Fostering El Doggo
Before my 18-year-old cat crossed the Rainbow Bridge, I told myself that when she passed, I’d foster dogs. I wanted something to look forward to, and I wanted the opportunity to mix things up. Even though I grew up with dogs, I considered myself a cat person. A few months after Percy died, I attended a foster training at a local rescue organization, learning about the ins and outs of dog rescue. A few months after that, I welcomed my first foster dog into my home.
Moana was a mini-pincher, and oh was she mini. She came with a pink unicorn onesie that made me cringe, but she got cold so easily that she needed it! Moana was somewhere around 8 pounds, and she ran confidently up to all dogs in the neighborhood, from terriers to a Great Pyrenees. I had her for almost 2-weeks until I got the call that a couple was interested in adopting her. Even though I was pretty sure I didn’t want the commitment of a dog at that time, I wept when I returned her to the rescue organization to meet her new family. I mean wept huge tears, with snot running down my nose. I was mortified. Moana’s new dad put an arm around me (pre-COVID) and explained that sometimes on a dog’s journey there are many people to get her to her forever home. I was one of those people. His speech made me cry even harder.
Moana and her unicorn onesie
After recovering from my very emotional goodbye, I eventually cycled through a few more foster dogs. Months later, I was on my way to pick up Leon, a white chihuahua, when I got a call from the people at the rescue org that Leon was having some health issues, could I pick up Bart instead? Of course I said yes.
I always suspected that I’d know deep in my bones if and when the right dog came along. As soon as I saw Bart’s seal-pup face, I somehow knew he was The One. I took him home, and for a walk on the beach, and then he got cozy in his dog bed and fell asleep. He was so chill, so easy, with such a sweet temperament. He bounce-walks, lights up when he sees other dogs, gently takes treats from my hand. When the rescue place texted me a few days later to get more information on him because there was a potential adopter, my heart fell to my knees. I texted back, “I want to officially adopt him. Please send next steps.”
So, Bart is now Bosley. He’s on the couch now, curled in the tiniest little ball, tuckered out after our morning walk. He’s more cuddly than my cat ever was. In fact, I think I’m a dog person after all.
