Sparky, Day One
Saturday evening, I got a call. Sparky needed a foster home, fast: He wasn't getting along with other dogs and the foster who'd signed up for him had three. So even though I'd only signed up to be a foster mom a couple of weeks ago and had not yet had my home check, Irish Retriever Rescue asked if I could take him.
Let me back up. A while ago, I posted here about how I was hoping to one day get a dog. In comments, I mentioned how my search to be a dog fosterer had been fruitless: most big rescue orgs have their own facilities, and others either needed a six month commitment or had some other hoops I couldn't jump through.
Fortunately, someone read that and suggested Irish Retriever Rescue, which is neither based in Ireland nor rescues Irish Setters. They bring dogs over from Ireland, mainly retrievers, where puppy mills (puppy farms) are plentiful and homes are not. I liked what I read on their website, and filled out an application. Fifteen minutes later I got a phone call. After that, I figured it might be a while before I was needed. But then the phone call on Saturday...
I picked Sparky up from a transport volunteer in Oxford. He's an eighteen-month old Golden cross, probably part Border Collie, with the size and coloring of a Golden. His owner was dying of cancer, and had to rehome him, but Sparky has undoubtedly suffered from neglect while he's been kenneled.
The first day, Sparky was hyper alert. In the photo above, taken an hour or so after he arrived, his eyes are huge. He watched every move I made, inspected every inch of the house and garden, and was clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop.
During the night, he woke me up several times, nudging me from the side of the bed. He did the same to my husband. I didn't mind at all—there is nothing I like better than being awakened by a dog. And he needed the reassurance that I was still there.
On Day Two, Sparky showed signs of settling in. He met the gardener, and after a woof to let me know we had an intruder, he greeted the stranger warmly. A little too warmly, in fact: He has an annoying habit of jumping up on people, preferring to greet humans face-to-face.
But he was much calmer, sleeping near my desk for hours while I worked. And on Day Three he was definitely feeling as if he belonged here: He barked at any noise from outside, a warning to anyone from the construction crew next door who might be thinking about burgling this house. I think they got the message: For such a sweet pup, Sparky has a serious bark.
And a very gentle bite: He has excellent bite inhibition, as I discovered when I first brushed him. He took my other hand gently in his mouth, toying with it, but never bit down. The next day, however, he let me brush him without interference.
He's starting to trust me. And I trust him, which doesn't come naturally to me. Having been bitten by two-year-old male dogs, I'm a little wary, something I can't quite control. When he first jumped up on me, I froze, but the look in his big brown eyes said "Lovemeloveme!" not "Grrrrrr!"
And then I melted.
We're still melting for each other. He's snoozing now, a little further away than he was yesterday: he knows I'm here for the duration.
And I realized something last night when I uploaded the more recent photos I took of him: His eyes aren't quite so big. He's more relaxed, no longer on hyper alert status.
Sparky, Day Three
I realized something else last night, too: I am content.
For months now, I've been restless, unsettled, wanting to fill that big hole in my life with something, anything. I literally searched all over the world, but coming home to an empty house brought home just how empty my life was.
Sparky and I, we're both content now.
Our relationship probably won't last forever, but somewhere there's a dog or pup for me who will finally fill that gaping hole. And for Sparky, a home that will be everything he needs.
Today, though, we're going to check out the pond. A new experience for him, and an old one for me.
