In Praise of Peanut Butter

Well, my foster son, Peanut Butter, has found a home.

I remember images of him: rounding the corner on a walk with his foster daddy, looking so small despite his big head. He was cautious when he saw me; it was dark, but when I crouched and he recognized my shape, he bounded over to me, dragging Jifo behind him on the leash.

I remember how timid and wide-eyed he looked in the back of Jifo's car, the afternoon we brought him home.

Yes, I cry. So I try not to remember, but the memories must come, mustn't they, so I can work them through?

It feels so sudden - last week Jifo dropped him off at the vet's for his neuter at last (that kid had the biggest damn balls I've seen west of the Mississippi - on a dog! on a dog!) and we went off to Monterey for Memorial Day. Next thing you know, a couple wants him, but they haven't moved into their new house yet, so the gosh darned coordinator of our rescue group is actually test-trying him out for keeps! That's how precious this kid is.

We haven't seen him since.

Of course my heart suffers. I have never felt a love like this, where I am happy for someone even as I ache in their absence. I'm going to see him one last time tomorrow, and I'll also be going to the vet to meet the new rescues we pulled from the Mojave desert hoarder, one of whom I'll hopefully take home to foster on Friday. Jifo reminds me how cute I'll think the new guy is.

But no one can fill that place your first dog leaves. I nursed this baby boy from distemper and death and after tomorrow, I may never kiss him again. I will always be his first mommy. It is his picture still on my phone. And I can't believe it's over.

This is an experience I asked for, before I knew what it would even be. And I will never be the same.