My foster dog is beautiful

Those of us who have fostered have gone through this. It is why we do
> what we do.
>
> My foster dog is beautiful...
>
> My foster dog stinks to high heaven. I don't know for sure what breed
> he is.
> His eyes are blank and hard. He won't let me pet him, and growls when I
> reach for him.
> He has ragged scars and crusty sores on his skin. His nails
> are long and his teeth, which he showed me, are stained. I sigh. I drove
> two hours for this. I carefully maneuver him so that I can stuff him in
> the crate. Then I lift the crate and put it in the car. I am going home
> with my new foster dog.
>
> At home I leave him in the crate till all the other dogs are in the
> yard. I get him out of the crate and ask him if he wants 'outside.' As I
> lead him to the door he hikes his leg on the wall and shows me his
> stained teeth
> again. When we come in he goes to the crate, because that's the only safe
> place he sees. I offer him food, but he won't eat it if I look at him;
> so, I
> turn my back. When I come back the food is gone. I ask again about
> 'outside.' When we come back, I pat him before I let him in the crate;
> he jerks away
> and runs into the crate to show me his teeth.
>
> The next day I decide I can't stand the stink any longer. I lead him
> into the bath with cheese in my hand. His fear of me is not quite
> overcome by his wish for the cheese. And well he should fear me, for I
> will give him
> a bath. After an attempt or two to bail out, he is defeated and stands
> there. I have bathed four-legged bath squirters for more dog years than
> he has
> been alive. His only defense was a show of his stained teeth that did
> not hold
> up to a face full of water. As I wash him it is almost as if I wash not
> only
> the stink and dirt away, but also some of his hardness. His eyes look
> full of sadness now. And he looks completely pitiful as only a
> soap-covered
> dog can. I tell him that he will feel better when he is cleaned. After the
> soap, the towels are not too bad; so, he lets me rub him dry. I take him
> outside. He runs for joy: the joy of not being in the tub and the joy of
> being
> clean. I, the bath giver, am allowed to share the joy. He comes to me
> and lets me pet him.
>
> One week later I have a vet bill. His skin is healing. He likes for
> me to pet him. I think I know what color he will be when his hair grows
> in. I have found out he is terrified of other dogs. So I carefully
> introduce
> him to my mildest four legged brat. It doesn't go well.
> Two weeks later there is a new vet bill for an infection that was
> missed on the first visit. He plays with the other dogs.
>
> Three weeks later he asks to be petted. He chewed up part of the rug.
>
> Eight weeks later his coat shines, and he has gained weight. He
> shows his clean teeth when his tongue lolls out after he plays chase in
> the
> yard with the gang. His eyes are soft and filled with life. He loves
> hugs and
> likes to show off his tricks, if you have the cheese.
> Someone called today and asked about him; they saw the picture I
> took the first week. They asked about his personality, his history, his
> breed. They asked if he was pretty. I asked them lots of questions. I
> checked up
> on them. I prayed. I said yes. When they saw him the first time, they
> said he was the most beautiful dog they had ever seen.
>
> Six months later I got a call from his new family. He is wonderful,
> smart, well-behaved and very loving. How could someone not want him?
> I told them I didn't know.
> He is beautiful.
> They all are.
>
> Written by: Martha O'Connor
>
>