(Except Gracie. I need to remember her. In fact, this week is make-up-for-ignoring-Gracie-week and everything is all about Gracie. She’s gonna get fat on treats. I’m even letting her lie her next to me as I write EVEN THOUGH I know she will fart. I can take it.)
I miss my puppies. Yesterday, Nick observed my sadness and said, “You’re jonesing for a puppy, aren’t you?”
Chism took off for her forever life with the perfect adopter on Saturday. I worried for weeks that we would never find someone who could handle her. She’s SO smart. She’s SO intense. She’s SO much dog. But Jeff is ready for this. As his girlfriend (who is a VET TECH!!) said to me, “She’s going to be his only daughter and you know how that goes…” He will be all about Chism. (No new name yet. He said he was thinking about “Betty” but once he met her it didn’t seem to work.) And she’ll have space to roam on his family’s farm and a fenced yard where she can hunt bunnies. And best of all – no cats!
Happy for her. Sad for me.
Usually, when one dog leaves, we’re already prepping for (or in some cases already have) a new foster dog. That keeps me distracted from the sadness of letting the last one go. This time there’s no dog waiting in the wings.
We’re taking a little hiatus to celebrate our 20th anniversary (which is actually in November, but kids activities and Nick’s work travel are in the way of celebrating on the actual date). We’re heading to Virginia for a fall winery tour. Very excited about this. The leaves will be awesome, the weather looks good, we’re taking the bikes, and I’m researching which wineries we’ll hit. I love Virginia. I love my husband. I love nature. I love wine. It’ll all be good.
But I wish I had a dog. (I know, I know…I have Gracie, but –and don’t take this the wrong way and send me hate email – she doesn’t count. She generally ignores me. She lays around. She wants for nothing.)
I’m watching the list of dogs and puppies looking for foster homes on the next transport. I could get another OPH foster to grab one for me and hold it overnight since the transport is Saturday this time. Then once we get home and drop the bags, I could go pick it up. Absolutely silly. But if I don’t, then I’ll have to wait ANOTHER week without a dog (yes, there’s Gracie, I know.).
Here’s how bad the addiction is… I’m communicating with another foster about picking up a dog from her ON OUR WAY HOME Sunday. Crazy habit this has become.
The foster dog in question is not getting along with one of his current foster’s doggies and prefers girl dogs, so I’m contemplating helping everybody out (the foster, the dog, me!) by stopping by and grabbing John Coffey (that’s his name). His name sounds very upstanding, but I hear he’s a bundle of fun and a potential running buddy.
Course, he could get adopted before we even have a chance to meet him. Check him out here. He reminds me of Stitch, who was a family foster fav, so it might be a perfect fit. And I’ll have a great souvenir to bring home with me from vacation.