John Unger and his fiancé stood before a cage, where two puppies of the same breed - perhaps siblings - stayed. He recognized them to be something like a German shepherd, but at the same time, they weren't. Probably a mix breed, he thought. From their size, he could guess they were eight months old.
One was apparently accustomed to her surroundings, from the casual way she wagged her tiny tail, but the other remained at the back, trying to blend with the darkness.
His fiancé noticed this one immediately. She turned to ask the young man working there for that dog's name.
"Schoep," he replied. "Like, you know, the ice cream."
John blinked. "As in the Schoeps Ice Cream shop?"
"Yep. We found it there."
They turned to Schoep, whimpering and twitching at the back. His fiancé knelt in front of the cage, speaking in the tender, coaxing tones she was so good at. Soon enough, Schoep approached, slowly from his dark spot, with his head bowed. But after a few caresses under the chin and between the ears, he's practically warmed up to her.
She turned to the young man, asking about his constant trembling and the scars she could feel beneath his fur. There was tiny one, a tad bit raw, John could see, but obviously deep, just on his brow. He could tell it was going to be a scar.
"We suspect it's been abused by his previous owner," the young man said.
She pursed her lips together, gaze shifting to John. She gave him a sliver of one of her winning smiles. This is the one, she seemed to say, this is our boy.
He beamed back, then turned to the other guy. "We'll take him."