Oliver - Our Very First Foster Dog

I have been working closely with a rescue group for over a year and we decided to coordinate our first dog adoption fair in October. I wanted all the dogs from our group to be present, but I also wanted to bring several from our county's animal control facility for the day to get them some fresh air and exposure in hopes of adoption. Oliver was among the six dogs we brought with us that day. These are the pictures we took of him at the adoption fair:

Oliver is a 5-6 year old 40 pound Lab/Hound mix who was picked up as a stray by an AC officer. He spent one year and 27 days at the county facility. It became clear the day we had him at our adoption fair that the only reason he hadn't been adopted was because he had tested positive for heartworms. Heartworms are very expensive to treat and the recovery is not easy. For a shelter dog, a HW+ status is an enormous obstacle to overcome.

None of the pound pups were adopted that day and we were faced with the sad task of returning everyone to the shelter. Drew had absolutely fallen in love with Oliver and was heartbroken to leave him behind. He was so quiet and well-behaved all day and had nothing but friendly kisses for anyone who approached him. His gentle spirit left an impression on Drew that didn't fade in the months to come as all five other dogs were eventually rescued or adopted and poor Oliver remained.

We poured our hearts into networking and spreading the word about Oliver to everyone we know, hoping to find a connection that would lead to a foster home, adoptive home, or HW treatment. Any of those options would be a step in the right direction. Our efforts to give Oliver a voice were not in vain; a local rescue group managed to find a vet and raise the funds for several of the HW+ dogs at the county shelter to be treated. Oliver was included in their selection. Things were finally looking up for this guy who had waited so long for a shot at a second chance.

While we were completely thrilled that Oliver was going to be treated, we knew there was more to be done for him. Recovery from heartworm treatment is a long and slow process that is very hard on a dog's system; Oliver needed a foster home where he could rest comfortably. Drew and I decided to put aside our fears of fostering and step up for this sweethearted boy.

We picked Oliver up from the county facility on the day he received his second Immiticide injection. Amazingly, he didn't seem to be feeling too badly. He wasn't at all sore, so we were able to give him a much needed bath. He was a perfect gentleman and seemed happy to be getting some TLC.

He had a great first weekend and gave us no trouble at all. He was in good spirits and we had an easy time keeping him calm and quiet. Drew and I couldn't believe how smoothly he fit into our household. Bunkin didn't seem to mind his presence at all and while Flea was fairly disgruntled, there was really no major grief caused by adding a third dog to our herd. Our house was quiet, we were able to relax and stick to our regular schedules, and there were no dog fights. This was nothing short of amazing.

We had picked Oliver up on a Wednesday and by Sunday evening, he finally started to feel pretty ill. Coughing, labored breathing, loss of appetite, and complete exhaustion set in. The poor guy was having a hard time, but he was so good about resting quietly and staying calm. We used the elevator to take him downstairs for brief potty breaks so he didn't have to exert himself on the stairs. Drew made him chicken and rice and hand fed it to him so that he would have something in his stomach. He finished all of his medications and began to feel better by the second weekend in our home.

While we were out of town for Christmas, Ollie stayed with a rescue friend of ours who also has a soft spot for him. He did wonderfully with her and had no trouble fitting in with her two larger dogs. By the time we came back, it had already been 3 weeks since his treatment. Halfway to healthy! Once Ollie reaches the 4 week mark, we can start slowly rebuilding his strength. I know he is so desperately looking forward to being able to go for a real walk and play with little buddies, Bunkin and Flea.

I cannot adequately convey exactly how good Ollie is. I want to say Oliver will make a wonderful family dog someday, but the truth is he's already done just that. He's house trained, he's crate trained, he's friendly with other dogs of all sizes, he loves people, and I'm sure he would be excellent with children. He loves lounging in his dog bed and getting brushed. We've only heard him bark twice. He is perfectly content to either sleep silently in his crate all night or in his dog bed on the floor next to our bed. He isn't destructive in the least; I feel more comfortable leaving him loose in the house alone than my own dogs. He would love a house with a yard, I'm sure, but he hasn't had the slightest issue adjusting to apartment living. Oliver is just so laid-back and easygoing. He wants nothing more than to please his people and to be loved in return.

As I sit here typing this, Oliver is stretched out on the bed behind me happy as a clam. Drew and I thought it would be difficult to keep our house quiet enough to serve as a hospital for Ollie's recovery, but the truth is he's made it easy for us. Canceling holiday parties and adjusting our morning routines have been such small prices to pay for being able to play a role in this sweet boy's journey. Once he is officially rid of his heartworms, Oliver will be available for adoption. While we know it will be painful to let him go, it will be wonderful to see him find a great forever home. Stay tuned for the second half of Ollie's story...

Accidental Rescues (3 of 3) - Harley

Drew and I were walking our dogs around our apartment complex on a very chilly November evening. We were discussing our Thanksgiving plans and everything that needed to be accomplished before then. Needless to say, it was a busy time for us. As we rounded the corner, a teeny tiny wee little Chihuahua strutted down the sidewalk toward us. I thought to myself, "Oh God, where is his person? Please tell me his person is chasing after him...please don't tell me he's all alone...". He was all alone. There was no one coming after him, no one watching him from any of the balconies above us, and no one frantically calling for him.

The little guy was obviously quite scared as I approached him, but he let me pick him up nevertheless. He was shivering; the temperature was in the 40s and he weighed just about 5 pounds. I hate to think how cold and scared he would have been all night if we hadn't found him. He was so small, we thought maybe he lived in one of the ground level apartments and had squeezed through the balcony railings. Drew and I knocked on a few doors and talked to a couple people walking by, but no one had seen him before. We decided to go home and warm him up.


I was surprised by how clean this dog was. I knew he couldn't have been on his own for very long at all. He wasn't wearing tags or a collar, but we knew he had to belong to someone. Bunkin and Flea were very unhappy at this point, so we wrapped the little Chi in a warm towel and founds ourselves driving to animal services once again. He was just so friendly and we knew this was the best chance he had at being reunited with his owner, so we weren't worried about him having any trouble at animal services.


Unfortunately, we were wrong. I called every day to check on the little guy and the prognosis was not good. Not only had no one come to claim him, but he was so scared and defensive that he found himself in the back holding room instead of in the adoptable pet section. The poor guy was so tiny; at five pounds almost everything in the world must have seemed big and scary to him. This was not good.


Drew made up a found dog flyer that we posted around our apartment complex and a few others nearby (We had all the relevant shelter/contact info on the flyer, but I cropped it out of this picture for anonymity's sake). We shared it on our Facebook pages and with our co-workers. Still nobody came to claim or adopt our little buddy. I couldn't believe things had gone so wrong for this poor Chi. I had expected this cuddly little guy to have no problem, but his chances seemed bleak. Even if he had been in the adoptable pet section, no one would have wanted him. People would take one glance at him and mistake fearfulness for aggression or a bad temperament. It seemed he was just overwhelmed by this stressful environment beyond the point of return.


When I called to check on him the next day, I was overjoyed to find out that he had been pulled by a local rescue group earlier that morning. He had spent a week at animal services, but now he was in a foster home where he could rest comfortably and regain his composure. I was excited to find out that the rescue group had given him a name: Harley.

Harley's journey has a happy ending; he was adopted after spending about 3 weeks with the rescue group. His lady gave him a new name and later sent in the following happy tale update:

Harley / Ollie resting in his forever home

"I adopted Ollie (once known as Harley) a few months ago. I already had 2 Chihuahuas and when I saw him online I just had to meet him. He has become the 5lb. "Boss" around the house and is not afraid of anything. He walks like he's Big Stuff. He does bite the ankles of people that come to visit; I think he just wants to show them who rules the roost but we are working on this. His favorite thing is sunning on the deck on his big fluffy pillow. Thank you so much for allowing me to make him apart of my pack."


Drew and I were so thrilled that things had worked out for Harley after all and that a rescue group had come through in the nick of time yet again. I wanted to do what they did, to be able to play a part in saving lives when there seemed to be no other options. Even though I knew we were following the law, I was tired of taking strays to animal control and looking like the bad guy. I was tired of feeling helpless as I called to check up on them day after day, hoping desperately that someone would save them. I knew there had to be more we could do to make a difference.

Accidental Rescues (2 of 3) - Girl

About a month after Drew and I got married, I was taking Bunkin for a walk around our apartment complex when I noticed a female black pitt bull pup sleeping under a parked taxi cab. She perked up as Bunkin and I walked closer and I saw that she had no tags or collar. I bet down to get her attention and she bounded over to me. She was super hyper and not the least bit fearful. It was obvious that she hadn't any sense at all regarding people or traffic. I couldn't leave her there and I didn't trust her to follow me home without darting off, so I picked her up and carried her home haphazardly in one arm while keeping a tight grip on Bunkin's leash with the other. She wasn't a light load and I had to keep hiking her up, but she didn't protest at all. I could already tell what a sweet-natured dog this was.

Once we got inside and I filled Drew in on the situation, we took a closer look at her. She was rather dusty, but seemed to be in good shape. She needed a name, but we didn't want to get attached so we just called her Girl. We figured she was maybe 4-6 months old judging by her appearance and super playful demeanor. After giving her a bath, we spread out a blanket and played on the floor for a while. She was the sweetest thing, but we knew we couldn't keep her.

I knew that we were required by law to turn Girl in to the animal control facility for the county in which we found her. I also knew that if she belonged to someone, this was the best chance she had at being reunited with her owner. I really didn't want to turn her in, but we didn't know what else to do. This was before I had any connections in the rescue world, so I knew no one who could help us. None of our friends or family were interested in a dog at the time. Our apartment had breed restrictions against pit bulls and a 25 pound weight limit, both of which she clearly violated. In addition to that setback, Bunkin was definitely not a fan of the rambunctious vibe Girl brought into the house.

I didn't know what else to do. I put Girl in the car and drove to animal services. I brought her in and explained that I'd found her as a stray and that she was very friendly and would probably make a great family dog. The woman at the desk looked at me like I was crazy and gave me the paperwork to fill out. I left quickly before I changed my mind.

I made myself get in the car and drive away, but I felt so bad. Everything I had read said that this was the right thing to do, but I felt terrible. Girl had looked so scared and sad when I left. I called animal services to check on her and to ask if I could come back and get her. The woman explained to me that the county does not adopt out pitt bulls to individuals, but that their only chance at getting out was to be pulled by a rescue group. I asked if she would be ok and the woman told me that turning in a pitt bull is "basically signing their death warrant".

The tears poured. I blamed myself. I told myself I would have found some way to make it work, some way to keep her or find her a home if I had known this would be her fate otherwise. I felt that I'd wronged her, as though it would have been better to have let her keep sleeping under the taxi cab where I found her. Now she was condemned because of me.

I don't know what I thought it would accomplish, but I called animal services the next morning to check on Girl again. I figured I was probably just torturing myself at this point, but to my sheer astonishment the woman I was speaking with told me that a rescue group had come through that morning and had chosen to take Girl. I didn't believe the woman. I repeated what she had said and then asked if she'd told me that to make me feel better or if it really was the case. She promised Girl was safe.

Still skeptical, I called back later that afternoon and spoke with someone else. I knew the previous woman had been startled by how upset I was and I wanted to speak with someone who would have no reason to give me a fairy tale ending. Much to my surprise, relief, and extreme delight, I got the same story. Girl had indeed been pulled by a rescue group.

At first I didn't know what to take away from this ordeal. I'd done everything I could at the time, yet it could've ended so badly. I don't know which rescue group Girl went with, but I'm so thankful for them. Drew and I will never forget this happy little dear nor the complicated lesson we learned as a result: while the realities of animal control may be difficult to face, it is full of people who care and who work so hard to make the best out of difficult situations. I am so grateful for those people; they work closely with rescue groups and the resources they're given to save as many lives as they can. It's because of them that Girl was granted a second chance.

Accidental Rescues (1 of 3) - Zeke

Before I get too far into this, I've got to tell the stories of Zeke, Girl, and Harley. While these guys may not have been true fosters, they have a place in this story nonetheless.

Zeke was the first. It was about two weeks before Thanksgiving break during my final fall semester at Florida State that I noticed a male black pit mix pup hanging out in my next door neighbor's fenced yard. He was a good looking pup and seemed to be quite young and playful. I let Bunkin out into my yard and the two were immediately interested in each other. They spent an hour or so sniffing through the chain link and racing each other up and down the fence line. They really seemed to get along well, so I let them continue to play through the fence like this for the next couple of days.

That Wednesday afternoon, I came home from class to find the little neighbor pup in my backyard. It looked as though he had jumped the fence and come over to wait for his playmate. Of course, I thought this was adorable but I knocked on the neighbor's door to let her know what had happened. She said she had noticed how the dogs had been playing through the fence and that she wouldn't mind  if her dog spent some time in my yard playing with Bunkin. I asked if he had a name and she said he didn't and that the dog actually belonged to her boyfriend (a rather shady character who came around every now and then). This raised a few flags in my mind, but for the time being I was content to let the dogs play together freely.

By Friday evening, my neighbor's boyfriend's car was parked in her driveway. He was a very loud man who seemed to bring trouble with him. Sunday morning came and I noticed the poor pup had been chained to the front porch. He was lying on the concrete stoop looking pretty sad. I saw Vivienne (neighbor lady) later that day and asked her why he was chained. She told me that her boyfriend didn't want him running loose in the yard anymore because he had gotten into the turkey grease under the giant smoker in their backyard. She said I could still take him over to my yard and let him play with Bunkin, so I did. He reeked of smoked turkey and was basically a walking oil slick. Although I hated it, I made sure to put the pup back on the chain after he'd finished playing with Bunkin so that Vivienne wouldn't revoke his playtime privileges. Other than the turkey stench, he seemed to be in good health and I didn't want to push the envelope.

Patience proved to be a virtue. After Vivienne's boyfriend had left, she knocked on my door. In one hand was a bag of dog kibble and in the other was the pup on a leash. Vivienne told me that her boyfriend had left and that she didn't have time to care for the dog. I gladly took him in, although I realized there was most likely more to the story.

First things first: the dog got a bath and a name. Vivienne always got really dressed up for church every Sunday, so I decided to give the dog an over the top Bible name. Ezekiel was the first name that came to my mind and from there I shortened it to Zeke. Zeke was still covered in turkey grease, so I enlisted the help of a couple of friends and together we cleaned him as best as we could.

Even though Bunkin and I loved having Zeke around, it was time to figure out a plan. I knew I couldn't keep him and I knew I couldn't take him home to my parents' house over Thanksgiving break, so I began looking for a suitable home for him. I was surprised by how quickly Zeke's luck seemed to have changed for the better. I found a girl whose family lived on a horse farm and were looking for another dog. They were animal lovers through and through; the girl's sister was a veterinarian to boot. Zeke and I met her on campus and we took a walk around Doak Campbell Stadium. She was as great a match for Zeke as he was for her.

Zeke was picked up and taken to his forever home the next afternoon and not a minute too soon. Vivienne came by saying that she wanted to take him back. She told me that her boyfriend was upset that she had given him up for free and that he was worth more than that. She said he had plans for the dog and that he wasn't hers to give away. I explained to her that it was too late; I'd already found a home for Zeke and I couldn't get him back. After a bit of back and forth, Vivienne finally gave up and I never heard another thing about it. At the very least, I knew Zeke deserved more than life at the end of a chain, but I am now certain that he was spared from a far worse fate than I had initially imagined.

Three years later, he is spoiled rotten and loving life with his forever family:

The Great Foster Adventure

My husband, Drew, and I have finally succumbed to our long-suppressed desire to become dog fosters. I have decided that a blog might effectively serve as both an outlet for and a chronicle of this journey. This is my first blog, so please bear with me.

We've always said to each other that we could never be fosters. There have always been a few different reasons for this stance, but the most glaring issues are:

1) Our dogs, Bunkin and Flea, would never tolerate another dog in the house; and
2) We'd become too attached to the foster dog and wouldn't be able to adopt out him/her.

Adding those points in with the idea of caring for three dogs, breaking our well-defined daily routine, and surely disrupting the hard-earned household peace we have finally achieved seems to point clearly to the fact that we'd be crazy to foster.

Well, then color us crazy...