Page 1 of Doggy Style

Yessi

Iburst through the shelter’s door at four fifty-five in the afternoon and almost retch from the smell of bleach and dog shit. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but it always makes my eyes water.

Damn LA traffic. I have five minutes. Five minutes left to save the lives of three dogs who are in the euthanasia room scheduled to be slaughtered.

The lobby is packed with irresponsible jerks waiting to surrender their pets. I blink back tears when I glance at an elderly Chihuahua with a wagging tail and a pink collar.

Dammit, this shelter is brimming with dogs. An old, tan Chihuahua doesn’t stand a chance of making it out of here alive.

I know I risk getting arrested, again, if I interfere with the surrender, but I can’t help myself.

God save me.

I approach her owner. The man even looks like a douchecanoe, wearing a white wife beater tank top and stained green cargo shorts. “Excuse me, sir. Do you realize that the second you sign over your dog, they’re going to kill her? Before you leave the parking lot, she’ll be taken away on a red leash, injected with poison, and then tossed in the bins in the back to be rendered into dog food.”

The guy points his finger in my face. “I’m moving. I ain’t got no choice.”

His breath reeks of vodka and vomit. I resist the urge to recoil. “You’ve always got a choice. I’m begging you, mister. Please, she’ll be murdered.”

“You want her, lady?”

Don’t look, Yessi. Don’t look at the dog!

Like a rubbernecker fixating on a car crash, I look down and stare into her sad eyes. She should be happily retired from her days of barking at the mailman, content to sit on a sofa and be loved for the rest of her life. Instead, she’s about to meet her end in a cold, dank cage, waiting for the kennel attendant to lead her to her death. Her sweet face will haunt me forever if I walk away.

No. I can’t take another Chi. They never get adopted. I’m over my dog limit. If animal control stops by my house one more time, I’ll be evicted.

“I just can’t,” I force myself to say, wanting to say that I’ll save her no matter what. “I’m begging you to keep her. Don’t you have a friend or family member who will take her?” I plead.

Loser shakes his head. “Nope.”

He’s next in line. That Chi is a dead dog walking.

Don’t do it, Yessi. You can’t take another dog. You’ve already committed to pulling three dogs today.

I stand closer to the guy, toss my hair back, and stick out my tits. I’m not above flirting with him to save this dog’s life. Forcing myself to touch his shoulder, I use my best sexy, breathy voice.

“Listen, I can tell you’re a good man.” I touch his tiny biceps for added effect. “But she’ll die. I’m not lying. They will kill her. Today. If you give me a week, I may be able to find another foster. Please, please, give her a chance. If you ever loved this dog, please don’t leave her here.”

The guy stares right in between my tits. “Fine, lady. I’ll give you twenty-four hours. But only because you’re hot.” He scribbles his number on a piece of paper on the counter. “If you don’t call me by tomorrow, I’m coming back here to dump her in the night drop.”

Asshole.I grab his number. “Thank you. I’ll find her a spot by tomorrow. What’s her name? Is she good with other dogs and cats? Does she like kids?”

He nods his head. “Yup, she loves everyone. Her name is Gidget. Had her since she was a puppy. She’s potty-trained and loves to cuddle. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Then why are you dumping her, you piece of shit?I kneel down to snap a picture of Gidget and upload it to my rescue’s Instagram page.

This is Gidget. Being surrendered today. Has twenty-four hours to find a foster or will DIE! #pugsnroses #rescuedog #adoptdontshop #chisofinstagram #chihuahuasofinstagram

I write down my number on another piece of paper and hand it to the guy. “Okay, I’m Yessi. Please call me before you dump her.”

The guy eye-fucks me and then strides out of the shelter, Gidget happily trotting beside him.

Gidget lives another day.

But only one day. I need to find her a place, stat.

Deb, the shelter director, sees me. She picks up her phone and makes a call to the back kennel. Once she hangs up, she barks at me, “They’ll be right out. That’ll be eighty dollars each.”