I didn’t know, really, what had been so different about this one. Certainly, we had had other foster puppies. Their time with us would come to an end, and they would move on. And after missing them for a day or so, we would, too.
But this one. . . maybe it was her deep, soulful eyes, or how she needed us to bed down next to her crate to get her through those first scary nights, or how, out of the great love she grew so quickly to have for us, she hardly, hardly ever peed in the house.
I only knew that weeks had now gone by. And I was still mourning her absence.
So I took an unusual step. I called the shelter that set up her adoption. And, after making reasonably sure I wasn’t completely unbalanced, they arranged for me to visit her in her new forever home.
So, one last time, I got to see our latest foster pup go walking and running and playing and eating. And I got to see her falling in love with her new people, to see her bonding with them as quickly and easily as she had so recently bonded with us.
And as I watched her move on, it suddenly became easier to let her go.
Because that little bitch didn’t remember me at all.
Notwithstanding representations to the contrary from today’s proto-senile guest author, Mike (aka the Husband), we want to assure our S’Waggers that certain critical details above were strictly the product of an overactive imagination.
Google Translation from “Mike” to English: No this never really happened. it’s just my husband’s silly way of “letting go” of our latest foster pup, Zoe.
Thanks Mike, for posting today.
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