This would be the first time I'd had to back out of a foster. It was supposed to get easier with each dog, as we learned better how to be fosters, as we all grew more used to the disruption to our routine. To be faced with the reality that I can be overwhelmed by having an extra one in my home--in my life--is hard to take.
I worked with the rescue to find Cam a new foster. I was relieved, but also felt like I'd failed him. I knew that getting him to a calm and appropriate foster situation would be better than being in one that is not. By admitting we were overwhelmed and getting him to a stable home I have to think we did the right thing. My head knows this. My heart disapproves.
I had to remind myself that for the several days he was with us, we showered him with love and affection, gave him toys to play with and healthy food to eat, took him to the vet and got him current on his shots as well as had him neutered. We took good care of him and never took our own frazzledness out on him. I suppose we acted as sort of a stop-over before Cam went to his actual foster, Lance.
As we drove to meet Lance, Cam blissfully poked his nose out the window of our car and let the breeze blow his floppy ears. He grinned contentedly. He really is a good car rider.
When we pulled up to the parking lot of Albertson's, the midway point where we would be making the exchange, I eagerly craned my neck to get my first look at the new foster. "That's him," my husband said when we saw the green Expedition. I waved at the man behind the window and he returned my wave with a smile. Oh, good. I liked him already.
He stepped out of his SUV and I saw that he hadn't even changed from work--he was still in slacks and a polo shirt. On his right forearm was a calligraphy tattoo. I didn't look long enough to make it out ("Stare,"my writing teacher had said. Mom said it wasn't polite to stare. Conundrum.) I liked the juxtaposition of this clean-cut guy and his big tattoo. Juxtapositions can mean balance. A sense of responsibility as well as a sense of fun. The thing I liked the most was the huge smiled that spread over Lance's face when my husband led Cam out of the backseat of our car. Love at first glance. And when Lance mentioned that his wife worked from and--best of all--that they had had labs before, I knew we had made the best decision for Cam by giving him to a new foster.
That last look back at a foster dog is always the hardest. I'm so happy they are where they need to be, but sad to say goodbye to an animal I have loved and cared for--no matter how briefly. It helped that Lance watched us as we drove off, and waved from the front seat of his Expedition.
I didn't cry as I had anticipated. Not until the next day, when I broke down in frustration over the state of my flowerbed (I'm not a good gardener) and found hot tears flooding my eyes. They weren't for the overgrown wildflowers and choking poppies; they were for that big, yellow, handsome boy.
I am not a failure, I remind myself. A failure would have allowed her pride to steer the situation, and as a result made a foster situation that was tense, anxious, and fertile ground for issues at work, trouble in my marriage, unhappiness for our dogs and unbearable stress for a dog who just came out of an unstable, stressful situation. If I had done that, I would have failed us all. Sometimes, conceding defeat is the most graceful, most compassionate action you can take.
On the way home from the meeting with Lance, my husband said, "You know they're going to adopt Cam, right?" I glanced over at him. His eyes were on the road, the wind was blowing in from all the windows we'd had down for Cam. "I could tell by the way he smiled when he saw Cam. I bet within two weeks, they'll have adopted him."
I hope he's right. I'll keep you posted.
"Camelot"
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