Free Once Upon a List by Robin Gold Page B

with Keats when introduced to his poetry during her sophomore year of high school, Clara, moved openly to tears right in the middle of English class, not only dedicated herself to reading all of his poems, she mastered the complete works of Blake, Byron, Shelley, and Wordsworth until at last she’d consumed the entire canon of British Romantic poetry. And then she read it all again. Similarly, once Clara determined she didn’t care for something or lacked interest in a topic, it was often difficult, if not impossible, to change her stubborn mind. Hence her disdain for exercise, religious zealots, and tofu. “I can’t help it,” Clara said to Libby, shrugging. “I guess I’m just an all-or-nothing kind of girl.”
    â€œI love that about you,” said Libby. “So then I suppose you’d like to get a dog this week?”
    â€œWell, not exactly.”
    â€œGood!” Libby clasped her hand over her heart, exhaling a sigh of relief. “Good . . .”
    â€œI was thinking more along the lines of today.”
    Libby’s alleviation vanished. “Today? Today ?”
    â€œBased on your clenched teeth and need to repeat everything twice, I’m gonna assume that’s a no .”
    â€œNo, honey, not—not at all.” Libby took Clara’s frail hand in her own, offering her best stab at a reaffirming grin. “Listen to me. I think what you’re doing with your list is wonderful. I want this to work so badly.” She paused, a more serious expression crossing her face. “It has to. And Lord knows I’ll help you any way I can.” She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of acceptance. “If it’s a filthy canine that you want, how can I deny you? I’m just thankful you didn’t want a hippo when you were ten.”
    â€œHonestly?” Clara couldn’t help but wonder if it was “Backwards Day.”
    â€œI’ll stock up on lint rollers.”
    Clara cracked a half-smile. “My treat. Wow. Leo bet me twenty dollars that hell would freeze over before you’d allow this.”
    â€œWell, I’m delighted I inspire my children to gamble.”
    Filled with appreciation of her mother’s surprising support, Clara impulsively hugged her. “Thank you. Really.” Then she had an idea. “Would you like to come with me to the animal shelter to pick out a puppy?”
    Though Clara suspected Libby would have rather placed a cold beverage directly on the English antique mahogany coffee table without a coaster, she accepted the invitation, adding, “But first, how about we stop by the mall to check out one of those nifty Japanese robot dogs? I hear they’re much better than the real thing. And no pooper-scooper required!”
    â€œNice try,” Clara replied, already on her way upstairs to get dressed.
    S till sluggish from her journey, Clara entered For Pets’ Sake, River Pointe’s local animal shelter, with zero preconceived notions about what type of dog she wished to adopt. Size, breed, age, and sex weren’t of the slightest concern to her. She didn’t care about the animal’s personality, or how well it got along with other pets or people. It made no difference to her if it was cute or ugly, hairy or bald, neutered or pregnant with triplets. Considering such basic factors hadn’t even occurred to Clara. As far as she was concerned, the only thing that mattered was accomplishing the first task on her time capsule list and crossing it off with the new red pen she’d purchased solely for this purpose. That is, until she spotted the scraggy, white-and-caramel-colored beagle. “There,” she said, pointing. “At the end of the row over in the corner”—she indicated the puppy’s cramped cage, telling Jane, the overzealous shelter employee wearing a sweater with a howling wolf on the front and back—“how about that sad little Snoopy