Bill gazed around the room. “Deena, I’m not sure you’re really the best candidate to be a puppy raiser.” “Why?” I whispered.

Bill reached out and put his fingers on my hand. His touch surprised me, making me look up into his kind, blue eyes.

“You obviously put a great deal of love and care into your house and you have some gorgeous things.” He pointed to the colored glass on the windowsills, then to the large bouquet I’d strategically placed for greatest effect on the glass coffee table. “Everything is so tidy and clean. I’m worried that a dog will not fit into this picture. Especially a K-9 Eyes dog. They’re not like pet dogs, and can’t be treated that way.” He looked at me, compassionate but concerned. “And Deena, dogs, puppies especially, chew and dig and knock things over and get into all kinds of mischief. Your house and yard just aren’t set up for that. Is a clean house very important to you?”

Oh, God. How was I supposed to answer that one?!

My house was. . . It was my. . . What? My life? Oh, God.

Here I’d gone to greater lengths than usual to clean my house and prepare for this inspection, and now I was about to be denied because of it. My life was becoming too damn ironic.

“Yes. It has been very important to me. But not as important as doing this. I’ll do whatever it takes. Tell me what to do. I’ll bring a wheelbarrow full of dirt in here and spread it around, I swear to God.” I took a breath, calmed myself. “I really, really want to raise a puppy for K-9 Eyes.”

“Why?”

Why indeed? I forced a smile so I wouldn’t cry. “Because I’m a dog person, and I’m, well--” I realized I was nervously twisting my wedding ring. I stopped, put my hands flat on the table. “Because I’m a dog person trapped in a cat existence.”