Foster Failure

For almost two years now Brian and I have fostered for the Greater Charlotte SPCA. Fostering is amazing. And heart wrenching. And gratifying. And just totally freakin’ awesome. We have been lucky enough to help place twelve amazing pups into their forever homes.

Foster Collage

Not all could fit into my collage, but each one stole my heart in their own way. Shae and her mischievousness. Eden and her pitiful, broken start. Kringle and his tendency to be my little shadow. Killian and his big goofy self. Cam, the nearly thirty pound mastiff puppy who refused to walk down my condo stairs. Demi, with her typical lab energy who we had to keep calm for a month while she went through heartworm treatment. She’d given her own body and health to nurse her pups. Izzy with her big goofy ears. Gidget and Gunther we had for only 24 hours, but they stole my heart as they slept on my shoulder, perched like little squirrels. Gryphon, the beagle corgi mix with the saddest eyes and the stubbiest legs. Winston, who charmed his way into our neighbor’s home. And Pauline, world class snuggler.

Then, then there was lucky thirteen.

Cane

So far I’ve managed to refrain from posting a bazillion pictures of my pup (mainly because he doesn’t pose unless he’s sleeping) but don’t take that as a sign that I’m a healthy, normal dog owner. I am obsessed. Like, I spoon with my dog obsessed. He is perfect, and he’s mine. When Cane came into our lives (then Bennett) we joined the ranks of our fellow foster failures, and I haven’t regretted it for one second. Yes, he’s stained a rug or two, and yes, he eats everything and it gives me panic attacks – and yes, he has recently discovered the cats are fun to chase – but he is an amazing dog and everything I’ve ever wanted.

Although we may have failed at fostering, we won’t be stopping. We are; however, taking a reprieve until we move into a larger house. Unfortunately with our two cats and now two dogs we are literally busting at the seams in our one bedroom condo. Some may find it odd, but when we pile into bed and I’ve got our six pound Chi curled up behind my knees, my 14 year old tabby sleeping on my pillow, Brian’s orange fluff ball on his chest, and I’m spooning with my puppy – I’m pretty much the happiest girl in the world.

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2 thoughts on “Foster Failure

  1. Allie says:

    I laughed at your panic attacks at them eating everything. I’ve always been told not to let dogs eat chicken bones because they are sharp and brittle and will tear up their insides. Imagine my panic attack when I returned to the kitchen to find the container of rotisserie chicken in the floor and empty.
    The dogs were fine, our night of leftovers was not.
    Congrats on your puppy

    • lilqwnb says:

      Thanks, Allie! You’d think after that many fosters I’d learn not to freak over what they eat, but there is something different when it’s my personal fur baby.

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