When Fostering Doesn't Work Out

 

Keemo went to a new foster home last weekend, after making the difficult determination that he was not a good fit - even temporarily - when prioritizing the resident animals. I'm a huge advocate for fostering, adoption and rescue, but first and foremost an advocate for my own pets. So many shelters around the world are overwhelmed and so many rescues could not operate without a network of phenomenal foster homes. I frequently implore people to foster through social media by posting dogs in need. I have now fostered four dogs over the last ten years. It's not a lot - it's nothing like those admirable career fosters that have a constant stream of rescue dogs through their home. That was actually my intention before "foster failing" with Boca. I know how rewarding it is to see a foster dog through to their perfect home, and I'm disappointed that I won't be doing so for Keemo.

As the days went by with Keemo, Boca exhibited some pretty severe resource guarding - something she doesn't do with Ruby. She will grumble once in a while when she has settled down with a toy, but at both dog and human mealtimes she was charging vehemently at our visitor on the other side of the dog gate. This in itself was manageable, but as I saw Ruby becoming more and more shut-down, nervous about Boca's blustering, refusing to eat even in another room, hiding under the dining room table, and cowering when Keemo was near, I knew that I couldn't risk her hard-won confidence being shaken any more in her own home. It was no fault of Keemo's - he just needed a playmate his own size and a lot more space to play in. Keeping all of the dogs separated long-term was not tenable, either. My 19 year old cat was also expressing her displeasure with the situation - another surprise since she's lived boldly with dogs for most of her life. It was impossible to ignore the signs of stress in every member of the household.

Fostering is a hard job, and each personality involved complicates it that much more. Sometimes I think the ideal foster home has no pets of their own, but that's unlikely since we foster because we love animals. Neither of my dogs reacted as I expected to our house guest, and I saw previously unrealized sides of them and learned more about myself, for better or for worse. These past few years have been a time of self-reflection for me as I navigated some of the most difficult changes of my life. I think part of being an adult is knowing what you want and don't want, what you can and can't handle. I'm an anxious person. Lao Tzu said "If you are depressed you are living in the past. If you are anxious you are living in the future." I am a well-versed worrier - it runs in the family. I am perpetually nervous about what could happen or what might happen. This isn't the greatest state of mind for managing new dog introductions and disruption in routine, and for that reason if I do foster again, it would be short term/relief fostering and smaller/older dogs.

I spent one whole afternoon with Keemo, taking him to my vet's office to refill my cat's medications, a big box pet store to get him some chew things, a crate mat and a harness, and Kriser's for some raw goat's milk. He was absolutely charming everywhere we went - obviously overwhelmed at the wonderland of sights of smells, bins of dehydrated delicacies within muzzle's reach. He approached strangers soliciting affection and wagging his tail, and I told the story of his journey and extolled the virtues of the potcake. In just a few days' time I was able to teach him "sit" and "down" with clicker training, and he was especially lovely to walk by himself. My dad was instrumental in being able to keep him as long as we did - there's no way I could have done it on my own with a full time job. I think it even brought my dad and I closer together and I know he was sad to see Keemo go as well. It didn't take long to become attached to his big silly face, and I felt heartsick as I drove him across town and handed him off to someone else. 

  
Even though I know I made the right decision, I still feel awful about letting Keemo and the rescue down. I thought about how confused he must have felt being shuffled from one house to another, and hope he is successful in his new foster home and matched with that special someone soon. I know he will be an awesome dog with nothing but love to give. I am a fiercely loyal person who honors her commitments so this felt like a different kind of foster failure. I was looking forward to attending adoption events and becoming more involved with this rescue group. I dream of having a ranch someday with a conscientiously designed foster dog suite, and of having the time to devote to such a passion. In the meantime I will continue volunteering where I can, but more likely in a capacity other than fostering. I have a renewed appreciation for the tireless work of rescue, and for my own perfectly imperfect incredible dogs.

One Year of Potcake Love

Boca has never once doubted that she was home.

One year ago today, I was anxiously checking my email for updates on Boca's flight from The Bahamas, made up of several legs with a layover in Florida. Her name was then Lydia, she had lived at The Humane Society of Grand Bahamas for about a year after being rescued from the streets, and she was supposed to be a foster dog. I didn't know what to expect...Ruby had made a few dog friends but was highly reactive to dogs in general and I was nervous about the initial meeting. I didn't know what Lydia would be unsure or afraid of, how she would do with my ancient little cat or what she would think of my hyperactive terrier.

I needn't have worried. The hardest thing about fostering Lydia was accepting my "failure" as a foster home - and that wasn't even hard. Pamela at Something Wagging This Way Comes reminds me that the goal of fostering is to find the dog its forever home, and in that case we succeeded wildly. Even though I didn't officially adopt her until May 18th, as far as Boca was concerned she went home from the airport on that evening at the end of last April. One year later and I can't imagine life without my goofy, gentle potcake. One day before her first Gotcha Day I wanted to reflect on some of my favorite things about Boca Face:

 

I love her snuggliness. She is the absolute best at squeezing herself in to the smallest space to be close to me, whether that's behind my knees or curled up next to my head on the pillow. She isn't pushy or wiggly, she just settles in with an uncannily soothing presence - my aunt says she is like a cup of chamomile tea. I decided to adopt her at a difficult time in my life, and I will never forget what a comfort Boca was, her affection and assurance a touchstone during uncertain days and nights.

 

I love her patience with Ruby. My nutty Border Jack can be relentlessly energetic, and Boca allows Ruby to tease her, jump on her, lounge on her and chew on her with limited scolding. They play so nicely together, which was one of my biggest concerns with having two again since my previous two always had a tense relationship. I adore watching the two of them interact and finding them in the cutest napping arrangements together, sharing the dog bed in the sun. Their perfectly coordinating colors and markings are just a small part of what makes them The Ginger Sisters.

Most of all, I love her Bocaness. Her ability to sleep in the weirdest positions, her funny underbite, her frog-legged sprawl, her sweet Eskimo kisses, they way she bumps the back of my legs when she wants to go for walk, how cooperative she has been with me and various vets through ear problems and eye problems, her lovely unhurried strolling pace on walks and how she wags her tail constantly outside, our shared belief that weekends are for sleeping in, putting up with wearing bubble wrap and other silly blogger stunts, what she has taught me about potcakes and other street dogs, her crazy "hubba hubba" growl-bark she makes to get Ruby to play, they way she opens her kennel door on her own, her folded in-between ears that are so expressive, how she gets so excited at meal time, the way she inspires people to smile everywhere she goes, and the ease and determination with which she made herself undeniably at home with us from the start.

Meant To Be

I was always envious of people who had animals that snuggled and cuddled with one another. Freya and Lasya merely tolerated each other's presence and the few fights they had over the years made me seriously question whether or not I'd have two dogs - especially two females - again. Pamela's lovely post at Something Wagging This Way Comes yesterday reminded me that while generalizations can be backed up by examples, so can exceptions. 

It's no secret that I hand-picked Boca out of a dozen other dogs that were ear-marked by Ruby's rescue group for hopeful air-lift to Colorado, but had fully intended to foster her and adopt her out.  She caught my attention because of her coloration, smaller size than the typical potcake, and her irresistible smile. None of those things had any bearing or any prediction of how she and Ruby would get along, matching coats or not. I have heard that choosing a second dog that is smaller, younger, and the opposite sex of your existing dog puts the odds in favor of harmony, and Boca was bigger, older and same sex. I believe that due to their individual natures, Ruby's willingness and enthusiasm for sharing her home, beds and toys and Boca's endless patience and easygoing gentleness, it was a match made in heaven. 

Boca is a great role model, and Ruby tends to follow her lead for their daily routines. A little sleepy wrestling before breakfast, sunbathing for most of the late morning and afternoon, a wild rumpus before their evening walk, chewing time before bed. Ruby's life is so much richer with Boca in the picture, and I find myself wondering what we ever did without her. Their interactions are endearing and adorable, and Boca's big sister attitude and firm but fair corrections when Ruby crosses the line are teaching me even more about dog behavior.

It's just incredible to me that these two gingery dogs from different countries - one who found herself on death row in an overcrowded shelter in the southern United States when she was less than a year old, and one who spent her early life sick and starving on the street and the past year in a tropical shelter that resembles a dog park - could adjust so easily to life in a home, coexist so perfectly and have so much love to give every day. These girls are such a gift: to each other, and most of all to me.

Sisters

Boca is home. I did not master the art of fostering after all, this time. I tried to be a stalwart foster mom but on our trip to visit my friend, aunt and grandmother this weekend her fit into my family is undeniable. My grandmother who rarely sings praises declared her "Some Dog!" like Charlotte's spiderweb commendation for Wilbur.

I may be on hiatus for a time for personal reasons, and bless these dogs for their simple presence. 

"Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind." (Lilo & Stitch)