Housemate O. and I have been kicking around the idea of taking in a foster dog from Seattle Humane Society -- a pup who needs a little extra love, attention, discipline or socialization, and who might not find his or her permanent home without it.
I've grown attached to one little guy in recent months, a Chihuahua mix who came with dozens of others from a shelter in Los Angeles. According to his paperwork, he's 5 or 6 years old, and was found as a stray. I'm pretty sure no one has ever worked on training with him before; the first time we met, after a walk, I tried to teach him the "sit" command. He didn't always get it, but the moment he realized he could do something that would make me give him a treat, his eyes lit up and his tail started wagging.
A few weeks in the shelter turned him into a more cheerful, social dog, which is saying a lot about the conditions he must have lived in before. Finally, we decided to just go ahead and do it.
Meet Taquito, our new foster dog.
The fact that he's sitting happily next to Pooka on the deck is a big step for a little man who bared his teeth at all the other animals in the family just 24 hours earlier.
The first two days have been stressful -- I'm not sure why I thought perhaps they wouldn't be. I'm feeling some of the same crazy weight of responsibility I felt when Pooka arrived, and my affection for him is muted by my despair that our efforts will be in vain, even though that's a totally irrational concern. I mean, he's already attempting to pee on fewer indoor surfaces every day!
Like all the dogs (and many children, too), he's an adorable angel when he's asleep, and that's what's keeping us going right now. He's bossy, loves food, hates cats and squirrels. Which means he should get along just fine in our family, right?
I'll keep everyone posted.
Woof.
