The Search

I began right away, actually the day after saying goodbye to faithful Hannah, the sweet old Brittany who had kept me company for almost three years.  Her heartbeat was irregular when I adopted her and she was at least 10 years old.  So I knew her time with me would be brief.  It pains me to say that I never loved her as I might have.  Of course I provided all she needed- Vet care, special food and meds.  I petted her , groomed her, and talked to her.  We sat on the porch together.  But I never let myself love her.  Hannah came to me three weeks after losing Daisy, my heart dog, and I told myself I would never love a dog again.  It was just too painful when their time was up.

I missed Hannah, though, when she was gone.  I kept thinking I heard her rustling around in her crate at night.  But it had been easy to find another dog to share my home after Daisy left  , so it never crossed my mind that it could be weeks before a new dog came here to live.

I wanted to acquire a dog from a rescue rather than the local shelter.  The dogs coming from the rescues have been in foster care for some time.  There is more known about their behavior, needs and preferences.  The rescues also do an excellent job of screening applicants for adoptions, attempting to make the best matches possible for both the dogs in their custody and the adopting person.  Their adoption applications are usually pages long.  They really want to get to know the person who is to become the owner of one of their dogs.  Due to COVID restrictions, home inspection visits are done either in cooperation with a rescue close to the prospective adopter's home  or by  video.  

I lost track of how many applications I filled out.  I notified the gals whom I was using as references and also my Vet, as every application wanted your history with your current, and in some cases, even your previous Vet.  They asked about your current pets and also about pets you had owned no longer with you.  I thought I had a good record--especially since I am a retired Veterinary Technician.  Days--even weeks went by and no word from any of them.  Finally I began receiving denials.  When I questioned one whose phone number was listed on their site, she said they were receiving over 100 applications for EACH of their posted dogs!  The answer to the question on their form:  date of birth:  on their form was why I had been turned down.  Later an all breed rescue in North Carolina took the time to respond to my application.  (remember these are all volunteers with dogs and families of their own as well as the foster dogs).  She was very kind and understanding as she explained to me that their policy was not to adopt out any dog under age 10 to a senior person such as myself. Even then, you must have a younger person who would agree to be responsible in case you became unable to care for the dog.  While this is very commendable, it hurt.  She did offer me a nice old hound dog, far too big for my wee apartment.

So now the dark days of February were upon us.  I had Susie, my cat, and she was a bed fellow with a large purr.  I had Ginger, the community cat to feed and care for.  Neither of them was a dog.  I have loved my cats, for certain.  My dogs have been my partners and companions.  I had not seen my son who lived only 3 hours away for over a year, when he used to visit often, thanks to COVID restrictions.  He in NC and I in VA.  My sister who resides in Florida and makes annual trips North in her motor home, stopping here on their way out and again upon returning, could not come either.  I knew others were having it so very much harder than I.  Still I was only half a person.  I stopped writing, both on the blog and on the book I had begun.  Something had to change.  I began looking at the websites of the local town ASPCA shelters.  In Lynchburg I found a couple of dogs that might fit, though of course you know nothing about those dogs--no history, and most of the time no foster care.  When I went to see them, the first one was a great little Aussie mix, very young and needing more than I could give.  So I sadly decided against him, knowing it was the right thing to do.  The second dog was gone by the time I got there.  That shelter also was having no trouble finding adopters for any dog that was not a Pit Bull. 

So I made my daily excursion through the local shelter websites.  One day there was Edgar.  "Who would want something like that?", I thought.  Yet I was draw back to his sad face over and over.  During this time Edgar had been taken in to a foster home.  Finally I sent an e/m to the shelter inquiring about the availability of the dog known as Edgar.

to be continued