Fostering: the dog blog

Bruce-formerly known as Tank-now known as Rocky.

This, is Bruce, or at least he was Bruce; they probably changed his name.

I never fostered an animal before. I knew a decent bit of it and obviously I fuckin love dogs so when I saw his picture posted through a local rescue I couldn’t say no. He had kennel cough, which in the city pound is a death sentence.  In the picture posted he looked like a smallish pup and Pudge and Rose are friendly with smaller dogs so I just had to convince Dean.

This is how.

My masterpiece

Okay, yeah Dean doesn’t care what dies as long as its not me or Rose, but he knows I do, so the emotional ploy still worked.

I got an okay from one of the upstairs roommates (the only one whose opinion I give a shit about because he doesn’t steal our fuckin coolaid), and a mutual friend had an extra kennel so everything was rockin’ and rolin’ .

Everything was not “rockin’ and rolin'”.

First, it takes the rescue over three days to respond and here I am shitting myself thinking this dog is dead. Finally, the director gets back to me and says he was already fostered then dropped off again. Okay…. what happened? She wouldn’t tell me.

Hoping this dog isn’t vicious or something I drive to the pound and meet the representative who brings out a masive 70lb Staffordshire Terrier named Tank. Well shit.

On the way home he managed to, chew up  my seatbelt, pee on the seat cushion, climb all over the front seats and me while I was on the highway, and learn how the open the windows before hanging his whole body out the side while I was going 50mph. At this point, I would be fine with him launching himself from the car and disappearing from my responsibilities.

Okay, fine I wasn’t cool with that idea and instead had a panic attack swerving side to side yelling out a name he had no familiarity with. I finally managed to pull to the side and shove him back in, clicking the child lock.

That evening Dean got home from work and I begged him to help me introduce the dogs. He brought out Rose first and she greeted him nicely, though every chance Bruce got he was trying to fuck her. (Oh, also wasn’t mentioned to me he was not neutered and therefore would drive my female dog to insanity)

Anyway, then came Pudge. Pudge was not a fan. Now, Pudge has hurt hips and can’t make it around too easily, and so Bruce took him as no threat, but Pudge did not care as he continuously attempted to stand on Bruce in a futile attempt to assert dominance. Then came to ear biting. I think Pudge is a closeted gay.

They would sit and stare into each other’s eyes, as long as there was a wall between them.

Long story short, he did not like Bruce. Weeks were spent introducing the two with the same result, so for the past month my time has been spent alternating which dogs are crying in their kennel. Eventually, Rose got fed up with the content fuckboi attitude of Bruce and I even had to separate them.

After a month of never having heard a word out of the agency, I emailed the representative and told her this was not a good home for Bruce and that I cannot do the advertisement and was frustrated that they have done nothing and if they would just post about him he would be adopted instantly. I received back an all caps email with exclamation points about how I am a horrible person. I insisted it was not healthy for him to constantly be in a kennel, so she finally agreed to post him on their instagram to get another foster. Two hours later, he was filed for adoption and I set up a meet and greet with the family. *eye role*. But yes, I am a terrible human being.

This was the post they made to find a new foster. My favorite hashtags are underlined.

Anyway, I dropped him off today at his new home with his new best friend and it was actually a rather fulfilling moment, that is if you ignore all the shit that went into it.

Also, I learned the woman is pregnant and due yesterday. It all makes sense now…

I hate people.

Dogs are awesome.

The end.

In conclusion, would I ever foster again? Yes. But never ever with this rescue again. And I will make sure the dog is no bigger than Pudge so the crippled man doesn’t feel threatened.



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