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.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment