I began my journey in dog fostering back in May of 2012. I was renting my parent’s house at the time which has a dog door built into the back of the brick siding. The door is large enough for an average sized human to fit through – a fact which was demonstrated when the front door knob suddenly stopped functioning one day. I went to the recently opened Petco one Saturday to check it out. (The new Target shopping center was a very exciting development for our town.) Outside was a small, local rescue with  several sweaty people in yellow shirts holding dogs. I’m not sure how exactly it happened but I left Petco with a dog, a crate, and a bag of puppy food in my car.

This has happened again and again, more times than I can remember since that day.

I’m not sure exactly what number I’m up to now, but when I try to list them all I come up with 38. It seems like more. And less. I’ve spent about 125 Saturdays at Petco getting dogs adopted. I’ve had up to 6 dogs in my Civic at a time. I have been on television with a foster 4 times. I have foster failed twice.

I have one dog that is mine. He never made it to an adoption event. He bit me three times before I got him to my car where he immediately jumped into the trunk and wouldn’t come out. When we got home he watched me eat lunch on the sofa from across the room. As I climbed into bed for my post Panera food coma he jumped in with me and has followed me around lovingly ever since. His name is Rocko.

I hope I never stop fostering.

This is Rocko the day I met him — shortly before he bit me.

Rocko is now a happy dog with so many toys. SO. MANY. TOYS.

Rocko has become the most wonderful foster brother. He cuddles and wrestles and ignores them as much or as little as they want.

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