Confessions of a First Time Foster

I can never take Brother and Sister to the Vet at the same time. It was doable when they were pups, but these days, try to walk them both on-leash at the same time and I’m nearly drawn and quartered. And for some reason, if they ride together, Sister gets carsick; individually, there’s no problem. The Vet’s only five minutes away. So my plan was to take Brother first, have him checked over, then come back for the second visit with Jackson and Sister.

My little internal voice told me not to do that, to just take three individual dogs on three individual appointments. I didn’t listen to the little internal voice. Lesson learned: Always listen to the little internal voice.

Brother’s appointment went smoothly. Drive, arrive, shots, treats, wag, home, done. Then the fun began!

Sister was not too pleased about being in a closed vehicle with a puppy she was still doing her best to ignore. Both she and Jackson constantly jumped from the front seat to the back, he chasing her and she trying to escape. When I pulled into the parking lot, I had to sit there for ten full minutes trying to get them to calm down enough to go into the office. Of course, a woman with a sheltie in the back of her Jeep pulled in to the space next to me…I’m absolutely positive she was inside telling the staff about the crazy woman yelling at the two dogs in the truck.

I was absolutely exhausted by the time we got inside. Sister got her boosters, then Jackson got his. He kept backing up on the table, trying to get away. I had Sister, who was completely ignoring all of her obedience training, on leash on my right hand and was trying to scoot the puppy toward the Vet with my left, while Jackson was doing his best to retreat backwards away from the Vet. Easy? NO, of course not! The way my luck had been over the past couple of days, I was worried that somehow I’d get the distemper shot in my left boobie. Somehow we did enough shuffling so that he was properly checked over, pronounced sound and ready to go home.

The Vet expressed interest in Jackson for some friends of his; the groomer also asked about adopting him for her mother. Two at once! Just like everyone else, though, they’d have to file an application through bichonrescue.org. I wouldn’t mind the groomer’s Mom having him; I’m sure he’d be loved, not to mention clean and clipped. And even though the Vet had expressed interest on behalf of his friends and not his own family, I could hear a Momma’s voice in my ear saying “A doc-tah! A DOC-TAHHHH!”

Thankfully, the groomer offered to help take the dogs back out to the truck, so I gave her Jackson to hold (yes, hoping she’d form an attachment). When we got home, and I got them back inside, I returned to try to clean the upholstery…to discover that one, the other or both had relieved themselves all over the mail in the back seat. Gah!!

It took about fifteen minutes to get everything liveable again, and as I was sorting the ruined mail in the kitchen, Brother and Sister wandered in. I checked them for reactions (they’d had severe reactions as pups and lesser ones in later years). No problems. Jackson looked OK as well. It seemed we were going to get through the day relatively unscathed. Time for a nice cup of tea.

And literally, in the time it took to fill the kettle, turn around, put it on to boil and grab a mug, Jackson blew up like a balloon and was staggering.

I don’t even remember scooping him up, getting back on the road and calling the vet. The next thing I remember was pulling in to the parking lot and rushing Jackson inside. I took a seat in the waiting area, and when I was called in, for some reason I couldn’t get up from the chair. It took a minute to realize the immobility was caused by pressure on my wounded toe, so much adrenalin was coursing through my system. But I suddenly felt that in full force.

They must have thought it was an emotional moment and not a physical one, because the tech took Jackson from me and went into the back room of the clinic. He had been so quiet and lethargic, that when he started his regular yelping and whining, it sounded great. Then sudden silence. Then they were bringing him back out to me.

He was yelping like a mad thing at being handled and examined. The sudden silence was when they gave him the shot to stop the reaction. They asked if I could wait around for 15 minutes or so, so they could monitor his progress. Of course. He was still lethargic so I just held him against my chest.

The waiting room was deserted. The staff was in the back doing their closing-up routines. Jackson was warmer than usual, and I felt his breath against my neck as it gradually evened out.

I had such doubts in that moment. I wondered if this had been a bad decision, and if the reaction and the toe and all the barf and poop were somehow signs telling me that I should give this puppy back and let someone else Foster him. Obviously I wasn’t cut out for this. I knew full well that the Vet and his staff all believed I was certifiably insane as it was; they’d all seemed somewhat skeptical when I brought Jackson in. I really didn’t want to try to find another Vet. This one listens and really cares about animals. His kids are involved with animals, and I like the idea of passing that to the next generation. His staff is knowledgeable and puts up with me. But it was pretty clear to everyone at that moment…I was just a bad foster mommy. That’s all there was to it. Probably a bad mommy overall.

Somehow during all that I had unconsciously started rocking and snuggling Jackson tightly. His head was less balloony; his eyes were less swollen and were going back to their proper color. The Vet sat down to look, and said his muzzle was less swollen. We could go home.

Once home, I set Jackson on a soft towel in his cage for a long nap. Brother and Sister came to investigate. When I checked back ten minutes later, they were stretched out alongside the cage, keeping watch.