While I was away on my girls' trip, I got a call from the dog fostering group—Edna had been returned because they claimed she was "aggressive." I was spitting mad. They had her for a grand total of six hours before giving up on her. Ugh. Some people just don’t even try.
Since I was in North Carolina, I called Christopher and asked him to bail her out of “doggy jail.” The rescue made her stay for two days to observe her behavior—she showed no signs of aggression—then they allowed us to foster her again until the next adoption event.
I have to admit, giving her up a second time was even harder. But this time, I wasn't going to let the foster group be in charge of finding her the right family. I clipped an “Adopt Me” leash on her and talked to everyone at the event.
If someone didn’t feel like an “Edna person,” I leaned into her challenges. But if I saw potential, I told them about her strengths. And when I met the family I really hoped would take her home, I gave them the full picture—the good, the bad, the ugly, and the hilarious.
After an hour of thinking it over, that sweet mom and daughter came back and adopted Edna.
I was overjoyed… and then I sat in my car and cried. I really loved that sweet girl, and so did the whole family.
Maybe fostering isn’t for us after all—or maybe this is just the hardest, most beautiful part of it.
