I did it! I checked off enough boxes and got myself adopted. Yay, me! And thanks to everyone who threw their hands and paws in the air for my next milestone beyond the 3 days-3 weeks-3 months to be 3 years. Imagine how many boxes I can check off in three whole years!
Speaking of boxes…even though the adoption contract had been signed, I didn’t think it would hurt to check just one more, so yesterday I was ski dog extraordinaire. Ha! T wasn’t expecting that. You see, I need to be on a leash until I can better curb my critter-chasing-over-hill-and-dale instincts, which meant I was connected by a line around T’s waist. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, in truth, a lot of things. But I did my best sled dog impersonation, stayed out front, and kept my enthusiasm in check. Oh, and we didn’t see any rabbits or deer, which made it easier for me to contain myself, and easier for T to stay on her skis. Apparently, that’s an important aspect of skiing…staying on the skis.
So what does being adopted feel like? Well, a lot like being fostered, but with an increased sense of security and belonging. They love me just like I love them. (o: There are no worries about having to change homes next week or next month. My toys and my bowls and my beds are mine to keep, not just borrowed until T and N adopt a different dog. That would have broken my heart … to not be right for them, to not check off the important boxes.
And even though I’m not acing the car travel as effectively as the truck travel, they have confidence in my ability to get it done. I will, I will. It’s just lower to the road and feels so much faster somehow. The truck feels heavy and safe, with that big diesel engine sounding capable of getting us anywhere. The good news is that almost all the long trips are in the truck, or so I’ve been told.
The other thing that comes with being adopted is that I can now go to off-leash dog parks. As a foster, it’s not allowed, in case there’s an issue or injury. It’s too risky for the rescue to have their dogs out running amok with other dogs. I get it. I grew up in a house FULL of dogs, and there were plenty of dog-to-dog incidents. What I did get from my puppyhood home is a pile of experience in getting along with other canines, so I rocked the dog park in Strathmore. Even when three big male dogs crowded around to check me out, I just let them. If there’d been trouble, I knew I could just rocket on out of there. They don’t call me Rocket-dog, and Rocket Richard for nothing! Sorry…no photos. It was too cold for T to pull out her phone. Next time.
I turned two on the 21st of February—I just found that out—and March 5 was my Gotcha date. What a couple of weeks for this rescue dog. Let there be cake! No, really, I mean it…let’s have cake.
the Fur-iday Files 