I cautiously open the door to the spare bedroom, unsure of what will be on the other side. I can smell things that shouldn’t be in there, but I can’t hear the sounds I expected to hear: the scratching of excited claws against the door and the impatient whine of a small animal, desperate for cuddles.
Will he have chewed through the power cords, or torn all the feathers out of the comforter? How much poop is in there? Far out, dude!
So, umm. Yeah… I bought another foster puppy home yesterday.
This guy is far less mentally scarred by his separation from his mother/litter than the last little dude was. He still prefers people to be around him, but he can handle being on his own and only sooks for a little while at first.
Unlike the other little guy, he had less fleas, but he also had more worms. He was very malnourished and had this swollen, hard, little belly with all these ribs sticking out everywhere. He’s been making up for that, though.
I really thought about it before putting my hand up to foster him. It upset me a lot to have to say goodbye to little 6 last time. I cried for a couple of days, and I even still miss the little guy, so I was somewhat reluctant to put myself through it all again, but this time is a bit different.
6 really crawled his way into my heart, but as beautiful and sweet as this new guy is, I’m not letting that happen. He’s getting all of the cuddles, all of the playing, all of the food… but I’m well aware that it’s a temporary situation only, and am not allowing myself to get too attached (yeah, keep telling yourself that, Bri. We all know how this will end).
Some at work have suggested these little pups go straight to the pound, or RSPCA. Sure, those are options, but I think that if we ever want to have a hope of rehoming these pups as family-friendly dogs, they need to spend these early days, where they were separated from their family far too young, surrounded by people who love them and give them plenty of care and attention, rather than put inside a cage, surrounded by other unhappy animals.
It’s also been great that they’ve been socialised with my cats and with all the friends and neighbours who come over to visit us. That’s such a vital step for a dog! The pound is no place for a very young pup.
As for fostering kittens… there is no way in hell that that is ever going to happen in this house. I could never, ever say goodbye to a kitten.
Besides, I think my cats would not only move out if I dared to bring one here, they’d find cat-sized suitcases and fill them with their favourite belongings before they went, and leave all the birthday cards we’d ever given them amongst our clothing, so we’d come across them and cry with guilt-laced agony.