I’m a Failed Foster Dog Guardian, and I Couldn’t Be Happier

There’s something bittersweet about life with a new dog after losing my old boy

Lenny the Legend

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This wasn’t supposed to happen.

I promised myself I wouldn’t get attached. There was to be no merging of hearts here. More fool me really, because I was never not going to allow the soul of a K9 in need to melt into my being and lodge itself in my spirit.

So here we are. I’ve failed.

Within a couple of hours of being asked to foster him, I had this bundle of nervous energy in my home. After a few days of fostering him, my husband turned to me and said, “So, we’re keeping him, right?”

And I guess that was that.

But this wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s bad timing. He’s not exactly what I would have chosen. And if I were to try and pick fault with him, all I can say is that he’s not perfect.

But show me someone who is perfect, and I’ll show you a liar.

Perhaps my biggest resistance is from my grieving heart. Is it too soon? Back in February, we had to say goodbye to our 13-year-old dog, Zaccy Bear.

Then, I think of my wise words from a previous article.

What worth is a life if it is not shared with a dog?

This little failed foster dog has brought the worth and purpose back into my life.

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At only eight or nine months old, little Lenny is full of fun and mischief. His daft antics have me laughing and smiling. He levitates my nervous system and keeps me present.

And when he looks at me from the upside-down position — you know, where they roll onto their backs and stretch their limbs up to the ceiling — his little mismatching eyes twinkle with trust.

Our hearts are a tapestry of love present and love lost. And just because my soul mate Princess Jasper and my best friend Zaccy Bear are no longer here, that doesn’t mean they aren’t here. I feel them with me. And while Lenny is his own being, I see snippets of each of them in his mannerisms.

I’ve heard it said that our late dogs send us a new dog to help heal our hearts. Did Jasper and Zac concoct up little Lenny and deliver him to me?

Every night since that fateful day in February when Zac took his final breath, my husband picks up the photo he keeps of him beside his bed and speaks to him. He utters words of love. He tells him how much he misses him. He asks him to come back.

Can you guess when little Lenny was born? While we can’t be certain, given he was found on the street, it’s estimated to be February.

When Zac left this earth, Lenny entered it.

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He’s one in a million really.

Only five percent of dogs have blue eyes. Only one to three percent of dogs have cryptorchidism (a condition where one or both testicles don’t descend, requiring non-negotiated neutering). I know, poor boy, right?

Idon’t know the statistics for how many dogs are found on the street with a rubber band bound so tightly around the end of their tails for a cruel and mindless DIY docking, resulting in urgent amputation of the end of their tails, but yes, he ticks that box too.

And still, regardless of his questionable start to life, he is goofy and playful and adores his toys. He can spring three feet up in the air like a cat and has made up a game to entertain himself where he pushes his ball under the sofa, then lays on his side and uses his paws to try and dislodge it.

His paw pads have different patterns of black splodges on pink, as if he’s been walking through paint.

He makes me laugh.

And with this laughter comes thehealth benefitsof reduced stress, improved mood and a better functioning immune system.I don’t winter well, and finally, this year, I bought a SAD lamp.It seems all I needed was Lenny's light.

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I’m not going to lie. Fostering dogs is hard. Adopting a rescue dog is hard. Because sometimes, they come with some sort of trauma from the unkindness of humans in their previous homes. Or even just the anxiety of an unsettled life. Worse still, they don’t have the words to tell us what happened.

We have to find a way to listen through observation and to show understanding by offering comfort and reassurance through our actions.

Here in Ireland, there are 3,000 dogs in shelters. It breaks my heart, so here I am doing my little bit to put a dent in that figure.

The last few weeks have been a journey of extreme emotions. The overwhelm is exhausting. I’ve endured sleepless nights with my hypervigilant system listening out for him, and there have been days I’ve felt nauseous with the sense of being shackled, restricted and having made a poor decision.

But I’d rather be shackled by a dog than have the freedom of not having one. My day-to-day life is far richer for having fur and paws in it.

Little Lenny is a quick learner, and we are finding our rhythm. With plenty of positive reward training, I no longer have to lift his little anxious being into the car; he springs in (like a cat, remember).

He waits politely by the door until I say “Okay” instead of rushing out. He’s not pulling so much on the lead. And he is no longer stressed if he is left for a short time by himself.

He knows he will be fed, cuddled, walked, and played with every day, and then has the choice of four beds to lay his weary head.

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With a whole lot of love and consistency in his training, he is morphing himself into my idea of the perfect dog. Maybe perfect is possible after all.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must take him out and let him experience the fresh dusting of snow we’ve had. I can’t wait to see his reaction, he’s never seen snow. Then we’ve forests and hills to explore, rivers to play in, trails to run and oceans to swim. I wonder if he will sit on my kayak…

I think I’ve stumbled into a new adventure buddy, and that fills my heart with excitement for what’s to come.

P.S Judging by this video, I think he’s a bird masquerading as a dog!

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