We have a very special guest with us this week. (As if four dogs wasn’t enough!)
Oreo and I go way back to the day I met him in a shelter in North Carolina, where he’d been living on and off for over a year. He’d been adopted out twice, but neither adopter chose to neuter him or bring him inside, so he ran off (as unneutered male dogs are want to do) and Animal Control returned him to the shelter each time.
There was something special about Oreo—the way he looked at us, the way he leaned into his kennel fence desperate for your touch, and how he’d hold your hand through the fence.
It was a long and winding road from that day Continue reading Our Special Visitor
You make many sacrifices when you foster dogs. That’s the truth of it. The sacrifices are generally worth it, but they’re a reality.
I think it’s expected that we make sacrifices for causes or events or creatures that are important to us—maybe that’s how we know what’s important to us — we don’t mind the sacrifices (much).
I’m continually amazed at what people will sacrifice for their pets, and humbled by what other foster parents will do for their foster dogs. I definitely do not have the market cornered on suffering or stress endured at the hands (paws) of my foster dogs.
Thelma is a joy. A love. An absolute sweetheart. She rocked the K9&Kds event today, charming everyone, young and old. Watch how she handles the attention of the children at our Fourth of July party (fireworks did not phase her, btw, more evidence of her easy-going and tolerant soul).
Note: This is a lot for a foster dog (or any dog) to not just tolerate, but to invite. Thelma followed these two around all night, thriving on their ‘attention,’ but she (and the children) were supervised.
As evidenced, Thelma is quite a remarkably rare dog.
But there is a dark side to Thelma…. Continue reading Fostering Dogs May Require a Sacrifice (or Ten)
I owe you an update.
From my perspective, I’ve been to the moon and back this past month emotionally. Between losing my precious pup Frankie and witnessing all that I saw in Tennessee, our foster dogs have been an afterthought, at least in terms of writing. Yet they’ve been here all along demanding care and attention, an anchor preventing me from being washed away by the sadness. So here’s what’s happening with all of them. Continue reading The State of Our Pack
I am still struggling on a daily basis to accept that Frankie is gone. To say I miss him doesn’t even begin to touch what I feel. Caring for the other dogs gets me out of bed, but moving forward? That seemed out of reach. I need to do something with my grief – so the trip that Ian and I have been planning since winter has been the perfect panacea.
I had hoped to share about this trip weeks ago, but like so much else in my life right now, it was pushed aside. We’ve shortened our originally planned trip in terms of days and distance, but it feels right to be doing this now and I’m grateful for the distraction and the chance to do something to honor Frankie.
Ian is my 17-year-old son, my youngest.
He’s my baby, despite the fact that Continue reading I Just Can’t Wait to Get on the Road Again…
The past two weeks have been very hard. I keep expecting to wake up feeling better one day, but I don’t. There is a heavy sadness that hangs over me and weighs down my days. Grief hits me in repeated waves throughout my day. Pretty much everything in my house is a trigger. I miss my boy.
The foster dogs are keeping me busy and preventing me from hiding in my room with my grief, but I wish they would find their homes. I worry they can sense that my love right now is hollow. I am operating by rote.
Desperately searching for answers or any form of peace, I have Continue reading I Need To Be Clear About This…Pit Bulls Are Not Dangerous Dogs
My heart is so broken.
Shattered. In pieces.
I don’t remember a hurt like this—it’s everywhere, in every thought, every breath. My eyes are slits and my nose is raw and sore and the tears just keep coming and coming til it doesn’t seem possible I have more, and then I do.
I’m making myself move—fold the laundry, clean the counter, weigh the puppies and worm them, walk Thelma, pull a few weeds, put shoes in their cubbies, anything so that I don’t just sit and sob, which is all I’ve been doing for days. I can’t eat and I’ve had so much tea, I have the shakes. I can’t talk because it comes out a squeak and if anyone says anything nice to me I fall apart. If you’ve called or messaged me and I haven’t answered, I apologize.
I’ve canceled every puppy visit, moved the party we were supposed to host. I am hunkered down, doing only the things I can, which is nothing that requires my heart or my brain because my heart is in a million pieces and my brain is doing all it can to keep me upright.
I have had to make the most impossible decision. Maybe the most painful of my life. And, while some of you will argue with me, there truly wasn’t a choice.
On Thursday, Frankie attacked my daughter. Continue reading The Most Impossible Decision