Amazingly Animal Story - 14

Let me be clear: I am NOT a dog person. I agreed to foster these two because my sister guilt-tripped me, and I figured—how hard could it be? They're in a crate. I give them food. Someone else adopts them. Done. I was an absolute fool.

Moose and Goose were 8-week-old Pitbull mixes surrendered because their owner "didn't know the dog was pregnant." Classic. They needed a foster for two weeks while they got old enough for their spay/neuter surgeries.

I want to be honest with you: I judged them. I saw "Pitbull" on the intake form and thought about my security deposit. I thought about my neighbors. I thought about every scary headline I'd ever read.

Then I opened the crate.

Moose immediately peed on my shoe from excitement. Goose brought me a sock—MY sock, stolen from the laundry basket—like it was a peace offering. They had absolutely zero spatial awareness and kept bonking into each other and the walls.

The shelter told me bonded pairs rarely get adopted together. People want ONE puppy. Not two. Especially not two Pitbulls. Especially not two Pitbulls who will grow to be 60+ pounds each. "Prepare yourself," the coordinator said. "They'll probably be separated."

I told myself I didn't care. Not my problem. I'm not a dog person.

But then Goose got sick. Some kind of puppy bug. She wouldn't eat. She just lay there, limp. Moose refused to leave her side. He brought her toys. He licked her face. He slept in a protective circle around her.

I spent $400 at the emergency vet. MY money. For dogs that weren't even mine.

When Goose recovered, she ran straight to me—not to her food bowl, not to her brother—to ME. She put her whole 12-pound body in my lap and fell asleep.

I called my sister crying. "I think I'm keeping them."

She laughed. "I know. I knew the second you sent me that picture of them in matching bandanas."

I wasn't a dog person. Now I'm a two-Pitbull person. Life comes at you fast.

Foster Fail Anniversary: 6 months