I purposely went back to Montana Ave. this Sunday hoping to see the Animal Shelter Girl.
She remembered me from last weekend and I told her my apartment complex doesn’t allow pets (a lie). I had to put the issue of adopting TAD to rest or else she might really wind up hating me if I strung her along with an animal shelter dog.
Anyway, I finally got her name. It’s Chloe. We talked for a while about how she got interested in working with animals. It’s pretty much exactly what you’d expect: she grew up around animals and really loves them. I told her I was hoping for a more interesting back story, like her brother was turned into a goat by a evil witch and now she scours the land looking for him.
She said, “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would I look for a goat at an animal shelter?”
I said, “Wait, you don’t have any goats here? Oh, my mistake,” and I pretended to leave.
We talked for only a little while and then someone interrupted us to ask about one of the dogs. I didn’t want to seem stalker-y waiting for her, so I just said, “I’ve got to go anyway. Next Sunday?”
She nodded, then I left.