It's Official: Why I Completely Failed at Fostering Dahlia

As probably very few of you will be surprised to learn, last week I signed the papers to make Dahlia my forever little squishy beanbag. 

We've had her since last August. 











As time went on I was getting more and more attached to her snorts, her kisses, her snorting kisses and her bad breath and her little tiny squishy body, but I kept holding out. Part of me wanted to avoid having not one but two strong, hard-to-walk dogs, part of me felt bad for Fozzie having to put up with her nonsense. A big part of me wanted the simplicity of one dog and having always a space open for a foster. 

But in the end, there were some other factors that were much bigger than these excuses.

Like how she likes to lie down in cool water, 

and roll around so all of her gets wet.
 

Like how she loves people, and greets new humans gently and with joy. 

Like how she looks absolutely ridiculous in her winter hoodie,

and how she is not a picky eater and really helps with prewash when you have people over and a bunch of dishes to deal with.

Like how she gurgles and snorts and convulses on flat surfaces, 

especially after I have applied sunblock to the pink areas of her face and belly.
















Like the fact that she is just. So. Weird. 















She is like a little snorting, snoring, biting, loving, humping, convulsing, deaf alien. All dogs are kind of bizarre but she just takes it to a whole new level. 

Then there's the fact that although she pesters Fozzie, he seems to actually like her. 


Often he's the instigator of their wrestling hump sessions, which I know doesn't mean that they're necessarily healthy... 




















but he's not avoiding her, not afraid of her, and just seems to kinda like her. 

Maybe this is telling, but some of the times I love her most are when she's sleeping. Like when she digs the pillows on the couch into a comfy little nest and like how she snores loudly and how she doesn't wake up when I come home. 

Like when she collapses in a heavy thunk on the floor, 

and lies there in complete trust, usually with one back paw extended out the back so she looks like a little semi colon.










Or when she curls up into a tiny ball 

or a tiny compact shape like a beanbag.

and just snores.

But really the thing about Dahlia is the way it feels to think about her, to be with her, to wrap my arms around her compact form and squish her little mouth and feel her hot, foul breath and see the devotion--with a touch of mischief--in her eyes. 






 
I think it's called love.