It’s Wednesday afternoon, and while that usually means getting stretched and massaged and ready for Friday night’s game, instead I’m on my way to the animal shelter downtown.
The building is much bigger than I expected. After parking my truck in the lot, I head toward the entrance, momentarily stalling as I try to decide between the door for the adoption center or the door marked ANIMAL SHELTER. But once inside, I see that they both lead to the same place—a small front lobby with a teenage girl sitting behind the counter. It smells like a wet dog, and the sound of barking comes from somewhere deeper inside the building.
She looks up from her textbook and offers me a slow smile. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, I’m, um, meeting a friend of mine here to volunteer. Harper Allen. Any idea where she
