It is 8:10pm and my day had revolved around the plan that I would have an Aussie Shep foster by now. I had expected that, by now, my 4 permanent dogs would be showing this newest addition how to manuever the hardwood stairs when the sound of any plastic bag rustles in the area of the kitchen. This, no doubt, means some sort of meat or cheese product will be passed out judicially among them. Learning how to get there as quickly as possible is of the utmost importance, you see.
It is now 8:13 and I have no foster. What was shaping up to be a wonderful success story has now turned into another case of crossed fingers and hopeful prayers that a dog in need will find his (or her) way to a deserved forever home.
I am not an organized rescue, nor do I ever plan to be. We are just a household of very loving two-legged and four-legged creatures (also, 8-legged if you count our three hermit crabs). We lost our dearest girl Sophie about 2 months ago and, as planned, my husband and I decided we would fill any voids with Foster Dogs moving forward. We tried in vain to do that today but the ignorance of humans makes some things un-possible (yes that is a word, see: Ralph Wiggum).
Just keep your fingers crossed for a shaggy black dog named Auburn and maybe, juuuuuust maybe, everything will be put right.
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