Foster Failure

Hi.  It’s been a while since I’ve blogged.  Not that there wasn’t much to talk about.  Oh, there’s ALWAYS something to talk about.  Rather I’ve been so busy on ‘ventures and the holidays and being a “big brother” that I just haven’t taken the time to compose my thoughts.  However, today I’m posting because now there seems to be a lot to talk about.  I am going to beg for forgiveness that my first blog back isn’t terribly lighthearted.  But it’s something that Mom and I need to discuss.  Mom and I were up all night—for different reasons—but we agreed we need to put this out there.

I think you all know that we foster.  I’m not too happy about it but I love my Mom and I am willing to help.  There is a term in the vernacular of us foster families.  It’s called Foster Failure.  It’s sort of a tongue in cheek expression for falling in love with the dog that you are fostering and not letting it back out of your house.  Never letting it go to be adopted by that “forever” family.  We laugh about it—actually I am ALWAYS worried mom will be a foster failure.  ‘Specially with “IT”.  *HOWL*  But Mom has done the right thing (not that foster failing is the wrong thing—she can just do it when I’m no longer around!) and after we’ve worked long and hard and suffered helping the new dogs become dogs, she lets them go.  It’s pretty cool, actually. 

However, we had a Foster Failure this past week.  And it wasn’t because we kept a foster forever.  Oh, how we wish we had.  No, sadly our latest foster was placed in what was, by all appearances, a good home, but now she is dead.  Something compelled her to try to escape and she ran away and was instantly (we hope) killed on the street. 

We failed her.  She was not the failure.  The situation was not the failure.  WE failed her.  It’s hard being a foster family.  Many dogs come to us without the love and care that I had.  But as I have always said, us dogs have a tremendous capacity to heal and forgive and us foster families help expedite that “recovery”.  Foster dogs are not as articulate as I am.  They have a hard time telling us what happened.  They are embarrassed, fearful, anxious.  But slowly, over time, and with my help, too, they begin to relax.  And in our house, if you’re a girl and you were homeless, you get to join the Homeless Girls Club.  Have I mentioned that always makes me mad?  I’m a good helper but I don’t get to participate in meetings… Ah, but again I digress.   I struggle with that don’t I?

But between the girls club meetings, and walks, and meeting new people, the basic rules of pack hierarchy, good healthy food, and CONSISTENCY, they learn to trust.  And to have fun.  And, most importantly, to be a dog.  Many people think this is a hard job.  It’s hard for me, because I have as much, if not more, work than Mom.  But I know it makes Mom happy and, well, the more I work, the faster they leave.  In the case of this past foster, it was the Princess Sophie who had most of the work.  She was a pretty good teacher too.  I hate to admit, but I was impressed. 

But back to the failure.  It is when our jobs have been completed, and the foster has become a real dog again, that the true challenge of the situation arises.  At what point does Mom make a decision it’s time to let our foster go.  And more so, to what family?  Most people think it’s hard to let them go.  Sometimes it is.  Sometimes it’s not.  To me, it’s never hard.  Good riddance.  But for Mom it’s harder sometimes than others.  I think it depends on how “damaged” (*GRRRR* I hate that word.  We are not damaged or broken, but you humans love to use that expression.  I prefer to think of it as bad life experiences) the foster was and how much wonderful progress (aka work I have done) it makes.   I also think it’s how much the new foster SUCKS UP to Mom, but again, I digress. 

Actually, for Mom, the hardest thing to do is decide which home and situation would be the best for our foster, and when the time would be right for our foster to make the move to that new home.  It’s always hard for a dog to change homes.  I mean, think about it.  You’ve been terrified.  You’re better.  You love your pack.  And now you’re being thrown into a new pack?  It’s scary.  Some of us are more ready.  Some of us will never be ready.  It’s my Mom’s job to make that decision. 

One of the things Mom has to decide, too, is WHAT kind of home.  Can our foster be in a larger pack?  Either humans or canines.  Or both.  (How many of you know that pack size alters behavior?  Did you know that a confident dog in a small pack can become a terrified subordinate in a large pack?)   Can our foster be in an active home?  Can our foster thrive in a home where there is no exercise?  Can our foster be comfortable with only boys or only girls—humans or dogs?  When is the appropriate time to let go of our foster?  There is a fine line between too soon and too late.  Too soon, the foster might never blossom.  Too late, they have already bonded and the move will be devastating, especially if the foster was fragile to begin with.  Too soon or too late and they have formed new personality traits which might be hard to break, or worse, unacceptable.   

In the case of our last foster, we all thought the time was right.  She blossomed.  She laughed.  She was getting so much more confident.  She had opportunities to meet lots of new people and new dogs.  SHE BECAME A DOG.  We felt that perhaps a family of fewer dogs and more humans would be good.  She loved attention and the “laying on the hands”, but was somewhat aloof when there were TOO many dogs.

 I met the new “Forever” home for our latest foster.  They had a nice dog and some really nice children.  I thought they were ok.  But, *sigh* I like everybody.  We know no other home is like ours.  We know no other parents are like ours.  That’s ok.  It shouldn’t be.  I’ve said this before:  us dogs are malleable.  We adapt.   All we really want is love.  We thought it would work.

It didn’t. 

We failed her.  We missed something.  We knew she needed to be in a smaller canine pack.  We knew she needed lots of loving.  This home seemed to have both.  But, she felt compelled to escape and we’ll never know why.  Was it too soon to give her up?  Was it too late?  Did she really need to have a female dog companion?  Were there too many people in that house?  Were her fears so great that she couldn’t cope?  Was she really that fragile?   And the worst thought?  Was she being treated ok? 

We’ll never know. 

It’s really hard being a foster family.  We know over the long haul we do the best we can.  We have saved lives.  And we hope we have given a better life to these dogs that had no life at all.   All of the foster people out there have saved lives.  If it weren’t for a wonderful foster mom, we wouldn’t have Princess Sophie (well maybe I should rethink that statement).  If it weren’t for another selfless foster mom we wouldn’t have Ditto.  But boy, it’s hard.

My next blog?  Guilt and forgiveness?   I don’t know.  I still want to talk about food y’know.  But, I have to go now.  I have to give my furs back to my mom so she can cry some more.  Boy, I hate that part. 

 I’m not sure you were Bearmused today.  I’m sorry if you weren’t.  But thanks for reading everyone.