Being the only outpost of our family outside of Chicago has always been particularly challenging around the holidays. Not only Christmas and New Year’s, but other more benign holidays, too: Labor Day, Memorial Day, the 4th of July; Mother’s Day and Father’s Day especially, and Thanksgiving most of all, since that was always a smorgasborg of all of my favorite things that only my mother could make in her way. Missing out on her mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole, and perfectly roasted turkey was a visceral ache every year. But just the sight of cars parked up and down the street in front of our neighbors’ houses conjured such a sense of isolation and sadness for me that it became imperative to create my own family traditions with other ostracized friends and their children.
During Covid, when we had to close ranks and weren’t able to celebrate in the ways I had become accustomed to, we began fostering dogs to fill the void. After Nicki passed over the rainbow bridge, Duke seemed lonely–although if I’m being honest, it’s not like Nicki was much company in her last year on Earth. My family members began jockeying for a second dog. My partner wanted a smaller dog who would be more suitable for our l.o–who was only three at the time–since 110 pounds of pure muscle was sometimes a bit unwieldy for her. In a weak moment, I reached out to our contact at the rescue group who brought Duke into our lives, and next thing I knew we had Kaia. Kaia was, as we would learn all fostered rescues were, sweet and timid and snuggly and nervous and eager to please this new family who showered her with love and attention and treats and playtime. For a week, I was in love. I snuggled her on the couch–which was off limits to Duke–and stayed up far too late watching shows while she snored lightly curled up in the crook of my neck. After a week, as Kaia settled in and became more comfortable with Duke and the rest of the family, her terrier-greyhound-whippet-whathaveyou traits took over, and she ran circles around us (quite literally, if you know the layout of our home) nonstop. She busted the stitches from her spaying surgery, requiring daily applications of silver ointment, raced around the dog park at what must have been 50 miles an hour for over an hour and then still wreaked havoc once we got home. We couldn’t find her forever home fast enough. Three weeks later, a wonderful older gentleman and his gaggle of children enthusiastically adopted her.
River was the foster dog who was barely there – we brought her home off transport on a Saturday, gave her the requisite bath, and adopted her out on Sunday to a lovely young couple who had just gotten married, just bought their first home, and were ready to practice being parents with a fur baby. She was adorably timid and shy, only eight weeks old and hardly fully formed, and the kids fell fast and hard in love but were excited to watch the happiness on the couples’ faces as they snuggled her away in their car.
We weren’t ready for the call that came the next weekend–how often do they transport dogs up from Georgia, realistically??? But we took Oakley in because she had nowhere else to go, and probably because we didn’t get enough time with River. It just so happened that a friend from Brooklyn was staying with us that weekend, so she hopped in the car and took the ride to Newtown with me. Oakley–promptly renamed Sparkles by our l.o. because of her dappled coat–had chewed off the stitches from her dew claw removal while on the ride from Georgia to CT. We brought her to the rescue’s veterinary partner to have her wounds cleaned and rewrapped in the hopes they would close and heal without fresh stitches. Unfortunately, Duke is such an expert at play that Sparkles couldn’t restrain herself and overdid the jumping and leaping and wrestling over the couch and under chairs and tables. My friend, for whom Sparkles sparked memories of the dog she had grown up with as a child, was falling in love and wanted to bring her back to Brooklyn with her. After a week of vet visits and improperly healing wounds, she made the courageous (and expensive!) decision to adopt her and have her hind legs repaired. Sparkles was christened Luna and another wonderful dog found her furever home–this time, with a friend who would share her with us whenever she came to visit!
Our final foster was almost a foster failure. He was a little Prince, reigning over Duke with all of his 9 lb frame. My son slept on the couch with him every night, sharing his pillow and blankets and making sure he was safe and snuggled. Prince almost won me over. He definitely won over all three of our kids. Duke even made (or was forced to make) room in his bed for our new addition. As the weeks turned into months, my partner became (surprisingly) more and more resolute that he needed to find a different family to call his own. As time passed, I began to see Duke’s patience with the tiny bundle of dominant energy waning and I knew my partner was right (of course she was). The agency was moving slowly with adoptions, having exhausted its resources by placing 6 of the 8 puppies already. As we waited, parading him around the neighborhood and trying to sell his merits to the families in our community, my own patience began to run out. Finally, a family a few houses down the way communicated their hesitant interest. After working through their fears and anxieties about introducing essentially a four-legged toddler to their human one, they made the leap and never once looked back. Prince was christened Hawk, and our Duke now has a friend for life with a fenced-in yard and plenty of energy to burn.
It’s been almost ten months since we’ve opened our home and our hearts and our arms to the first foster pup. I’m proud of the way our little family has begun to expand by inviting furry wiggles and bundles of joy. Fostering dogs has helped my partner and I realize that we enjoy sharing our home, not only with furry friends but human ones as well. And for the first time in many years, we were the reason the street was lined with cars for the holidays. An added bonus was my parents flying out to spend Christmas with us. Our home was abustle with the crinkles of unwrapped presents and the squeals of delight from the gift recipients. On New Year’s Eve, we hosted a glorious group of women for the evening for retrospection and excitement about the future. Seeing the gratitude in their smiles for having a place to land during the often-lonely holidays made me even more resolute in my desire to open my home to entertaining guests of all kinds, through the holidays and the rest of the year. After all the inward-looking that the pandemic (and the two years post-pandemic) forced us into, I’m ready to begin looking at the world again with fresh eyes. Perhaps that means bringing new blood into our home, but maybe it also means sending some of my energy out into the world by volunteering to wash and cuddle and love on some sheltered dogs. Maybe I’ll make some new friends along the way to share this newfound energy with. Whichever way it goes will be the way it goes, and I’m ready for it with open heart and arms.
(mostly) full disclosure 