We’re headed to the beach THIS Saturday which is so totally awesome. An entire week with two of my favorite families and most, possibly all, of my kids. Yay. No stalls to muck or weeds to pull.
Here’s the problem: I still have two foster dogs.
Two foster dogs who are very dear to my heart. What to do. What to do. At first I panicked and considered having our house/horse sitter take care of them, but then I realized that was crazy and unrealistic because only a crazy person like me is happy to deal with a 75-pound bloodhound AND an over-the-top enthusiastic dog like Ginger AND a snarly, grumpy, poop-rolling personal dog AT THE SAME TIME. I couldn’t ask this of my very nice college-age house sitter who I’ve hired to care for the horses and water the plants.
So, I started begging and I managed to find two babysitters for Whoopi who will tag team the extended week, but Gingersnap is headed to boarding at this point. Which breaks my heart. But hopefully, not hers.
Everything was more or less set, but then—an adopter for Whoopi appeared out of thin air!
Now, sure, several others have backed out once the idea of a 75-pound pet with an overactive nose and a drool setting sunk in, but a girl can hope, can’t she? So fingers, toes, and tails crossed that Whoopi’s forever family has FINALLY found her.
And then this morning I got up and checked Ginger’s page and what? Applications! Somebody/ies want Ginger?!?!! Yay Ginger. She’s been almost adopted too many times for me to count those chickens, but I’m doing it anyway.
I really believed my day was looking up, but then I thought about it. Applications are not processed overnight. References have to be checked, questions asked, interviews given. This takes time. And we are leaving Saturday. So, the odds are that even if one of these adopters is really her forever family, they won’t even meet her until we’ve left for the shore.
I don’t know if I can bare that. I know I act all tough and I’m-not-keeping-them, but Ginger has wormed her way into our hearts, here.
Even my teenage daughter who generally tries to ignore the foster dogs and actively campaigns for switching to fostering cats, said, “We could keep this one.”
“I think this is the best one we’ve had,” my oldest said, after once again arriving home from his gig working the deli at Giant, smelling like fried chicken, only to be tackled by Ginger who proceeds to lick him head to toe—and not just because he smells of cold cuts. She LOVES him. And he loves her.
My youngest kiddo, enjoys picking Ginger up and cuddling her as if she’s a lap dog. (Ginger is about 40 pounds and he is 6 foot tall, 180 pounds, so I guess to him she is.)
My husband looks at her and smiles and says, “If only you didn’t bark.” She has interrupted more than one conference call.
And me? I love this dog. She’s the first one who reminds me of my dear Lucy, whose irreplaceability sent us off on this fostering adventure.
The idea of Ginger going to boarding and then being adopted without me just about kills me. As does the idea that I wouldn’t meet her forever family. I need the comfort that comes from knowing she is home. Already the thought of it brings a lump to my throat. No, we’re not keeping Ginger, but that doesn’t mean she can just leave!
So, I’m packing and praying. Hoping the adoption gods are smiling and I get my happy ending. Maybe you could do the same. I’d appreciate that.