People often ask me if its hard to foster dogs. "Don't you get attached to them?" they ask. "How can you let them go when they get adopted?" I get attached, of course I do. To a large number of them, anyway. Each dog has something special about him or her, some personality trait that is so endearing and so unique that I can't help but love them. If you've read much of my blog you may recall that the wonderfully expressive Hercules was my very first foster dog. For all of five minutes, anyhow. That's how quickly he settled himself into the pattern of my life. From the first time he nudged my mouse hand off the computer desk to pet him, I was hooked.
Of all of the fosters I've had there were maybe one or two others I would have considered keeping. I've always decided against it. When we adopted Hercules, we were in the market for another dog. We only had Snoop and we knew that fostering would be a away to find a dog who fit us. Lady and Roscoe were dogs we saw through other rescues and decided to adopt. After Lady died this year, I thought that fostering would be a wonderful way to help out dogs in need, but did not at all have it in my head that I was looking for another dog. So far as I know, I'm still not. I was very attached to my last foster, Rosie, a beautiful little Border/Shepherd mix who came to me defensive, guarded and scared and who developed into a confident, comical, wonderful little girl. And I helped pick out the right placement for her and had a week off. And then Mr. Teeney walked into my life.
He was supposed to come with behavioral issues. He was supposed to chew up everything in the house. Tear up the yard. Knock over my kids. That's why he's in rescue, or so they tell me. Ever since he arrived in my home last week, he simply FITS. He and Roscoe play together like they've been doing it for years. I swear, they spend a half an hour racing up and down the yard and come in when I call them, grinning from ear to ear. He figured out how I wanted him to walk on the leash after no more than two or three small corrections. He's calm, he's dignified, he's gentle and sweet, and OH MY LORD he is BIG. And huggable. He's a 95-pounder, or thereabouts.
Normally when I add a third dog to the household, the chaos multiplies by a factor of about seven. For some odd reason ONE MORE DOG just makes everything seem louder and more frantic. After Lady died everything seemed so quiet, so we fostered and it got noisy again. When the fosters eventually move on, the house just seems to unwind and heave a sign of relief. Then the next foster arrives and BOOM! The merry-go-round starts up all over again.
Not this time. Having him here is effortless. Pleasant. Enjoyable. Like it was meant to be.
He reminds me a little bit, in his facial expressions, of one of my favorite fosters ever. One of the very small number I would have seriously considered keeping: Trouble. Trouble was a mastiff mix, he came to us suffering in the end stages of cancer. His owner had dropped him at a kill shelter in the city and the rescue pulled him out. We didn't know then that he was so ill, all we knew is that his leg kept swelling up. Even desperately ill and in a lot of pain, Trouble managed to be the most dignified, magnificent dog I have ever met. He was the kind of dog that is the reason people love dogs so much. When we discovered how full of malignancies he was, putting him to sleep was the only merciful thing that could be done. I cried like a baby. I held him while the shots were administered, telling him what a good and special dog he was, how wonderful, how loved. After he died I sat with him for the longest time, crying tears into his thick coat, stroking him, honoring his journey into the next world. If he hadn't been sick and died so quickly after arriving there is no doubt in my mind that I would have adopted him. He was a "forever dog." And just like Trouble, there is a niggling feeling in my heart that Mr. T is just that kind of dog, too.
Welcome home, buddy. Your family has found you.
**Yes, I'll still be fostering other dogs. Its just that THIS dog isn't leaving.
