It was a regular Tuesday, the kind that started with mop buckets and ended in fur-covered scrubs. But the mood was different. The shelter was prepping for the upcoming adoption drive. A biweekly event now, held out of desperation. Space was running out. Time was running out.
Gabby was on social media duty—crafting quirky captions, matching pets with hopeful hashtags. She always saved Juno and Juniper for last. Writing their post was like reopening an old wound. She could predict the outcome already: plenty of likes, zero inquiries. Two black doberman-stray mix, adopted only as a pair? No chance.
Still, she tried. “Juno and Juniper: bonded siblings, total goofballs, and masters of synchronized tail wags. Looking for a home that sees twice the joy, not twice the burden.” She hit publish and closed her eyes, whispering a wish into the noise of the shelter behind her.
After hitting send, Gabby started with cleaning the kennels. Once the kennels were clean and the dogs had been let out into the yard for playtime, Gabby sat at the reception desk with her laptop. She refreshed the shelter’s socials out of habit. Usually by now, there’d be at least a DM or two—basic questions, breed queries, a maybe or a no.
She clicked through the messages, replying with her usual blend of warmth and persuasion. Then, her heart stopped. There was a comment under Juno and Juniper’s post. Not just a like—a real, actual comment. Someone had shown interest. Her fingers hovered in disbelief before clicking through.
The man’s name was Josh. His message was short but hopeful: “These two look perfect. Are they still available?” Gabby’s fingers trembled slightly as she typed back, reiterating that they were only available as a pair. Her stomach twisted, waiting for him to say no. But instead, he said yes.
She nearly cried. Two years of waiting, of reposting, of watching people pass them by—maybe this was it. She confirmed Josh’s visit for the following day at 2 p.m., then stood up and shouted into the hallway, “They’ve got a shot! Juno and Juniper have a visit!”
That night, Gabby prepared a gift basket—premium treats, squeaky toys, their favorite rope tug, and a framed picture of the dogs together. She stayed longer than usual, sitting with them in the kennel, scratching behind their ears, murmuring that everything might just finally work out.
The next morning, Gabby arrived early with a pack of bacon treats tucked under her arm. Juno and Juniper danced with excitement when they saw her. She fed them by hand, heart full and aching. She didn’t want to say goodbye—but she wanted them to have more than a shelter life.
At 2 p.m. sharp, Josh arrived. Tall, soft-spoken, and neatly dressed, he had kind eyes that flicked thoughtfully around the facility as Gabby gave him the tour. But as soon as he saw the dogs, his gaze landed on Juniper—and lingered. Gabby noticed it immediately.
Juno, who looked more mutt than Doberman and had a slight limp in his hind leg, lingered near the back. Juniper’s sleek coat and cropped ears made him seem more close to a purebred, more desirable. Gabby’s heart twinged, but she pushed it aside. Attachment formed differently for everyone. What mattered was that he was taking both of them home.
Josh nodded enthusiastically. “They’re even better in person,” he said, smiling. Gabby collected his ID, printed the adoption forms, and brought out the gift basket while Josh signed. She blinked back tears as she hugged each pup, whispering promises into their fur. They licked her cheek in return.
She led them out front, holding both leashes with careful pride. But as they neared the parking lot, Josh paused. “I’ll take Juniper first,” he said. Gabby stopped in her tracks. “They’re a bonded pair,” she reminded him gently. “You can’t adopt one and leave the other.”
Josh gave a patient smile. “I will take both,” he said. “But look—my backseat’s packed, and now the hamper and toys too. I can’t fit both dogs safely. I’ll drop Juniper home, come back for Juno. Just an hour, tops.”