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Archie doesn't really want another dog (although he loves Dublin), but after Cook works on him for a few months, making gentle comments about how Dublin seems so lonely and how dogs are so much happier when they have a buddy to play with, Arch finally relents and says that Cook can get another one. But Archie doesn't want one that's huge, or aggressive, or too energetic. And no breeds that slobber, because that's disgusting.
Cook loves huge, energetic dogs (and small energetic dogs, like Dublin), but he's willing to work within those guidelines. He figures that Archie will hate any dog he picks out at the shelter for falling into one or more of his absolutely-nots, or rather he'll hate the dog for the first week and then he'll love it like he does Dublin. Either way, there's a clear solution to this conundrum.
Archie has to be the one to choose the new dog.
Cook scouts the local shelters for weeks before he finds the perfect shelter and the perfect dog, and then he packs a picnic and tells Arch that they're going out for the afternoon for a special surprise. He's already packed some supplies—a leash, toys, and some extra bottles of water—underneath the picnic blanket in the trunk of the Ford. When they pull up outside the shelter—it has a big green and white sign in front of the building that has paw prints all over it, so the gig is totally up—Archie looks a little annoyed.
"This is my surprise, huh? We're picking up your new dog?"
"No," Cook says, and he looks over at Archie while he takes the keys out of the ignition. "You're picking out our new dog." He looks at Arch meaningfully. "Nothing huge or slobbery or aggressive, I think you said?"
Archie considers this, and his pique seems to fade. "Okay," he says, unfastening his seat belt, his hand on the car door latch. "I get that this is important to you. Hey, wait—is there even any lunch in that picnic basket? Or was this all an elaborate ruse?"
Cook bursts out laughing. "There's really lunch," he answers. "It's only partially a ruse. I thought it would be fun to go to the park and get to know Junior before we go home to Dublin."
"To introduce him to his new dog brother or sister," Archie says, and he nods and smiles a little. He's coming around! Cook tries to play it cool in case his enthusiasm for how well his plan seems to be working pisses Archie off—Arch hates feeling manipulated so manipulating him is delicate work.
"Okay, I'm ready," Arch says, unbuckling his seat belt. Then he fake-cracks his knuckles, as if he's preparing for the back-breaking task of picking a dog, which makes Cook snort with laughter. On impulse, once they're both out of the car Cook walks around to Arch's side and hugs him hard, burying his face in Archie's neck where his skin is the softest. "This is going to be so fun, I promise," he says, and then he straightens up to look Archie in the eye. "You'll see. Having two dogs is going to be even more awesome than having one dog."
"Sure, sure," Archie says wryly, and they head up the ramp and into the shelter.
There's a dark-haired girl at a big desk facing the door who looks up when they come in and smiles in recognition at Cook. Everyone at this shelter had been super helpful when Cook had told them about his plan. "You can go on back," she says.
Archie starts to drift off to the left in the direction of the sounds of barking dogs, but Cook tugs at the hem of his jacket to correct him. "Just one thing we have to do first," he says. "This is the part that's your surprise. They have a kitten room here."
"Oh my god, I love kittens," David breathes, and his eyes light up, but then his face falls. "But you're so allergic! We can't, even I can't go in, or you'll be sneezy and miserable all day!"
"Give me a little credit for forethought here, Arch," Cook says, grinning. "I worked this out! I took the strongest allergy medication known to man this morning—picked it up just for this. I can handle an hour of kittens, so let's go, you're going to love it."
Archie grabs Cook's hand and entwines their fingers. "An hour might not be enough," he says earnestly, clearly wheedling. "How many kittens are in this kitten room?"
Cook looks over at the receptionist—she's been watching them the whole time, clearly amused, and she answers helpfully: "Twenty-two, today!"
Cook chuckles and squeezes Archie's hand."...Maybe we can do two hours."
*
Thank goodness Cook had remembered to bring his camera—after ten minutes he'd almost had to avert his eyes from the incandescent cuteness of his adorable boyfriend covered in heaps of squirming kittens. He's looking forward to enjoying the pictures later, one at a time, with weeks of recovery in between.
After an hour and a half of petting kittens, cooing at kittens, and watching kittens play with toys and balls of string, Archie is pink-cheeked and joyous and utterly relaxed, and he picks the very same dog that was Cook's favorite when he had visited the week before out of the puppy room in under five minutes. She's an energetic grayish husky mix with feet that promise she'll grow up to be huge; Cook does not point out that she clearly violates at least two of Arch's tenants of proper dog qualities.
Archie enthusiastically helps one of the shelter volunteers put "Desirae" into a temporary cardboard carrier—their first task when they get home will obviously be renaming her with something that does not sound like they got it off a soap opera—while Cook signs the paperwork and has an unspoken conversation with the receptionist about how beautifully his plan has come to fruition. Every volunteer in the place had fallen hard for Archie, bending over backwards to bring him the most fun cat toys to tempt the kittens with and to introduce him to all the best-tempered puppies.
Archie waits until they're all back in the car, the dog chewing happily on a rawhide knot in her box in the backseat and both of them buckled in and on the way to the nice dog park with the picnic benches to make an announcement. "Guess where I'm going to start volunteering!"
Cook cracks up, slapping his own forehead with the irony and hilarity of it. "It's going to be so awesome!," Arch continues. "They call it "socializing" the animals! Two hours of kitten time once a week! It's like a prescription for happiness!"
Archie's arms flail wildly in glee, and Cook is glad that they're stopped at a red light so he can look over with his full attention. Delighted Archie is pretty much Cook's favorite Archie ever. "I've figured out how to handle your allergy, too, Cook—I'll just shower at the gym on my way home! No sneezing!"
Cook tries and fails to keep from grinning like an idiot. "You're a genius, and you're all mine," he says.