An Open Letter to My Senior Foster Dog
Life hasn’t been very fair to you.
Dear Rosie,
I saw your picture three weeks ago today. I had tried to forget your face. I wasn’t ready to take on another senior so soon after losing my own, but the shelter was full, and your time was running out. Nobody had stepped up to claim you and nobody had volunteered to foster you — yet.
I found myself studying the grainy photo of you on Facebook, your tail clearly wagging furiously during the shot. Your skin was pink with a yeasty infection and scabs crawled up and down your aging legs.
You looked tired. There is no peaceful sleep in a county shelter, however, and the Georgia heat baked the kennels as the temperature climbed past 100 degrees. The cool concrete wouldn’t save you from the sweltering summer.
I caved.
You came home on a Saturday night and made yourself at home on our couch. We wrapped you up in a soft, plush blanket and let your head rest nicely on an overstuffed pillow. I could see the tumors that had spread throughout your body, jagged and rough beneath the spotted skin stretched thin from multiple litters of puppies in your past. A larger mass bulged out from your rib cage and, although I am no vet, I knew you were very sick, Rosie.
The rescue scheduled an appointment soon after you arrived, and the vet confirmed the worst: Cancer. Breast cancer that could have been prevented by a spay surgery earlier on in your life. It was far too late to reverse the disease. On top of the cancer diagnosis, arthritis wore away your joints and your skin was suffering from years of insects gnawing beneath your fur.
The vet said you were so sweet; We knew that already.
Somehow you get sweeter every day. I thought you would be more pensive and shy considering you spent your life outdoors away from human touch. We were told you were a hunting dog — not meant to be a household companion — a tool. But, if you were meant to only be a tool for hunting, then why do you roll on your belly and beg for love when I come home after a long day of work? Your paws furiously bat the air as though you’re trying to grab my hand. Your eyes squint until they’re almost closed and your tail beats the linoleum like a drum as the corners of your mouth pull back into a gentle grin.
As we await the staging of your cancer and prepare to take on the responsibility as potential hospice fosters, there is one thing I wish I could tell you, girl.
Thank you.
Thank you for teaching me forgiveness, unabashed love, and abundant kindness. You were failed many times in your life by the hands of human beings, and never gave up — never shut down.
If you can endure over a decade of injustices, then I can endure the heartache if I am to be your final home. I would give almost anything to have had a lifetime with you, my friend.
Let’s make every moment count.
‘You have been my friend,’ replied Charlotte. ‘That in itself is a tremendous thing.’” — Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White
