Whose Nest is Best?
Birds aren't the only creatures who nest.
My last post about naming infants and pets got me thinking. No, I’m not thinking about having a baby, in case you were wondering! I did, however, get a text from Nancy at Second Chance Animal Rescue. Would I be willing to foster a four-month old kitten whose stray hold at impound was due?
Before I answered, I climbed the stairs to Mia’s bedroom. I often found solace in that empty place I’d transformed from her space to a safe space for felines. While Mia’s room has become a cat sanctuary, it wasn’t always so. She often sprung foster dogs from their evening crates to sleep curled under the covers at her feet. I reflected on Poet, Crosby, Wrigley, and Syd. About parades, picnics, and pajama parties where kids and critters curled together in the electric glow of the basement TV.
I thought of love at first sight. My husband was my first first. Margo was my second.
She came to us in much the same manner as the kitten would come if I said yes. It wasn’t Nancy who called back then but Lynda.
“Cindy, can you foster Margo at the end of the week? I know you’d prefer more time to get Poet settled, but there are no other fosters to take her in.”
She was right. I needed more time with the stubborn Chihuahua mix who looked like a Holstein calf. He may have been cute, but his refusal to learn house training skills was anything but. I didn’t want to adopt him, yet I couldn’t bear not to. He was so attached to Mia, and she him. Anticipating her grief from his loss sent my mother’s love meter pulsing with guilt.
If I had been a wise and honest woman, I would have said, “You’re right, Lynda. I do need more time to house train Poet. That’s why I’m going to say no.”
But no was not the word I uttered. I knew Margo’s “stray hold” was coming due. If she wasn’t claimed, she’d face a quick end to her short life. I said yes to fostering Margo.
In the few days between committing to fostering and bringing her home, I nested like an expectant mother, cleaning the house, stocking up on groceries and freezing extra meals. I got my hair cut, folded laundry, and vacuumed. I stopped at the “pet shed” located in the backyard of a Second Chance volunteer, to fill my car with an assortment of free food, treats, toys, leashes, cleaning supplies, and an extra-large dog crate.
I knew time would be at a premium and many things would be put on hold during the “get to know you” phase. With a new dog, young or old, a lot of energy would be spent going outside, doling out treats, cleaning up accidents, and showering the newcomer with attention.
When the vet tech led Margo from the back room of the clinic, my jaw dropped in awe at the confident show dog sauntering my way. Long feathered legs, wavy black fur, regal nose, almond eyes, and a deep chest gave her the look of a purebred flat-coated retriever. Other than a broken tooth removed during her checkup, she was perfect. It made no sense why her previous owner, who’d spent money to spay, microchip, and train her, dumped her on the streets.
Perhaps her former family didn’t like Margo’s interpretation of nesting. Not more than two seconds after entering our home, Margo spied the sectional, jumped up, and rolled on her back with hairy tarantula legs stretched end to end. She saw comfort and claimed it.
That was, until Poet jumped to the top of the sectional and crashed down on her belly. So began the raucous relationship of kid-sized Margo and purse-sized Poet. In minutes, the family room was covered in tufts of fiberfill, punctured squeakers, and the soggy carcasses of unrecognizable toys. Over the carpet and the sectional grew a prickly haze of black and white fur. Shrill yaps, deep woofs, and playful gurgles echoed off the windows in the family room. A rapid realization filled me: bringing home Margo to a house with Poet was not like bringing home baby Mia to meet big sister Anna. All at once our house was filled with two gregarious and playful toddlers!
Amidst the melee, Anna came home from school. She took one look at the big retriever with the friendly eyes and fell in love. Before she slid her backpack off her shoulder, she was down on a knee, rubbing Margo’s face, pleading with me, “Oh Mom, she’s beautiful. Can we keep her?”
“No, but you can walk her. She seems fond of the leash and appears well trained.” Anna hurriedly clipped a leash to Margo’s collar. Tall dog and girl left for our meandering road, both wearing grins.
Mia was sitting at the kitchen table with Poet in her lap when Margo bounded through the door. Margo immediately spotted Mia and began to whimper as she ran to greet her. Mia, nose to nose with Margo, cooed excitedly. “What a beautiful girl you are!” Turning to me, she simply asked, “Can we keep her?”
Poet broke the tension by lunging at Margo, his teeth clamping down on her mane of thick fur. Margo gave a happy bark and swung her head side to side, making a half-hearted attempt to dislodge her attacker. Poet dropped to the ground as Margo ran to the family room, nipping at her ankles as he went. A new game of tug-of-war began with the toy I’d just re-stuffed. Once the fiberfill was removed and shredded, the two friends picked up another toy and began the game anew. Anna and Mia thrust themselves into the dog mix, throwing balls, squeezing squeakers, tugging on the opposite end of a toy.
Into the commotion walked Joe. Margo immediately stopped her play and ran to the door to greet him with tail wagging and hips wiggling. As he stooped to pet her, Margo heaved her body upwards to rest her front paws on his shoulders, locked eyes with Joe, and licked his cheek. “Now this is a dog I could keep,” I heard him say through muffled laughter, hinting at foster failure number two.
In case you were wondering, we did fail at fostering Margo. After one week in our home, she was permanently home. We adopted her. In case you were wondering again, I did say yes to Nancy. Four-month old, newly named Ashely will be coming home soon.
I’m signing off here. I’ve got to go nest. I need to stop by the pet shed for kitten food, treats, and litter. I need to make a few meals, vacuum the house, do some laundry, and get a few long walks in with Shiloh. Very little else will get done when there’s a kitten in the house!
P.S. Curious about fostering a cat, dog, or pocket pet? I’d be happy to share more about my experiences in hopes of inspiring you! The rescue world is in desperate need of help. More hands make light work.
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Thank you for this excellent writing and for promoting animal rescue.