“Mom,” James sniffed. “When are we going to get a puppy?” “Honey,” I said, “You know Dad isn’t ready for a puppy. Besides, a puppy is a lot of work–” “I will take care of the puppy,” promised James. “Hmmm,” I said, knowing that I would be the primary zookeeper. “Can’t we just look on the computer?” James said, “to see if any boxer puppies have been born?” “Well,” I said. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt just to look.” A rabbit-toothed grin spread across James’s tear-stained face. We searched for breeders online, and discovered there was one nearby with a recent litter of four puppies. Another sign? “Can we see them?” asked James. “This was posted a month ago,” I said. “The puppies may have found homes by now.” “Please?” James clasped his hands under his chin and tilted his head. It was hard for me to resist his big, brown eyes. “Oh, all right,” I said, reasoning that the puppies were probably gone. When I called, I learned that there that one pup was left. The breeder, Elmo, said he was thinking of keeping him because of his calm, sweet disposition. Before I could stop myself, I explained that we had just lost our boxer of eight years, and my young son desperately wanted another. “Ruby really looked after James,” I said. “Could we at least take a look?” When I hung up the phone, we had an appointment to see the puppy that afternoon. James could barely contain his excitement. He clapped his
54 | Kristine Bruneau