a photo of the edge of the earth

More Falstaff updates

here is where Falstaff is listed by the rescue group.
http://search.petfinder.com/petnote/displaypet.cgi?petid=6856151

Lydia, who runs Special Pets Rescue, sent me email saying that Falstaff was having a test visit with a Bay Area couple who are crazy about him. In her next email, she asked if I was open to fostering because I'd done such a good job with Falstaff. I nearly cried, having felt like such a total failure with him the whole time -- I told her it was largely Frank and his mom who civilized the dog. But it did give me new confidence.

And, aha! I saw a pattern: I've quit a few jobs in my life, based on how I felt inside about them, which was totally lousy, only to have people say, oh, you were doing such a good job, why do you want to leave. What's the lesson here? Ask for more feedback? Do a satisfaction survey? Assume that unless I hear otherwise, I'm doing fine? My default setting is just the opposite. And even when I get good feedback, I still feel like an impostor. "Boy, am I fooling them." Can I get an amen?

A faint hum in my life

You know how your ears ring after a long loud noise stops? Well, now that Falstaff's continuous-motion-machine is not in my life, there's this kind of a hum leftover -- I catch myself thinking suddenly, "What's he getting into?" or "How long has he been with Frank's mom today?" or I brace myself when the door opens, but it's only Frank and Sturmz, no explosion of wiggle and jump. I'm suspended between "whew" and "waahh."

Falstaff goes out with a bang

I drove Falstaff to Sabastopol yesterday, a trip of about 3.5 hours south. We met the gal who runs Special Pets Rescue, Lydia, and the foster mom, Shawn, and the resident girl dog, Ayowan(?).

Falstaff of course made no effort to make a good impression -- after kissing up to Ayowan, he grabbed the tennis ball from her and raced around the open field, looking over his shoulder like "Chase me!" Then he dodged all three of us and took a tour of the house, flew back out and, in one fluid motion, grabbed up a dead gopher and kept running. Since in those situations he takes my screams of "leave it!" to mean "grab it and get away fast!" I got ahold of him and pried his jaws open and shook the critter out. No way was I touching it.

Well, I figure there will be no honeymoon period, and Shawn professes to like the chaos that comes with fostering, so with Falstaff she will not be disappointed.

I had a good cry on the way down there, but when it came to the actual transfer I felt embarassed by his performance and by their reaction to my 2 pages of notes on him and to the package of cream cheese and tube of liverwurst I had included with the inventory of his belongings.

Well, I don't know how other people give up their dogs, but that was how I did it.
Bon voyage, baby. It was never dull.

So Long, Falstaff (I can't say goodbye)

After a couple of months of advertising and postering and posting on the web, a mixed-breed rescue group out of Lake County (northeast of us) has room for Falstaff. I'm supposed to bring him to them tomorrow afternoon.

He's been so much better for the last month, even coming back to check in when we're on off-leash walks.

So now the second-guessing starts, the self-doubt. Was I really just not patient enough, didn't I have enough faith, was growing up all that was needed, am I just repeating some old losses (moving a lot, other wounds)? Am I incapable of crafting a long-lasting relationship? Do I have the right to set my own terms for a canine companion? People who know me and have seen me with him have laughed at the mismatch, yet the doubts continue....