Am I Being Tested?

If so, I FAIL!  This is L.C.  (just like Elsie, only with a doggie twist) 

She is evidence that my best laid plans have serious weak points. 

Several weeks ago, I had an honest conversation with myself.  I made it very clear that I NEED/MUST/WILL cut down on the number of fosters I have.  This is a difficult decision for me because I love being able to step in every time a furbaby needs a place to go.   But at a certain point, it become obvious that one house can only hold so many dogs before it is simply a zoo.  (Okay, we passed the zoo-point a long time ago… but that’s the best term I have). 

Doc was adopted two Saturdays ago.  He has an awesome new family.  Watson moped around for a few days after his brother was gone, but has bounced right back to his old self.  With Doc in his new home, we had a tiny little space open for another foster at our house.  I consciously decided NOT to fill it, no matter how much it hurt.  Then, Fate/God/Destiny… whatever term you prefer to call “The It” that makes things happen… laughed in my face.    

Saturday was supposed to be a relaxing day for Scott and I.  We dropped the dogs off at the AARF Adoption Fair early, in order to meet a group of friends for brunch.  But, right as we pulled into the apartment complex to pick up one of those friends, I spotted a dog running along the road.  I started excitedly pointing and making grunting noises that any other dog lover would have been able to interpret as – “A Dog!  We have to stop!  Pull over now!”.  However, Scott pretended not to understand my babble and may have even sped up at that point, hoping that I had not noticed the dog.  Silly man! 

In typical, Amber-is-addicted-to-dogs-worse-than-any-crack-addict-is-addicted-to-drugs fashion, I left Scott and his friend to go onto brunch while I headed back to find the lost little mutt.  She was still trotting right down Ebert Road.  Every time I pulled over, she would stop about ten feet away from me, have a seat and then cock her head to the side as I called.  But, when I took a step closer to her, she bolted in the other direction.   We repeated our little dance for a good half a mile… at which point, I gave up and full-body dove towards her, thinking I could somehow body slam her to the ground and catch her.  All this managed to do was scare both of us and she bolted into the road.  Naturally, I followed her, waving my arms up and down… screaming to oncoming traffic to slow down (not that they could hear anything the crazy lady in the middle of the road was saying).  Everyone did swerve around us though, thank goodness!

At one point, I opened the door to the car and was shocked when she approached it.  She looked as though she was seriously contemplating jumping in.  As soon as I stepped closer, she pulled away.  At that moment, I gave up.  I called Scott crying, upset that I had ruined our day for a dog I couldn’t even catch.  Then, in that moment, a man appeared.  Perhaps he was a Saint, a God, a Heavenly Angel – or just a friendly older man that had been watching this fool in his yard for the last twenty minutes.  He handed me the greatest gift a girl to ask for – a bag of beef jerky.  You see, if I had been driving my car, I would have had my pre-packed dog catching kit (post on that to come later).  But, on this particular day, I was in Scott’s car… which had ironically just been cleaned and had NOTHING for me to use to bait my little victim.

I tore off pieces of the jerky, luring her closer to me.  Finally, she took a piece right out of my hand and started licking my fingers.  At that point, she let me scoop her up and run her to the car. 

She was initially so afraid of me that, for a short time, I really thought I could stick to my plan of not taking in another foster.  I was convinced that it was in her best interest (totally unselfish, of course) for me to drive right to Animal Control and turn her in.  But, less than a mile down the road, she was licking my face, wagging her tail and all around as sweet as could be.  So, I took her home.    

I imagine walking into our house for the first time feels a little like entering a giant bowl of Jello – you are suddenly engulfed by a wiggling, slobbery mass.  It is difficult to move, a bit suffocating, but not altogether unpleasant.  Of course, this Jello is also very loud.  So, it is no wonder that she was initially terrified of the other dogs.  However, her reaction was unlike any I have seen before and it instantly bonded me with her.  She jumped up on her back legs, hugged me with her whole body and buried her little face in my shoulder, trusting me completely with her safety and stealing my heart.

In the last two days, we have discovered that she knows how to sit, she is housebroken, has completely warmed up to the other dogs, loves to cuddle and is totally crate-trained – even going right in on the word “kennel”.  This dog that wouldn’t come near me on the road, now whines when I leave the room.  But, more than anything, she LOVES to play fetch.  She will chase a ball forever!  Hence, the name L.C. for “Little Chaser”. 

L.C. is a black lab mix, with a white chest that resembles a tuxedo.  She is about fifty pounds and approximately one-year old.  I have advertised her as “Lost” on all of the usual sites and scour the ads for her every day.  I am certain she was a loved family member at one point, but she is underweight enough to make me think that she has been missing for awhile.  On Wednesday, she will go with me to the Humane Society, be scanned for a microchip, tested for heartworms and be evaluated to go on their waitlist.  It looks like the little “plan breaker” may be with us for awhile.