Continued from Part 2, Confessions of a Former Ordinary Person, © 2017 New Rattitude, Inc.
Just then an email came through from my State Coordinator. It contained a photo of a super skinny dog who looked like he would blow over in the wind. He had been turned in to the shelter when his owner moved and left him behind. He looked into the camera with scared, hopeless eyes. I just stared at him for a minute, registering his anguish. His haunted eyes were in stark contrast to the joy I saw in Bubbles’ eyes when she was playing with her soon–to–be parents. And it suddenly hit me that Bubbles didn’t need me anymore, but this fellow did.
My love for Bubbles wouldn’t be extinguished if she moved on to a new home; I would always carry a piece of her in my heart. But letting her go meant that I would have the ability—the space, the time, the energy—to save another dog, and all that love I had showered on Bubbles could now be poured into a new little soul.
Yes, I cried when the adopters came to pick up Bubbles and take her away. I also cried the day my second foster left. In fact, I still—after almost 20 fosters—cry on good–bye days. But now my tears are tears of joy, not sorrow, because I’m celebrating another life saved, another new beginning.
I know that the loving relationship that is just starting in each new adoptive household wouldn’t have been possible if I hadn’t had the strength to give fostering a try and to realize that saying goodbye doesn’t mean losing the love. Every new dog I rescue is just as special and lovable (in his or her own way) as the previous one had been, and all this love makes my heart that much richer.
I’m awed at how much love a heart has the capacity to hold.
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From Confessions of a Former Ordinary Person, ©2017 New Rattitude, Inc.