Doogie by Bea Tifton

 I have a friend who runs a rescue and she is always in dire need of fosters. She learned of a puppy mill seizure, and the overflowing city shelter did not have room for the babies so Susan and other rescues took as many as they could. I volunteered to foster one of them, a cute little 18 month old male Chihuahua. That’s when I learned that my mother and I are not able to foster. Our foster fail, or foster dog we ended up adopting instead of sending on, is absolutely adorable. Mom thinks Doogie looks like Dobby, the house elf from the Harry Potter stories. I can’t disagree. Gotta be the ears, I think.

Doogie had never been on grass, never seen outdoors, never seen rain, gotten a dog treat, played with other dogs, or received cuddles. So many firsts! He’s such a loving, affectionate, happy little guy in spite of his rough beginning. He loves to roll around from one end of the couch or the bed to the other, and I always hold my breath that he will roll off, but he never does. He gets the zoomies outside and runs around the yard with a look of pure joy on his face. Our other dogs play with him or patiently let Doogie sleep on them. He must always touch me and/or one of the other dogs. I guess he’s making up for his first 18 months. My oldest dog occasionally gets a bit tired of his rolling and enthusiastic affection, but she just moves away and he gloms onto someone else. At night, he stays right by me, burrowed under the blanket.

It’s like watching any baby, every day brings a new discovery, and his enthusiasm, curiosity, and intelligence are wonderful to see. We’ve laughed until we’ve almost cried at his antics. And there have been some instances of puppy chewing, lapsed potty training, and too much curiosity for his own good. That’s just part of having a young dog. I’ve never been sorry for my foster fail. Doogie is a joy to have and he’s just so darn cute.

After all, every house needs a house elf.