As I mentioned, we're looking for a place to live in Virginia, with the intent of moving there at the end of the summer (likely in late August). Before we actually started looking, Mark and I both had a romantic notion of living outside the cities and suburbs, in horse country, maybe on a few acres. I imagined having space for lots of rescue dogs. I imagined quiet and solitude. I imagined a stream, and maybe a barn. I neglected to consider the impact of all that solitude on my work-at-home self. Or ony having one car. Or the million or so things that totally blow about living out in the country, like lousy Internet service and long commutes. But when I actually went and visited the area, these things all sprang back to mind.
And so, it seems quite likely that we're headed for the suburbs. I grew up in the country and have lived in a city since then. I've never lived in a suburb. In fact, I've spent a good part of the last decade or so making merciless fun of suburbs. Places where you can't walk or bus anywhere. Places with houses all built the same, with lots of rules, with no real trees and cardboard neighbors. Edward Scissorhands land. Why would anyone want to live there?
Turns out there are reasons. Long drives every day to work suck. Space is nice to have. My dogs need a yard, and I'd like a bathtub. It's a difficult thing for my trying-to-be-hip self to say, but there are benefits to living somewhere with sidewalks and "safe streets." I'm still not thrilled about the idea of moving into one of a hundred houses that look just the same, or having someone come down on me if I put something they don't like in my lawn, or having to get in the car to get coffee/go to the library/whatever. But I do understand the reasons a bit better now, having compared what is available in the 'burbs to the city and country options.
This is yet another one of those weird growing up things. Just like I never expected to work at a desk from 9-5, or wear makeup every day, or pay someone to paint my house, I never expected to live in a much too-big house in a suburb. Just like I pictured exciting, important jobs and cutting edge clothes and a do-it-myself life, I pictured either rural simplicity or the excitement of a city. I was never going to be halfway anywhere, I was never going to let people tell me what to do. And suburbs are the epitome of halfway.
It never ceases to amaze me just how much things change. It seems like almost every day right now it's something else. What's next? Once we are installed in our multi-bedroom sububan home, a couple of proper DINKS, then what? A baby? A SUV? A subscription to Rachael Ray's magazine? Where will it end?
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The whole dog rescue journey started quite by mistake. Mark and I adopted our first dog, Chance, from a rescue in 2003. In retrospect, adopting Chance was a big mistake. I wouldn't change a thing, of course, but we went in pretty blind. You should NOT choose a totally untrained 120 lb Rott-Anatolian cross to be your first dog. But we did, and we loved him from the beginning. Which is good, because if we'd loved him any less, he'd have ended up being put down. Chance was aggresisve. Aggressive enough that he was dangerous. We spent a whole lot of time and money fixing that issue, which the help of a really high quality trainer. Those training sessions (and there were a lot of them) are pretty much the sum total of my dog training expertise. And much of what was suggested for Chance, particularly regarding establishing dominance, I don't bother with when relating to my current dogs. Chance needed it. They don't.
About a year after we adopted Chance, we found ourselves fostering seven five-week old Lab mix puppies. The how and why of that is a long story, which you can read 
Our first intentional foster was Bridget, the Anatolian Shepherd. We had Bridget for about six months. She was not an easy dog. Unlike Ata, Bridget was a very typical Anatolian--very standoffish and difficult to get attached to. Plus, we learned about the difficulty of walking three dogs who are all 90 lbs+. But we kept at it, and she came out of her shell. She never really fit in as part of our pack, but she was safe and healthy with us, and we eventually were able to find her a great home.
Our first HR foster was Friday, who was an absolute nightmare. He was a basset hound/fox hound mix. When we first got him, he was sick with kennel cough and seemed very mellow. The healthier he got, the worse he was. He was destructive, he howled non-stop, and he refused to be housetrained. It was such a headache! He clearly knew he was supposed to go outside to go to the bathroom, but he would get mad at you and look straight at you and pee on the floor. We made him wear a doggie diaper. He peed in it, then peed through it. We checked for a health issue. The issue was determined to be behavioral. We pulled our hair out.
And since then, we've fostered, by my count, 10 dogs through Hound Rescue. Four beagles; three beagle mixes; two larger hound mixes; and a bloodhound. One of the mixes was a puppy. The bloodhound was a disaster and did have to go to another home (suddenly, it became clear just what it means for a house to be too small for a dog). Three of them I would have kept in a heartbeat. Two of them had fairly major medical issues. Nearly all of them had ear infections, mange, fleas, or all three. All of them taught me something. And, most importantly, all of them had a home with us, and now have homes with other loving families (well, aside from Huey, but he will).
My major piece of advice for anyone considering doing rescue is to focus not on the type of dog you want to foster, but on the organization with whom you are going to work. The support you are offered by the organization makes ALL the difference. It turns out that we love beagles, and I can't imagine not having more of them in my lifetime, but I doubt we'll foster beagles in Virginia, unless we happen to find another fantastic hound rescue. It's generally harder to find fosters for larger breed dogs, and we're comfortable with the big guys, so we'll likely look in that direction. Also, since I am going to work from home, we're open to puppies again, which we haven't been. Mostly, though, what we're going to look for is an organization that supports its fosters, provides resources, and never makes you feel like you should do more than you can. We've found that here, and we never would have gotten this far into rescue without it. I very much hope we can find it there, too.
That was the day we met Huey. While we were waiting for someone at the shelter to bring him out to us, we looked at his intake form. Under weight, it said 62.5 lbs. "Must be misprint," we said to each other. "Or he's a mixed breed. No way a beagle can be that big."
And then a few days became "a bit longer," as the foster who was supposed to take him ended up with another dog instead. And by the time "a bit longer" could possibly have rolled around, we'd already decided he was fine where he was. We are pretty centrally located and close to the vet the rescue uses, so we had less trouble than most taking him in for his numerous appointments. And he was getting along very well with everyone at our house, including Atticus, who is, in general, not that easy to love.
Not just easy to get along with, though, Huey also just made himself at home. Unlike a lot of fosters, he was almost immediately comfortable and at home at our house. He picked out his spots, attached to us, and moved right on in. He was too fat to get onto the furniture, but loved the dog beds, and made a special favorite place out of a basket intended for the much smaller Belle (much to her dismay).
Luckily, the rescue did come up with the cash. Some very generous folks (including some who came right from the button on this blog!) ponied up, and we were able to schedule Huey's surgery for January.
While we were waiting for his surgery, Huey continued to endear himself to us in all kinds of ways. One reason we didn't adore him, however, was his insistence on trying to get into the cat boxes (which neither Leo nor Ata shares). To keep him away from them, we put a baby gate up in the doorway to our laundry room. Then, one day, we came home to find the gate knocked down and Huey running around with his head completely stuck in a cat box lid! (I blogged about that 
Early that afternoon, they called to let me know that it had gone fine and I could come and pick him up after work. When I got there, he looked a bit pathetic and out of it, but happy to see me. He had a couple of tumors removed as well as the ligament repair (including a large one in his tail), and those injuries were even nastier than the stitched up leg. With strict instructions to keep him still and coned, I took him home.
After about a month of healing, we discovered something--Huey could now (with a little boost) get on the couch! To many people, this wouldn't be considered a good thing, but given how much Huey loves to cuddle, we thought it was excellent.
This is the part people ask about most often. How do you let them go? It's a very good question. It's not easy. Especially after so many months and him (and by extension, us) having gone through so much. But even after all this time, and as much as I adore Huey, I don't feel like he's one of my dogs. I knew from the beginning that he was with us only temporarily, and I kept that idea in the back of my head all the time. Which isn't to say I didn't get attached to him--I did and I am--but it is still a very different thing than the way I feel about the dogs I know are staying with me until they (or I) die.
Over the past few years, rescuing dogs has been among the most challenging and worthwhile things I have done. It may well be THE most worthwhile thing. It has been a fantastic experience that I absolutely believe has made me a better person. Having Huey here for this last year has been the perfect end to that experience, and has done nothing but cement my commitment to rescue, and in particular to rescuing old dogs and dogs with health issues. He is an amazing, resilient, goofy, lovable, loud, loyal, wonderful animal. Our lives have been vastly improved by having him, as I am sure his has been by being with us. The end our role in it may be making me a little bit weepy, but Huey's a very good story.