“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Kaitlin asked. I scrambled around my apartment, throwing my phone, a wad of cash, and a knife into a backpack. You never know with Craigslist ads.
“Yes,” I said, my voice drifting. I mentally sifted through other materials I might need. Kaitlin wasn’t convinced.
“Another dog is a huge responsibility,” she tried. “You and Robby have really thought this through?”
“We’ve talked about it for months,” I repeated. “Orion wants a buddy, we already have a lot of the materials…” My voice trailed off again; I was clearly trying to convince myself. I hooked Orion’s leash on to his collar.
“Besides,” I said, “the ad is too good to be true. If that dog really exists, I doubt it’s a puppy. I’m hiding the cash in the car in case they try to mug me.” Kaitlin lingered in the doorway and watched me stumble around the messy apartment in clunky hiking boots. We had been eating a post-hike dinner when the woman from the Craigslist ad texted and said that, while we had originally agreed to meet well after Robby got off work, other people were on their way and I would have to hurry if I wanted to meet the puppy. I figured it was a sales tactic or downright lie, but what if this puppy did exist, and what if we missed our chance? Kaitlin valiantly agreed to stand in for Robby so that I would be less likely to get axe murdered.
Robby called and said that he was leaving work early; I should just pick him up at his office as soon as possible. I quickly relinquished Kaitlin of her potentially violent responsibility, mentally acknowledging 
that she was one of my favorite people for even considering it, sped to Robby’s office, then got on the highway.
We left Atlanta. The buildings we passed grew further apart and turned into trees. After half an hour, a strip of fast food restaurants cropped up. We were in Riverdale. I called the number on the ad when we got to the gated apartment complex. The exit gate swung open and a pickup truck trundled through, then turned around and faced the entrance. A massive arm craned out of the window and gestured for us to follow. We did. The truck parked outside a unit deep in the complex and we slid in beside it, then got out and shook the man’s hand.
Marvin looked down at us. He was close to six and a half feet tall with a barrel chest and deep, kind eyes. He could take us both out in a single swing, but his eyes evoked pure relief.
“Now listen,” he said. He had a voice like a school principal. “Blaze is a puppy. You’ll have to take him out at night to pee. He’ll chew on your leg and bark for no reason. He has a lot of energy.”
A woman—I remembered the ad listing the name “Andrea”—stepped out on the balcony. “Don’t tell them all the bad things,” she said. Then, to us, “We’re moving and need him gone by tomorrow.”
“I want them to be prepared,” he called up to her. She smiled and sighed. Andrea had told me on the phone that morning that anyone who adopted the puppy would need Marvin’s approval. He had bought Blaze in a parking lot only weeks before, but this dog was the love of his life.
A puppy toddled on to the balcony and peered at us between the bars on the railing.
“Oh my gosh,” Robby breathed. The puppy was dark brindle with a square face and stately posture. He cocked his head.
“Go meet him,” Marvin said. His eyes watered.
We walked to the bottom of the cement stairs. I sat on the cool concrete. Blaze put one paw on the first step, then tumbled down the rest. Wide-eyed, he landed in my lap and squirmed like a happy fish, then rolled off and careened into Robby’s legs. I watched him bolt between the three of us, frantic and chubby. He’s a three month old mastiff mix, I reminded myself. This dog will be huge.
Robby and Marvin were both watching my face carefully. Robby leaned down.
“What do you think?”
Panicking, I smiled and nodded.
*
“We made a huge mistake,” I said the next day.
I had just walked in from work, where I had spent the entire shift silently rattling off why Robby and I were the most reckless people alive. Mainly: This dog was a mastiff. He would look terrifying and therefore had to be perfectly trained. He would require truckloads of food. Why did we want a dog this big? We already had a medium-sized dog. They seemed fine when they met at Marvin’s apartment, but what if they ultimately hated each other? I untied my apron and laid it over a chair. Blaze, who we renamed Blue, was curled up on the couch.
He had been perfect for the past twenty-four hours. His behavior held up to our research about his breed: Mastiffs are large but sleepy, especially when they’re puppies. They require little space and, while protective, have naturally gentle temperaments. Marvin 
had diligently housetrained him, so Blue had had zero accidents. While his first car ride back had been as energetic as our initial meeting, he had calmed down significantly. He rolled on to his back and pointed his little potbelly in the air. This puppy was perfect.
But we couldn’t keep him.
We leashed Blue and Orion and started around the block. Blue walked like a cow, his belly swaying back and forth like a gentle wave. He was so. Slow. Would I ever be able to hike with this dog? The tiny quip sent my rawest fear flashing at the front of my brain: Full-grown Blue, a panther-like pet, sprinting after a child. He seems gentle now, said a voice. Just you wait.
“We might have made a huge mistake,” Robby conceded. I teared up. My gut felt the statement was correct, and the panic crawled upward into my brain. What would we do with him? Marvin couldn’t take him back. Oh god, Marvin. He was so relieved that Robby and I were the ones who adopted him. Dogs like this one were often used to fight. And what would we say to people? I had always been infuriated by selfish idiots who adopted dogs they weren’t ready for. At least our families didn’t know yet. Just our neighbors and a couple of friends. Inhale. Exhale. Shit, how could 
we spin this? Lie and say that he and Orion hated each other? No, we deserved every ounce of contempt. I would come clean and tell anyone who asked that Robby and I adopted Blaze prematurely and were working day and night to find him a good home.
When we crawled into bed, both puppies curled around us like parentheses. I started drafting a text for Andrea. I would tell her in simple terms that it wouldn’t work out and ask if they had any ideas or preferences about where they wanted Blaze to go. I was half way done when Robby wrapped his arm around me.
“Let’s sleep on it, okay?” he said. “You can write that tomorrow.”
Shaking, I nodded. My tears came out in scalding little bulbs. They hissed on my pillow and I inhaled the steam, loosening the knots in my brain until I slept.
*
Robby sleeps like a marine, meaning his eyes flash open at the slightest shift in his surroundings. But tonight, I heard the whimpering. I awoke to Blue staring at me, pressing his nose toward my chest but never quite touching it. I crawled over Robby and settled the leash around Blue’s neck. He didn’t have a collar yet, and I guessed we would never get him one.
We lumbered into the hallway and stepped through the back door. The night was strangely silent, usual sirens replaced by the buzzing of an old-fashioned light connected to the back of our building. We walked toward the crop of bamboo at the end of the driveway. As we approached the darkness, Blue stopped. I turned and looked at him. His eyes were massive. He gazed up at me with a hopeful peace that felt like the color violet. My breath caught in my throat.
*
Robby, Orion, Blue, and I crossed the ancient bridge that led to Piedmont Park the next morning. Atlanta’s hazy skyline was glinting awake. Blue stopped, sniffed a leaf, and ate it. His full name was Blueberry, because Robby grew up going to his family’s cabin by Blueberry Mountain. We called him “Blue” after the Blue Ridge Mountains. (And Joni Mitchell’s album, although Robby did not share this motive.) Plus, a 100-something pound dog with a dark, square face needs a name like Blueberry.
“My mom’s going to love him,” I said.
“Your parents will be okay with it?”
“Not at all. But they’ll love him.”
Robby laced his fingers through mine. Our other hands held dog leashes.
Blue picked his legs up uncomfortably high in order to rotate his paws properly. He was mostly feet and skin folds. I pictured how his shoulders would broaden and his jowls would cradle more and more slobber. 
I visualized each reason behind my fading terror written along the burning lines of his brindle coat. They all made sense, but none were rooted in love. Raising Blue would require sacrifice and structure, money and time and saying “no.” It would mean incredulous family members and fur-covered pant legs and complex holiday accommodations. All true things, but some fears look smaller in the daylight. I planned to delete the words I drafted for Andrea, still unaware that the little being toddling beside me had the personality of a sleepy butterfly. I would also need to hire a trainer, and make a vet appointment, and choose dog food. Purchase a kennel, give him a bath. Buy Blue a collar.
The uneven rhythm of twelve walking feet tapped the list from my mind. We would untangle logistics later, and spend the coming years ensuring that Blue wore his gentleness like wings. For now, we were just a new little family, walking way too slowly under the rising sun.
