Little Stinkers

Our latest fosters were seven-week-old siblings, Quin and Nini. We never really called them by name. We should have, but we were only fostering them for two weeks and it would only confuse them when they were adopted…and they will be adopted, VERY SOON! 

He was long and lanky with a tail like a whip. He also was much more social, vocal, and agile than his sister. He ran and scampered, trying to engage with all of us, including Dorothy, our five-year-old foster fail. He was a particularly able, attentive, and mature dog, even for only being less than two-months-old. 

She, scruffy, fluffy with large brown eyes, white boots and a stubby tail, was adorable personified...and she knew it. Unlike her brother, with his unabashed affection, she was more aloof. That said, she didn’t hesitate to tell us what she wanted though; food, to be picked up and put on the couch, to be petted, and to be carried back to the house when she was too tired to run any longer. 
She often slept or peered out from under the living room couch or underneath the bed. Recently, she would nap between the closet wall and the laundry basket. I panicked one day when I couldn’t find her anywhere. There she was crammed behind the dirty clothes and the wall, fast asleep. 

From the beginning, they both made an effort to use the wee wee pads. I am always amazed by stray dogs knowing something so basic while our pure breeds had no clue. But while they tried to use the pads, they often missed. 
Of all of the fosters we've had to-date, these two had, by far, the stinkiest poops of all! I can honestly say, their poops would wake the dead. No matter how fast asleep I was, I was awoken by that smell and have to get out of bed to clean it up! 

They came to us with fleas, hook worm and ring worm, of which they were properly treated by the St. Croix Animal Welfare Center. Nonetheless, the meds didn't kick in right away and the first few times they’d pooped, the worms could be seen jumping out of the pile. I know, gross, right? Well, then you’re lucky you didn’t have to clean it up. I’m squeamish, but I did it. I really should have worn gloves...ah, next time. 

The boy, the shelter called, Quin often jumped on our legs until you reached down and picked him up. He then would proceed to lick your lips and work his way to your eyes and forehead. He didn’t just do it when he wanted food, but usually it was because he was hungry. She, on the other hand, didn’t really want to be handled, that is, not until the day before we were to bring her back. All of a sudden, she decided she liked people and wanted not only to be petted, which was a new thing for her, she would lie across my neck and place her mouth on mine where she breathed in my exhales. So sweet. And unlike all of the other fosters, she very patiently would stand next to the food dish. Sometimes, she’d whimper a little, or look up at you longingly, but mostly she trusted that if you notice her next to the dish, you’d feed her. That’s also a trait I'd never seen before, patience.

Going outside was a wonderful treat for us all. The first time I brought them out, Nini got trapped behind the glass door. For the life of her, she didn't know how to walk around it in order to get outside. Panicked, she began to let out the more pathetic barks. Finally, I picked her up and I placed her on the other side of the door, next to her brother. Poor Dorothy, still waiting for the two of them to make their way to the yard, amused, she bounded toward them, buzzed the two and scooted up the steps as if to say, "Come on, follow me!!!" 

We took them out whenever Dorothy went out. They clambered out the door as soon as Peter or I would open it. One time, while we were all at the bottom of the driveway, the dogs next door started barking. That was all Quin needed to drive him back to the house. Off he went, only looking over his shoulder once to see if I was following.

Out of all of the dogs we’ve fostered, only one dog made his way up on our four-poster bed and that was purely by accident. By sheer will, Forest, a tall lanky pup, much taller than Quin, jumped and clawed his way onto our bed. But Quin, once he learned to climb the steps, he was on the bed every night, where he’d kiss my face, then Peter, then find Dorothy and lie down right next to her. So sweet. That’s where he’d be until 6 or 7am when he’d stand up and I’d quickly pick him up and place him on the floor so that he could run to a wee wee pad to pee and poop. So well behaved. 

She, on the other hand, would stand up and make the most ear piercing sounds until I picked her up and put her on the bed. For most of the time they were with us, she’d attack Dorothy, bite her, lick her, step on her back. Nini didn’t really want us to pet her or snuggle with her. But then, just before our time with her was up, she sweetly cooed to be picked up, settled down on my neck, and slept that way for almost a 1/2 hour. She spent the next two days asking for snuggles, sleeping next to my feet, and following me around. What happened that all of a sudden she liked us? Maturity, familiarity, bonding? All of the above, I imagine. 

As with the other fosters, when I knew I’d have to give them up the next day, I spent the remainder of our time saying things like, “This will be the last time I give you a bath” “The last time you’ll sleep on my chest” and “Oh, I’m going to miss your stinky breath." Then I’d tear up. 

Each dog has individual traits. You can’t say a dog will most definitely be this way or that at 2 day, 2 weeks, 2 months old. You can’t look at a dog and think that pudgy, square, button of a nose will stay that way. Piglet had the stubbiest little snout and now her nose is as long and as pointy as her huge caricature ears. Who knew she would look this way? I didn’t. And so you don’t know if this dog will win the hearts of their new loved ones or what about them might be too much. Will the family that adopts Jackson tolerate his chewing on furniture? Will Roary’s owner tell him to shut the hell up? Will Skye's person give up on her if she reverts back to her aloof, scared, feral self? You just don’t know. 

You hope the folks who adopt are patient, kind, gentle and loving. You hope they don’t

give up on them once they are not longer cute little puppies. You wish for each baby to get the attention and dedication needed to make a good dog.

Because while I have them at 8 days to 8 weeks, they are all good dogs. All dogs with the potential to be good companions. No matter how many fleas, bald spots, and slimy worms they may have, for the four days to two months they are with me, they are all lovable, helpless, beings that rely on me to feed them, house them, and love them. 

Each and every puppy had qualities I adored and thought I could not live without. And in my ego-centric momminess, I thought they needed me and only me. But our family has a dog that’s our son’s, a recently adopted dog that’s our daughter’s and Peter and I have a pure bred dog that we’ve raised as a puppy and Dorothy, our latest rescue. A puppy is adoptable. Someone will always want that puppy. Hopefully, it’s someone that can spend more time, devote more energy, and give more love than I can with so many other animals to care for. That’s the theory anyway. I’m not always convinced that I’m not the best person for any pet, every pet...but there are people out there that can love them, too. 

I have come to finding out that all of the puppies I’ve fostered were all adopted within a week of being adoptable. Most were adopted after only a few days. And another one was adopted by some guy who was following her progress on my Instagram Account and ran over to the Center an hour after I dropped her off! I couldn’t be more pleased. 

In any case, Quin and Nini were brought to the Shelter to be fixed yesterday. We returned to a very quiet home. Dorothy watched us come in and stayed looking out the front door the remainder of the day, I’m assuming, waiting for the puppies to come back. Peter walked by our bedroom and was saddened when he realized the brownish fuzzball under the bed wasn’t Quin, but a discarded chew toy his exact color and size. And this morning, I got to sleep past 6am but I missed having Nini as a scarf. 

I have no doubt they will be adopted (As of this edited version, she had been adopted only one day after being at The Pet Place!) I’m not crying because I fear they won’t. I’m crying because I miss them. I loved their beseeching eyes, their rough tongues, their wagging tails. I miss having to feel around before putting full weight on my feet in case one of them had plopped down in front of me as I sat on the couch. I was grossed out by their rancid poo that burned the inside of my nose and lingered for hours afterward. But I’d give anything to clean up after them, to run around with them, to cuddle them close and have them lick my face just one more time, those adorable little stinkers.