belly rub. This is all so odd, the parallels between Bruce’s sad life and mine. Though I really can’t imagine I wasn’t adopted because of my looks, Bruce and I do share something in common: nobody wanted us. Truly, and for no good reason, nobody wanted us. Both of us started out so eager and hungry, and over the years, we grew more and more dejected. It was hard for people to look past that. I get it.
But I have learned from their mistakes, and I know this dog has heart underneath his outward damage.
“Simon? He’s a sweet guy, huh? He’s not a dog that most people would look at, but he’s kinda special, right?”
Simon kneels down. “He is. Check him out. There was a really happy pup hidden in there, huh? Aren’t you a sweet thing? Just a big boy who was a little down, huh? You feeling better now? Yeah?” He begins cooing and scratching Bruce’s stomach. “Allison reminded you that you get to be loved, just like everyone else, huh? Did she?”
For the next ten minutes, we goof around with Bruce, and both Simon and I pose for pictures, hoping to show Esben’s followers how wonderful this dog is.
“Posted!” Esben says happily. “Between that video and the pictures, this dog will be adopted in a heartbeat. I put up a shot of his fact sheet, too. Okay, we’ve got a ton more dogs to photograph, so, want to keep—”
“Esben?” Simon says with a tone I can’t figure out. “I think you’re going to need to edit that post.”
“What do you mean?” I ask him.
But then I know. And I shake my head over how fantastic Simon is.
“Because,” Simon says as he stands proudly, his eyes still glued on Bruce, “Mr. Bruce Wayne has already been adopted. If the shelter approves me, that is.”
Faith grins. “I’ll start the paperwork.”
I kneel down and pet Bruce more. “Simon, are you sure? You don’t have to do this. You really want a big old dog? One you have to drive home in your new Porsche?”
“I do. There’s no way I’m letting this guy go after what I saw. He’ll look very cool riding next to me. And who knows? Maybe he’ll turn out to be a man magnet, and I’ll be flooded with dates.” He bends down next to me and touches my shoulder. “And we need some cheer. Things are rough now, but they’re going to get rougher.”
He’s right. I know that Simon is hurting over Steffi, too.
“Our family just got a little bigger.” He tries to give me a reassuring smile. “Strength in numbers.”
Simon poses for a picture with a drooling Bruce, and Esben shares the photo online: #brucegoeshome #girlfriendallisonsfather #victoryissweet
Later, when I am making a silly face while holding a rat terrier that looks more rat than terrier, Esben takes a bunch of pictures and then checks to see the comments on his feed. “People are loving these!”
“Yeah?” Simon is throwing a ball that Bruce has no interest in chasing.
“Uh, Simon?” Esben is grinning. “You seem to be gaining quite the fan club.”
“I am?”
“Check Facebook.”
Simon pulls out his phone. “I have fifty-eight friend requests! And . . . ten messages.”
“You’ve been tagged hotdad a whole bunch,” Esben says with a laugh.
“Great. A bunch of women, probably.” Simon fake pouts.
“Um . . . I don’t think so.” Esben waves his phone around. “A lot of comments from guys. And some cute ones, too.”
“Really?” For the first time in an hour, Simon steps away from our new dog. “I’m going to have to do a little investigating, it seems.”