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We had framed paw prints going up the stairs of each of our sweet babies who’d gone over the Rainbow Bridge.
We continued to open our hearts to more and more of them as well. Pregnant mamas like Alma. Poor, abused good boys like Lyle. Ankle biters and dogs so big you could strap a saddle on them and ride. We had dogs hopping around on three legs and ones who rode around on wheels. Chubby pups who needed to slim down and skinny pups who needed to pack on the pounds.
Some of them stayed with us.
Most of them did not, heading off to their forever families with the bittersweet sensation that always came with for us.
“You okay?” Remy asked on the way home.
It had been a tough week.
We’d had a foster loss. And even though he’d only been with us for a few days before he went and stayed at the emergency vet, I was still aching over the loss.
It never got easier.
And you’d think at some point, your heart would be full of so much sorrow that you couldn’t go on, but it seemed like your heart just kept making room for more, even through the pain.
“Sad,” I admitted, leaning my head over on his shoulder as we made our way back from one of the plays one of the club kids had snagged a leading role in.
Remy had been right on that front, too.
We always had kids.
They spend nights or weekends with us.
Sometimes, we practically had a summer camp going on in the summers. We got to have them, and then we got to send them home. It was the best of both worlds for us.
“Why don’t we—“ Remy started.
“Stop!” I shrieked, throwing a hand out as I caught something in the middle of the dark road.
“What’s… oh,” Remy said, gaze landing on the form of a dog just… sitting right in the middle of the street. “Christ,” he hissed, parking right in the middle of the road and turning on his flashers. “Baby, wait, it might not be…”
It was too late.
As he knew it would be.
Which was why he was already jumping out of the car with me, taking a second to snag a slip lead out of the back seat.
“Hey, baby, hey,” I cooed at the… well… hairy pittie is the best descriptor I could come up with. “What are you doing out here on the road, honey?” I asked, inching closer as Remy stayed back.
Years and years of rescue and rehabilitation told us that dogs were much more likely to be wary of him than me. The sad fact was that ninety-seven-ish percent of all animal abuse that included physical harm came from male abusers. The scales were more evenly tipped only on the basis of abandonment.
So when we were trying to save a stray, Remy had to be okay with me charging ahead while he waited to see how the dog might react to me.
I went ahead, however, and let him do all the cat and kitten rescuing. Because I was too big of a baby to get all those angry scratches from stray cats and feral kittens.
And since we tended to collect more stray cats, it all kind of shook out in the end.
“I’m going to try to put this leash on you, okay, buddy?” I asked, pulling the loop of the slip lead wide so I could hopefully lasso the dog on the first shot.
The crazy thing was, it was whale-eyed and scared until the exact second it felt the leash tighten around its neck.
Then it did the damndest thing.
It plopped down on its side and rolled over for me, tail wiggling.
“Uh oh. Are you seeing this?” I called to Remy who was taking careful steps forward.
