Recently a friend was telling me about trying to bring their beloved pet along in their vacation. Her best alternative was to designate him as her husband's support animal.
In all the mania of today's world, it is comforting to know that such a thing now exists even if it is only so our furry friends can accompany us on a getaway.
After an intense and frustrating spring, I opted to become a foster parent to dogs at our local kennel. They were stretched to the far corners with dogs and cats making fostering a necessity. Our first venture turned into a great success. Miami came and made herself at home but was placed with a family in North Alabama relatively quickly. I had assured the workers that once school started I would come back to begin another round of filling our now empty space with a dog who needed us temporarily.
The older two grandsons going into the 4th and 5th grade went with me to the pound for what I designated our final field trip of summer. We toured the pound and met a horrified six-year-old Jack Russell who had been tossed around and finally dropped off there. The elderly couple who tried to foster him then had to bring him back because he refused to warm up to them. Benjamin was so torn up he told the dog he would give him his new school shoes if he would stop shaking and be happy.
For the first couple of days all I saw of Scrappy was one eye peering at me from behind the dryer in the laundry room. He found a clear spot allowing him to see me through the breakfast room into the kitchen. He wouldn't eat or drink until I walked away. After day two he decided the coast was clear to come out. Chloe, the 3-year-old Shi Zhu, was not happy at first having pouted extensively over the last puppy trying to play with her toys and sleep at the foot of our bed, but even she seemed to notice how sad and lonely this dog acted. She would bark at the door when I opened it for him to come out with her.
After a couple of weeks Scrappy was still horrified of Clay. We soon figured out he must have been mistreated by a man and obviously was beaten with a belt or something like that because he would run if he saw Clay take one out of the closet getting ready for work. In a couple more weeks he decided he was my dog, following on my heels from one end of the house to the other, causing me to trip on him. But he still did not want to be touched, which was trying on my patience, and I understood why the elderly couple had likely brought him back.
Unlike every dog we had ever had before, he showed no emotion or playfulness. So about one month in, I was startled when I walked into the house after work, and he was actually wagging his tail with a toothy grin. That night he decided to sleep at the foot of our bed with Chloe, and to my surprise the finicky little princess scooted over and let him up. We are now at five weeks and this morning I rolled over and his head was next to mine on my pillow. So here we go.
Our foster experience was short lived. Scrappy is wrapping up his heartworm treatments and then we will adopt him. He will be an official Foreman. Becoming a foster parent to orphan dogs was a hope to help us fill the empty space our large lab left when he died. Clay has always been the "dog whisperer." I was not prepared to be the emotional support person for Scrappy. If he could have papers on me, I believe he would.
Having said that, I was not prepared to come to the realization I in fact needed an emotional support dog as much as he needed me. I believe it must be a universal thing that all living things need to feel loved and to love others. When we are hit with a loss sometimes the only way to fill that absence is getting to love again and to accept being loved and needed by even the smallest of four legged creatures. Chloe even shares her toys with him, everything but her chicken. Nobody touches the chicken.
