Page 30 of Finding Mr. July

“I see you’ve met Sir Leonard,” an older woman says on the other side of the crate. “He’s our senior boy, part Leonberger, part Lab we think.”

Jonathan offers her a smile as he stands. “So sweet. I’m not really looking, though.”

“Maybe your wife can convince you?” She winks at me, and there’s that vision again.

“Oh, we’re not married,” I say, mentally shrugging off an image of Jonathan and me opening gifts in front of a Christmas tree. What the heck?

“Sorry. Girlfriend, then.” She beams at me while offering Sir Leonard a treat.

Jonathan peers at me with an amused twinkle in his eyes, unbothered by the woman’s mistake. “Thanks for the look,” he tells her. “But we should keep moving.”

“Unless…” I say. “You don’t happen to know anyone here who might want to model for a good cause?” I explain the calendar to her. “We could even mention the shelter in the caption if it worked out.” I look to Jonathan for confirmation that would be okay, and he nods.

The woman’s forehead creases as she thinks. “The only one I can think of is Shawn. He’s over there by the Aussie puppies.” She points toward the fence at the back of the lot.

“Great.” I start walking, but Jonathan lingers, making me turn.

He gives Sir Leonard a final pet. “I hope he finds a home,” he says.

The woman shrugs. “You know how it is. These older dogs…

It’s hard.”

“Yeah.” He backs away. “Sorry.”

The Aussie pen is a circus when we get there.

A toddler has found the hinged gate and crawled inside, and his mother is chasing him around, a feat that is greatly impaired by six adorable fluff balls circling her feet for attention.

All the while, the man I assume is Shawn narrates the show as if he’s the ringmaster and the woman and toddler the clowns being bested by ferocious(-ly cute) beasts.

“I know we run the most pup -ular show in town,” he yells into a pretend microphone that upon closer inspection is a tall energy drink can—which explains a lot. “Are you all catching this paw -some paw -ty?”

The crowd cheers, and the woman inside the pen laughs, a good sport in a situation where many would be flustered. I’m sure it helps that her kid wears the expression of someone who’s found the gold at the end of the rainbow or whatever the toddler equivalent of that is.

“We have to let the pups rest, honey,” she cajoles. “Come on, let’s get you a snack.”

The kid evades her and giggles, dodging left and right between the puppies.

“Those two are going through some ruff times, don’t you think?” Shawn continues. “What do you say, should I help them?”

“Please,” the woman huffs through a smile, two puppies gnawing at her pants.

“I guess that’s it, folks.” Shawn sets down the can and steps inside the pen.

It takes him ten seconds to scoop up the puppies so that the woman can do the same to her now-incensed kid.

“I hope you’ve had a fur -iously fun time.

If you’re interested in bringing one of these cuties home, come see one of our staff members in the back. ”

Jonathan leans close to me and whispers, “If I ever start talking like that, please smother me in my sleep.”

Ignoring the fact that “ever” suggests a long time into the future, I quip, “Yeah, you’d be in the doghouse for sure.”

He gapes at me and groans. “Not you too.”

I seize the opportunity granted by his proximity and give him a quick kiss on the lips. “That’s the only one I’ve got. Promise. Come on, let’s go talk to the pun man.”

It’s a lengthy wait until the prospective dog owners drawn in by the show have had their turn, but when we’re finally up, Shawn shoots us down before we’ve even had a chance to explain the cause benefiting from the calendar.

“No can do,” he says. “Traumatic yearbook experiences. I’m not ever giving anyone another public chance at drawing mustaches on this.” He indicates his face. “Next!”

Jonathan and I move to the side to allow others to approach.

“So much for that,” Jonathan says. “Sorry.”

But then a sixty-plus guy with a full, silver beard and Sean Connery vibes comes up behind Jonathan.

“Excuse me,” he says. “Are people like me welcome in this calendar of yours? I’ve just adopted the mama of those little ones, and I’d be interested in learning more if you’d have me.

I was the face of Sterling Jumpsuits back in the eighties if you believe it, so I know something about being in front of a camera.

Met my wife that way and everything.” His bright blue eyes gleam at what must be a fond memory.

Jonathan and I look at each other, a silent agreement passing between us.

“As long as you’re available this week, we’d be happy to have you,” I say. “I’m Holly, and this is Jonathan, the photographer.”

“George.” He extends his hand, and we shake, with me ticking another model box in my mind with a flourish. Only one to go.

And while George and Pepper turn out to be our only successful recruits when the fair is said and done, that still puts me one step closer to finishing this thing.

One step closer to kilts and haggis.