[INT. ANIMAL SHELTER – MORNING]
The cages are lined up. Dozens of hopeful eyes peer through bars. Some bark, some whimper. But one little puppy sits quietly in the corner of his cage — ears floppy, fur a bit patchy, eyes too old for his tiny body.
His tag reads: “Name: Max. Age: 10 weeks. Notes: Shy. Needs gentle home.”
He’s been passed up for days.
Families come. They coo. They smile. But they keep walking. He’s not the loudest. Not the fluffiest. Just a quiet little soul, waiting.
[INT. SHELTER – LATER THAT DAY]
A woman walks in. Her name is ELLA. She’s alone. Heart still tender from losing her last dog. She walks past the noisy cages… until she sees Max. He doesn’t bark. He just lifts his head.
They lock eyes.
ELLA (softly):
You’re not trying to impress anyone, huh?
She kneels down. Max crawls to the edge of the cage. Slowly, gently, she puts her hand against the bars.
He presses his nose to it.
[INT. ELLA’S HOME – EVENING]
Max now lies curled up on a soft blanket. A new collar. A bowl with his name. A home.
Ella sits nearby, sipping tea. She glances over.
Max lifts his sleepy head… and for the first time since he arrived in the shelter, his tail wags.
ELLA (smiling):
Welcome home, buddy.
