The Winding Path to Dog Ownership, Part II: The Decision to Foster

After foster kitties Scraps and Matilda left, the house felt empty and sad. For the longest time I couldn't bear to go in the garage and see the leftover litter, their little dishes, and the toys my kids had made. Eventually, I emptied the garage and swept away all traces, crying as litter dust flew.

In our search for a rescue group to take in the girls, I connected with Marisa, who heads up a group called Paws for Life. Marisa has two main sources of foster dogs: puppy mills and seven-day "shelters," where dogs have one week to be adopted or they’re euthanised. These shelters have the nerve to charge Marisa to save these dogs; each rescue costs her about $40.00, and she also pays for neutering, shots, and other medical needs the animal has. She gets some donations, but is not a charitable organization and can't issue tax-deductible receipts. She recoups her expenditures through adoption fees that just cover her costs.

Much as I wanted to save the life of some poor puppy on death row, The Spouse and I were hesitant. Fostering means getting attached to a pet, then giving it up. At the time, our children were 10, 8, and 5. I didn't need to traumatise them– or me!– with revolving pets. The Eldest and I had cried all the way home after leaving Scraps and Matilda at the rescue.

The children, however, badly wanted a pet, so we did something we do very infrequently in our family-- we had a meeting. We emphasised to the kids that we would not be keeping these dogs: we travel too much, we don't have the money for expensive vet bills (one friend has spent $3,600 curing her dog's urinary tract infection), no one was home all day, etc. etc. The kids didn't care. They promised there wouldn't be tantrums and tears. They wanted a pet in the house, and they loved the idea of saving a life in the process. So, a little nervous and wondering what I was getting into, I e-mailed Marisa and told her find us a new friend.

The Winding Path to Dog Ownership

In case you haven't noticed, my personal photo shows a kitten cavorting through the meadows.  It doesn't jive with a person who writes about dogs, and owns a rather large, wolf-like German shepherd cross.  There is a reason.  Truth is, I'm a cat person.  My MSN picture shows a small grey kitten pointing a semi-automatic weapon out a window.  I call her Assassination Kitty; her motto is, "Mess with me and I'll blow your guts out."  She seems too aggressive for a blog persona, so I chose kitty-romping-through-the-meadow for the blog.

But I digress.  I became a dog owner through bad association.  The Spouse is violently allergic to cats, and thus I, a person who believes that a purring cat in one's lap can cure all ills, can't own one.  For years we lived in an upstairs apartment that was too small for the five of us, never mind any pets.  We finally became homeowners with a yard three years ago. Still, we weren't ready for a pet. Pets cost money.  They need food and vaccinations and boarding when you go away.  We weren't prepared for that kind of commitment.

Then, almost two years ago, we were hosting an evening party for a friend when two kittens made an appearance at our front door.  They had pink flea collars, but were dirty and skinny and much too young to be wandering the streets.  All the children were delighted, and half the party moved outside to play with them.  Our kids, especially The Eldest, who is a cat person like me, wanted to take them inside, but there was no way with 60 people in the house and The Spouse who would end up wheezing and possibly in the ER.  When the party was over, I shut the door firmly in the kitties' little faces (feeling like a monster as I did), and told the kids we'd do "something" if they were still there in the morning. 

Matilda

Scraps

They were still there in the morning.  The kittens, whom we named Scraps and Matilda, stayed in our garage for over a week.  It was hardly an ideal environment-- filthy, full of little hazards-- but at least they weren't on the streets.  I discovered Petfinder.com, and finally managed to get a local rescue to take them in.  In fact, they are still there, two years later.  My daughter says if they're still there when she moves out, she's buying them back, even though they'll be about 16 years old by them.  And she will, too.

In the course of trying to place the kitties, one of the rescue organizations asked if we would consider fostering dogs.  I was intrigued.  It was a way to 1) save an animal from death row, and 2) have all the fun of pet ownership with few of the responsibilities.  We just had to provide food and exercise.  The rescue would pay vet bills and be in charge of the search for the "forever" home.  After talking it over for a few weeks, we agreed to give it a try. And thus began the journey from petless people to dog park denizens.  (To be continued...)