Personal Essays


She blames us, it is clear. She thinks we misled her. “He is aggressive and unpredictable. He bares his teeth and growls when you pet him! He charges down other dogs. You need to take him back” He sit up and looks at me, ears flopped back, pleading puppy-dog eyes. I reach down and pat him on his big head *thunk*thunk*, he grins and flops onto his back, belly up ‘tummy rubs please?’

Two months had passed, and yet we were at the beginning again. The dog, the backseat, the trip home. This time he isn’t looking back, he is grinning at me. This time, we open the door to the house and he bolts inside, right to his old bed. He collapses there, all smiles, sighs loudly, and falls asleep. I want to cry. Our first attempt at fostering a dog was shaping up to be a colossal failure.

It took us about a week to decide that Taz was the same old dog. There was no unpredictability. There was no growling, no aggression. Taz was Taz, with all of his ridiculous quirks, and he seemed genuinely relieved to be back with us. Maybe other folks were right. Maybe Taz had chosen us.

And yet, the peace had been ruined. No matter what Taz was to us before, no matter what he would be to us in the future, there was this sneaking insidious worry, this "what if". What if it wasn’t just a fluke, a bad relationship, a bad match? What if Taz, under all his charm, what if he is a bad dog? What if he suddenly turns into a teeth baring, growling, biting horror? Is he a danger to society? What if no one wants him? What if?
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