I tried to be a foster mom. And I failed miserably. Not the dogs' fault, by any means. Just things I didn't do correctly, things I didn't anticipate. So Ivan got hurt and a perfectly wonderful dog had to leave this small chunk of paradise and go back to a rescue home that's already splitting at the seams.
To wait and see if someone, somewhere, will give Malibu a chance at the forever home she so rightly deserves.
The fault, really, is Malibu's first home, the one that wanted her killed because of an allergy that required about ten dollars more a month for special food to remedy the problem. Where does it all start to break down – the contract we made a long, long time ago to honor our relationship with dog, the wolf we decided to domesticate for our own ends? We can't just undo that contract.
But I see dogs thrown away every day. Perfectly good dogs, just like this one, this great little four year old pistol with her melty eyes, huge heart, and tenacious grip on life.
Knowing all this, I should have been better prepared to accommodate her nature and Ivan's, so that the fight would never have started in the first place.
Unfortunately, this gal came to me too suddenly, as a desperate emergency. And I, a planner and preparer, had no time to do either. Next time, though. Painful as it was, this lesson has shown me what I need to do.
Not that that matters much to Malibu. Another home failed her. Where does this poor dog go from here?