Someone was interested in meeting my foster dog, the rescue had an adoption event, and there were some other things that I needed to take care of. So I didn't go.
I stayed. And found myself with a stomach virus mid-day Friday that lasted well into Sunday. It sucked enough being close to my own bathroom, and I can't imagine flight travel with a stomach bug. So maybe I was supposed to stay home.
When the bug hit Friday, I thought -- this is a sign. This is a sign that I *had* to stay in town, and I was certain that reason was because foster Posey was sure to get adopted. The family sounded perfect, and the lady of the house is a dog trainer -- perfect for Posey, who is young and needs some discipline (discipline that I have simply not had time to provide her).
So I spent Saturday, stomach bug and all, driving around the metroplex, to the adoption event, then to the adoptive family's home for a home check, and I departed feeling great about placing her. I managed to drive back home before needing a restroom (the bug must have been on its way out, I thought -- no puns, please).
On Sunday, I felt my weekend was finally starting. Albeit late, I'd take it. I picked up some medicine from the pharmacy (finally caving to modern medicine), determined to get some quality time with my son at the local pool.
When the bug hit Friday, I thought -- this is a sign. This is a sign that I *had* to stay in town, and I was certain that reason was because foster Posey was sure to get adopted. The family sounded perfect, and the lady of the house is a dog trainer -- perfect for Posey, who is young and needs some discipline (discipline that I have simply not had time to provide her).
So I spent Saturday, stomach bug and all, driving around the metroplex, to the adoption event, then to the adoptive family's home for a home check, and I departed feeling great about placing her. I managed to drive back home before needing a restroom (the bug must have been on its way out, I thought -- no puns, please).
On Sunday, I felt my weekend was finally starting. Albeit late, I'd take it. I picked up some medicine from the pharmacy (finally caving to modern medicine), determined to get some quality time with my son at the local pool.
Sunday was my *fun* day. I was feeling better, we had a great time, and a few of our friends joined us. We wrapped Sunday evening with my son's friend sleeping over ... I love hearing the sound of those boys playing in our home.
And then Monday hit. The major incident being that my foster's adoptive family phoned at 9:30 a.m. to say it wasn't working out, that Posey was showing aggression toward their dog, and that they didn't even want to work on it, as they were afraid they would become more attached to her. So I guess placing Posey also wasn't the reason I missed this trip to Florida. Sigh. As the head of the rescue said, "It wasn't meant to be."
There's more ... but I'll get to that in my next post. This one's mainly "things that weren't supposed to happen" Labor Day weekend. I'll follow with "things that were ..."
In the shower this morning, I found this song playing in my head:
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