Everyone wants to be a success, right? Succeeding is important. As a writer, I hope to produce a successful book (trying to finish the third Piper Blackwell adventure right now). In general, I want to succeed at life. But as a foster dog-mom, I am an utter failure.

A failure.

Lulu, a mix-breed puppy, needed a foster home, and I volunteered. I think Hudson’s Halfway Home is an excellent organization, and so I wanted to help out. It is where Missy came from many years ago. Missy is my Bossy Terrier. Here is the link to Hudson’s. Please consider donating, and “friend” them on Facebook.

Lulu was pulled from a Decatur shelter; she’d had a bad reaction to the anesthesia and couldn’t walk for a few days. She can run now. She runs real fast. A puppy of indeterminate months, she housebroke quickly, and “sits pretty” for her dinner bowl. Hudson’s promoted her on Facebook and their webpage, but there were no nibbles for this super-sweet girl. Not one. They’d warned me when they dropped her off that it might take a while because she’s a black dog. Some friends of mine who worked at animal shelters through the years told me “dark colored dogs go last.” They’re not as photogenic. That’s how I ended up with an American Water Spaniel named Keesha when I lived in Wisconsin. A family was going to turn her over to a shelter. A dark dog, I worried Keesha would go last … if at all. It was not a “no kill” shelter. I took Keesha in, and she was quick to become my best friend.

Nothing wrong with black dogs … I think these three are beautiful. Lulu, Missy in the middle, and my heart, Wrinkles, Lord of the Lawn Chair.

After a month of fostering Lulu, Hudson’s still hadn’t received a single application for her. I was flummoxed. Housebroken … check. Friendly … check. Sweet … check. Puppy … check. Loves to sit on laps … check. Dark-colored dog … check. No one wanted her, apparently.

Except me and Bruce.

And Missy the Bossy Terrier, who initially didn’t like the interloper–hated is probably a better term, but who now cuddles and plays almost endlessly with her.

And Wrinkles, my dear, dear pug, who doesn’t play anymore but likes to curl up next to Lulu’s stomach. He’s there right now, in fact. Both of them are snoring under my desk.

And Fable the lazy Lab. But he’s not so lazy anymore. Lulu gets him to run circles in the yard.

We’d all gotten rather attached.

And so I am a FAILURE.

Or maybe if I look at it from a different angle, I’m a success.

I succeed at failing where dogs are concerned.

Welcome, Lulu.

I wonder how big she’ll grow?

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