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Alex pushes open the glass door to Barkingham Palace Doggy Daycare at exactly 5:36 p.m., the bells above it jingling with a cheerfulness that feels deeply at odds with the mounting spiral in his chest.
He’s run through at least six worst-case scenarios during the drive over—most of which end in Caesar being banned from the premises and/or Alex having to pay for extensive chew damage to the staff fridge – after receiving an email requesting he meet with staff prior to taking Caesar home for the day.
The front desk is quiet except for Samuel, the director, who gives Alex a friendly-but-serious nod over his clipboard.
“Mr. Claremont-Diaz. Thanks for coming in.”
“Yeah, of course. So, uh…” Alex shoves his hands in his pocket. “…what happened? Is he okay? Did he eat another leash? Or a smaller dog? I can pay for whatever he destroyed, I brought my wallet and, like, emotional preparedness.”
Samuel raises a brow but doesn’t laugh. “He’s not in trouble. He’s in… love.”
Alex blinks once, twice. Love?! “I’m sorry, did you say—?”
Samuel has already turned and is walking towards the playroom. “Follow me.”
Alex does, because what else is he going to do? He trails behind Samuel past the grooming area, through a hall of framed dog portraits labeled “Employee of the Month,” and finally to the windowed door of the main playroom.
Inside, fifteen or so dogs of various shapes and sizes tumble over one another in a blur of squeaky toys, tails, and joyful chaos.
Except for two.
Near the center of the room, a huge Saint Bernard—Alex’s own disaster child, Droolius Caesar—is lying on his side, motionless except for the slow wag of his tail. Curled against him, like they were born attached, is a beagle, eyes closed, muzzle resting on Caesar’s front paw.
They are, for lack of a better word, spooning.
“They’ve been like this every day for the last week. Morning to afternoon. They eat near each other. Nap together. They’ve started ignoring the other dogs entirely. I think they’re soulmates.”
This sounds ridiculous. “They’re what?”
“Soulmates, Mr. Claremont-Diaz.”
“But they’re dogs.”
A soft, British voice speaks up in the periphery. “It’s not unheard of.”
Alex whips around. “And wh-”, he gets out, before he registers the fucking face that goes with that voice and he forgets how words work. His jaw drops.
“The concept of dog soulmates can be traced to a 15th-century court where two Spaniels refused to be apart for royal portrait sittings and were later canonized as the patron saints of co-dependent canines,” the man carries on. “By the early 1900s, Queen Alexandra’s Borzois had set such a passionate example that Westminster Abbey had to issue a formal decree banning ‘unsupervised sniffing within consecrated grounds.’”
Alex cobbles together enough brain cells to shut his mouth, lest he actually start drooling, but not enough to do anything other than continue to stare at the finest specimen of the human species he’s ever seen.
Tall, blond, a shoulder-to-waist ratio that is just rude, full lips, blue eyes, and a large hand with slender piano-playing fingers now extended expectantly in Alex’s direction.
“Alex, this is Henry, David’s owner. David is Caesar’s soulmate.”
Alex accepts the handshake, adding soft soft skin to the list of Henry’s attributes, and forcing himself to silently count to three to not hold on for too long, breaking the grip finally and looking over to where David the Beagle and Alex’s Saint Bernard are still nudging and nosing at each other. He should say something, really, anything, but words, words aren’t wording, but he’s just going to make this weirder the longer he waits and -
“Well, that butt sniff had more chemistry than my last three relationships combined.”
Ah, fuck, made it weird anyway.
Except Henry laughs. Like, full on throws-his-head-back-exposing-a-neck-Alex-wants-to-lick, laughs. Thank fuck.
“Honestly,” Henry agreed. “That butt sniff had more emotional depth than The Notebook.”
Alex relaxes. Banter, he can handle. “Wow. That’s either high praise or a disturbing insight into your taste in cinema.”
Henry tilts his head. “I’ve always thought Gosling lacked the commitment of a good Saint Bernard.”
Alex can’t help but grin. “Bold words from someone who probably sobbed when the dog in Up said ‘I just met you and I love you.’”
“Doug had character. Motivation. A story arc. Caesar? Tragic hero, perhaps.”
Seriously, if it got any wider, the grin would split Alex’s face in two. “Oh my god. You’re romanticizing dog butt sniffing.”
“And you’re underestimating the raw, primal poetry of it.”
Alex can’t help himself. This is too fun. “What I’m hearing is that you want someone to sniff your butt with that kind of emotional vulnerability.”
“I just want to be seen. And sniffed. Is that too much to ask?”
Before Alex can respond, Samuel clears his throat. “Uh, sorry—hate to interrupt the... soul-bonding session—but we close in ten.” He’s got both David and Caesar’s leashes in hand.
Alex looks around and finds the place has emptied. He’d been so focused on Henry that he hadn’t even noticed all the other owners coming to pick up their dogs. His grin turns to a small apologetic smile. “Oh. Yeah. Totally. Sorry. Didn’t mean to flirt in your lobby.” He claps a hand over his mouth. “Shit. Didn’t mean for that to come out loud.”
Henry laughs again. “I think the dogs beat you to it, anyway.”
They both glance over. Caesar, the Saint Bernard, is dramatically draped over the beagle like a swooning Victorian heroine. David looks smug, possessive, and like he’s in control of the whole vibe, which is highly entertaining for a dog the size of a roast chicken.
“Well, that’s... deeply codependent.” Alex deadpans.
Henry pretends to check his watch. “They’ve known each other all of five days.”
“So, basically married.”
They both laugh, and it hangs there for a moment—easy, unforced, until Alex realizes he's lingering and probably should be grabbing Caesar’s leash instead of staring at Henry’s mouth like it owes him something.
“Okay, not to be dramatic,” Alex says, “but if we don’t let them see each other again, I think Caesar might chew through my passport.”
Henry arches a brow. “I suppose it would be inhumane to deny them true love.”
“They’d haunt us,” Alex adds solemnly. “As ghost dogs.”
“Poorly behaved ghost dogs,” Henry agrees. “David would knock over priceless furniture in protest.”
“Caesar would possess a Roomba and chase me around the apartment.”
Even Samuel laughed at that. There was a beat, a shared smile, and then—miracle of miracles—Henry pulls a phone from his pocket.
“Shall we… exchange contact information? For the sake of the dogs, of course.”
“Of course,” Alex echoes, trying to sound breezy and not like his internal organs were staging a rave.
They hand over their phones. Alex types Henry 🐶✨, and when he gets his own back, he sees Alex (Caesar’s Human) ❤️🐾 next to his number.
“Tomorrow?” Henry asks.
Alex nods. “Yeah. For Caesar. And David.”
“And definitely not because I want to see you again,” Henry says lightly.
Alex tries his best to keep his expression neutral, but he’s pretty sure he’s failing spectacularly. “God no. That’d be weird.”
They stood there a moment longer than necessary, like neither of them wanted to walk away first.
Samuel, still hovering in the background, clears his throat again, this time with authority and the finality of someone who is done with the day. “Okay, guys. I’m thrilled for the dogs and your obviously budding slow-burn rom-com, but we really do close at six.”
Alex startles, and Henry smiles apologetically. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep you.”
“You already have,” Samuel responds dryly. He steps around them and starts turning off the lights.
Alex finally grabs Caesar’s leash. “Okay, okay, we’re going. Come on, big guy.”
Henry clips on David’s lead, but it’s hardly necessary as the beagle trots obediently at his side.
Alex holds the door open for the two of them, then lets Caesar lead him out onto the sidewalk.
Henry gives him an easy smile. “Tomorrow, then.”
Caesar is suddenly a lump of pure resistance, digging in all four paws and letting out a low, operatic whine that echoes off the daycare windows. It’s not subtle. It’s not dignified. It’s Saint Bernard-level heartbreak in surround sound.
David, ever the dramatist in a beagle’s body, turns back with a soulful glance that would put any period drama lead to shame and lets out a tiny, heart-wrenching yip.
“Oh my god. Caesar. You’ll see each other tomorrow. This isn’t the Titanic.”
Caesar leans further toward David, his whole-body tilting, his leash taut.
Henry, clearly suppressing a laugh, bends to whisper something to David, who sits on the sidewalk like he’s taking part in a tragic farewell montage.
A few passersby glance over, caught between cooing and concern, as the two dogs continue their soulmate separation meltdown—Caesar whining like a widower, David doing his best haunted orphan at the dock impression.
Finally, Alex crouches and cups Caesar’s enormous jowly face between his hands.
“Buddy. Tomorrow. You can be tragic again then, okay?”
Caesar gives a theatrical huff, then flops into a slow, reluctant walk like he's physically carrying the weight of love lost.
Henry and Alex start walking in opposite directions towards their cars —the dogs glancing back at each other every few steps. Alex tries not to glance sideways at Henry in exactly the same way.
They stop at their respective vehicles. Caesar gives one last moan. David lets out a low, resigned whuff like he’s already writing poetry about this moment in his little beagle brain.
Alex sighs and gives a short wave.
The two dogs look back, then forward, then back again—like they’ve both just survived something epic. Like they already know that this was only the beginning.
///
Alex’s search history that night
Are dog soulmates real?
How do dogs know they’re soulmates?
Are human soulmates real?
Would I know within the first five minutes if someone was my soulmate?
Legal obligations of dog soulmate owners
Canine soulmate employment leave provisions
Canine soulmate tax credits
Is it illegal to have a crush on your dog’s soulmate’s owner?
Why makes extra virgin olive oil extra?
Henry beagle blond British New York
Henry beagle blond British New York Barkingham Palace
“Henry Fox” New York
Arthur Fox James Bond
What happens when dog soulmates are apart?
Soothing canine soulmate separation anxiety
Are dog soulmates monogamous?
Beagle body language
Dog astrology compatibility chart
Is it normal to feel emotional when your dog finds their soulmate?
Is it normal to feel jealous of your dog when they find their soulmate?
What kind of cheese are you buzzfeed quiz
Is cereal soup
How to flirt with someone who is british and probably better at scrabble than you
Are eyelashes technically hair
I can’t fall asleep because I keep thinking about this guy I just met
///
Henry’s search history that night
Was that flirting, or is he just American?
Saint Bernard owner personality traits
How long to wait until texting your dog’s soulmate’s owner
Am I have feelings or is it just indigestion?
Can a person smell like sunshine, or is that just pheromones and delusion?
How to be chill around someone who looks like they’d ruin your life in a good way
Should I buy matching collars, or is that presumptuous?
Alex Claremont-Diaz
Alex Claremont-Diaz nude (in an incognito browser, obviously)
Why is my dog looking at me like that?
Fun activities for canine soulmates and their devastatingly attractive humans