So Long, Good Buddy, Our Foster Dog
The call came on Monday morning.
The man who had come to our house several weeks ago, decided he wanted Buddy and reimbursed us for what we spent on him at the vet, was coming back to pick him up. He had been traveling throughout the past few weeks and I told him he could leave Buddy with us until he got back and could concentrate on building a relationship with his new 4-legged boy.
This was our first fostering experience, mostly because I felt I couldn’t do it and would get too attached. After all, 3 of our 4 current dogs were to go into a rescue, but once I had them, I couldn’t let them go.
I knew from almost the beginning that Buddy wasn’t ours and so I tried not to let a bond develop. I read articles on fostering dogs, I tried the tricks other fosters use. I tried to concentrate on his faults (this was hard, as he was truly one of the best dogs we’ve ever had). I tried to remind myself I didn’t like male dogs (again, hard since he didn’t find it necessary to pee on everything). I told myself we didn’t have the space (but he had found a bed and corner all his own).
Buddy was doing well here, he had come out of his shell and wasn’t quite as shy. He had almost quit ducking every time we reached to pet him. He had a routine, got along well with the other dogs and even joined in howling sessions before mealtime.
By last weekend, our friends were asking if we were just going to give the money back the new owner paid on the vet bills and tell him we couldn’t give him up.
We thought about it.
