If I were off my rocker, would I take a weekly selfie with my cat?

The day I was diagnosed, I was sitting on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through my phone as I comfort-watched The West Wing, when I received an email from the shelter I volunteer with asking for fosters. That’s how we ended up bringing a tiny puppy named Roxane home that very same day, our eyes swollen and red, our stomachs roiling, but finally with something good to focus on (and distract us) while we dealt with everything else falling apart. 

I’ve always loved animals. Especially dogs. When my childhood dog (Rusty, RIP) died, I was devastated but also determined to convince my parents that we should get another dog. I had my entire fourth grade class sign a petition called “Let Jennie Get a Dog” and gave it to my parents at dinner that night. (It was not successful.)

I haven’t really talked much about our previous dogs here but when we received my cancer diagnosis, we were still grieving, having lost both Max and Mara in a six month span of time. First, Max got sick, randomly, out of nowhere, and we discovered he had an auto-immune disease called AIHA, where his body started attacking his red blood cells (RUDE), causing severe anemia. We tried all the treatments the vet threw at us, but Max continued to drop weight and become more and more lethargic, until finally he refused to eat and we had to make the call. 

Meanwhile, our other dog, Mara, had been battling (butt) cancer for two years. We had been bracing ourselves for losing her (we knew it was only a matter of time), never dreaming we’d have to say goodbye to Max first. After Max died, we found out that Mara’s cancer had spread to the bone. She started slowing down, more and more, soon after. Our sweet little chaos demon just wanted to sleep and cuddle and for us to give her all the pets she asked for (which was a lot). Eventually we had to say goodbye to her, too.

That’s when we started fostering. We weren’t ready to adopt again, but we also weren’t ready NOT to have a dog. Fostering gave us a chance to take comfort in dogs who needed help, while also allowing our hearts space to heal. We fostered three dogs before I was diagnosed and started treatment, at which point fostering became impossible for a bit. 

In some ways, I was thankful that we didn’t have dogs during that time. After my surgery, Joe was spending most of his time at the hospital. Even once we got home, I was in no shape to take care of myself, let alone other living things. Joe was already keeping both of us alive all on his own, so it’s probably good he didn’t have to worry about dogs, as well. 

At the same time, I can’t tell you how nice it would have been to have dogs here while I was recovering. While I was trapped in my own head every day because I couldn’t speak. While I was going through radiation, more and more miserable each day, just wishing one of our pups was there to join me for my daily nap. (Max would have been so good at that.)  

I was really, really excited for radiation to be over because Joe and I had already decided that’s when we’d foster again. We couldn’t foster dogs yet (I won’t go into too much detail but my doctor said that dogs love to mess with PEG tubes and I couldn’t stop picturing a dog ripping mine out of my stomach OOPS I guess I went into too much detail). That’s how we ended up with Raven and Chickadee, two kittens who spent their time ransacking our home until they were both adopted. 

I was back at work at that point, which was a huge adjustment, so we took another break. I didn’t want to bring a dog into the house and accidentally overdo it while I was still recovering and unsure of how much I could really handle. I kept receiving the foster emails, though, and every time, I’d run into Joe’s office and make him look at all the dogs until he gently pulled me back to reality. 

I’d been back to work for a couple of months when a little dog named Pepe popped up in need of a foster, so we decided to jump back in. Pepe was terrified of us at first, not fully housebroken, and unsure of the world, but he quickly warmed up to me and, eventually, Joe. He’d whine and howl whenever I left the room, though, so even though he was adorable and I loved picking him up and carrying him around while singing him little songs, we weren’t really tempted to adopt. 

Then came Pogo. He was having a hard time adjusting to life in the kennel, as he’s very sensitive to noise and other dogs and...life in general, really. He’s very sweet, though, and spends most of his time sleeping, throwing toys up into the air, or shoving himself into our laps no matter what we’re doing. 

Out of all the animals we’ve fostered, Pogo’s the only one we’ve been tempted to adopt. He fit into our lives like he’d always been there. We actually talked seriously about adopting him (several times) and decided that we’re just not ready for a full-time dog yet, not coming off of the year we’ve just had.   

Still, I love Pogo, like I love all dogs I meet. I’ve loved watching him come out of his shell. I’ve loved getting to know his little quirks. I’ve taken approximately 10,000 pictures of him and will probably take as many more before he gets adopted. I think he likes us, too, and though part of me worries that he’ll miss us and be confused when he has to leave, it makes me feel good that he feels safe and loved while he’s waiting for his new home. 

In the meantime, having him here has opened our hearts to the idea of adopting a dog again at some point. When Max and Mara died, I thought, “That’s it, there’s no way I’ll ever love another dog as much as I loved those little weirdos.”

But these foster pups (and cats!) have reminded me that there’s no end of love in my heart for these furry creatures. And one day, not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even this year, but someday we’ll bring another dog home and want them to stay forever. Until then, we’ll keep enjoying our temporary residents, giving them all the love (and treats) we can until their new families take over. 

But seriously, someone please adopt him ASAP so we don’t.