From BAD HAIR, the Young Adult novel

He took a sip of whatever blended thing he’d gotten. How weird: such a guy drinking a girly drink. Thing was, it worked. “Yeah? What is it about dogs that gets you?”

            What didn’t get me?

            Start with the look in their eyes. If dogs had a filter, I wouldn’t know it. Sometimes it was too much to look deep into those eyes. You really had to make yourself go there. What had those eyes seen? How were they still so trusting, so loving, so deep? How could you possibly hurt someone who looked at you like that?

            But there was more, so much more. The way they wiggled when they saw you. The honest horrible-ness of their breath. The way they put their paws in your lap when you sat down, as if to say you’re going to stay for a while, right?

            The look they got when they realized you had to leave.

            They never wanted you to leave.

            I didn’t know another creature like that, anyone who wanted you there, always and unconditionally. People needed their space. I was no different in that regard. But dogs, they were always there when you needed them.

            But what happened when you didn’t?

            “They just get – discarded,” I said. “And that’s when they’re lucky. I mean, they get walked in on a leash, dragged in on a chain, stuffed through the midnight drop box. I’m not kidding. And you wouldn’t believe the condition they’re in when they come through. People get animals like it’s against the law not to have them. Then they don’t feed them. They let them get sick and don’t treat them. You should see the tumors hanging off some of these dogs. How do you just ignore that? How do you --?”

            Then I stopped. There was a lump in my throat and it wasn’t from the dogs, either.

            It was for me.