“So cute… but don’t come home with another dog!”

I heard the beep signaling the end of the phone call with my mother. She loved Skip, but constantly complained about the hair that covered the floor and hung in the air, triggering her allergies. I looked back down at the dog sitting at my feet. A mutt that was missing one eye.

I started working at the Humane Society in my town a year ago. Skip came in after my third week working there, and I didn’t let them ever put him in a kennel. He came straight home with me. His spotted back and black ears made him too cute to pass up.

Many people when picking out a dog, change the name from one the society gave them. It’s usually along the lines of “bubbles” or “nemo,” names that most people want to stay away from. Skip’s original name from his previous owners was Ruffus. Sometimes, I can’t stand dog people.

Looking back towards the cage, this dog was a chunky pitbull, a common breed in many humane societies. Many people are too intimidated by the bulky structure and jaws of the dog that they forget they are gentle creatures.

I looked at the dog’s face, locking eye contact.

“If I can’t take you home, then I’ll find you a good home, uh—” I glanced at the cage title, “Dom.”

What a stupid name for a dog.