As this post is published, I’m taking our foster dog Ginny to the SPCA for her follow-up vet appointment. It’s likely she won’t be coming back to us.
And although I’ve written on this very blog that fostering is more about the love than it is about the loss, I can’t stop crying.
I’m less sad when a foster dog is adopted right from our home. It’s great to see someone who’s already in love with a wonderful dog taking him home. And it’s even better to see our foster pup happy to walk off with his new person.
But I hate taking dogs back to the shelter.
It makes no sense. Our no-kill shelter has an awesome adoption center where every dog gets her own “apartment.” Ginny would be there about five seconds before the staff and volunteers started making a fuss over her. She loves the stimulating smells. And most importantly, she’s visible to prospective adopters.
It’s all about me. I hate the thought of taking “my” dog to the shelter. But the crazy thing is—She’s. Not. My. Dog.
I may have to repeat that a few more times. It’s just not sinking in.
I guess this is my long-winded way of saying I’m going to miss the little girl. Even if—She’s. Not. My. Dog.
[Update: Ginny is back with us by orders of the vet. So I’m happy to have her home again. But sad that I haven’t done a very good job with her physical therapy. Thanks everyone for the kind words and encouragement.]
Your Turn: I’m too sad to even come up with a fun question. Can you say something to help me feel better?