I've never wanted a Saturday to end so badly. People go on about volunteering — "giving something back", "it's so rewarding", "you'll love it". When Mum started with all that, I just rolled my eyes and, if I could be bothered, reeled off my own list: the six o'clock start, the smell of wet straw, and — worst of all — missing the biggest football match of the season with my friends.
So you won't judge me for admitting that I spent most of the drive to Pets on the Green complaining. Mum kept saying how the animals would cheer me up; it was up to me to introduce a fresh perspective. The morning was grey (rain was certain); the yard was muddy (ruined trainers, definitely); and there was, as far as I could tell, absolutely nothing to do.
They handed me a brush and pointed me at a nervous brown dog curled tight in the corner of a pen. It flinched when I got close, one ear back, watching me. Great, I thought — even the dog doesn't want me here.
Just then I noticed someone crouching by the next pen: a girl about my age, holding a lead she clearly had no idea what to do with. "Alright?" she said. "My gran signed me up. Apparently I should be 'having fun', but…" She waved a hand hopelessly at the mud and the rain and the sea of pens. For the first time all morning, I felt my mood lift a little. "Hi," I said. "I'm Kit. So — reckon we can get these two to trust us?"