We are “fostering” a puppy.
To be clear, she is a pocket puppy. She is a Maltese. And at 10 weeks I think she has to be the smallest dog I have ever seen. She may even be the smallest cat I have ever seen.
We watched her sister for a little while but unfortunately she didn’t make it. Her sister was the first puppy to die at my husband’s store. She died two days after our dog, Rannin.
And so we are watching her sister. Like hawks. To say that we are emotionally involved is to understate the issue.
And, her name is Lily. And she is doing well. She is well on her way to becoming the most spoiled dog known to man.
And is she cute?
And I am feeling protective and warm and cuddly and at the same time I know that I will be happy to see her in a good home with someone who loves her.
Not my home.
And it’s moments like these that make me understand that I would be a much better foster mom than I think I would be.
Because every creature, canine, feline and human that comes into my life becomes part of me. Even as it is not.
I care deeply about the well being of everyone who enters my little sphere. And that’s okay.
It’s okay that I want to see the little boy down the street get a little more attention from his dad, and it’s okay that it is not my responsibility. But while he is in my home, I will stop and listen to the story, answer the question. Because while he is in my home, he is my responsibility. A part of my reality.
And then he leaves. And that’s okay too.
And Lily will leave. And my husband and I will play a part in choosing her new home to ensure that she is loved and well cared for.
But until then?
I am glad she is doing well. And no matter where she eventually ends up I will know that her success is due in no small part to me. That I was the one that helped her get that big fat round belly. I was the one that warmed up her chopped beef and made sure she ate it.
I was the one who praised her when she went outside to poop (and cursed her when she didn’t).
And Geesh for such a small thing – she poops A LOT!