I continued to feel super guilty about having taken Morgan back to the shelter. I had wanted to offer her a safe haven, a place of peace in which to heal. She was my very first canine foster and having it turn out so poorly made me question if I could ever successfully foster a dog. The more I reflected on what I could have done to make things go more smoothly long term with Morgan, the more I was drawing a blank. Maybe Ann’s reassuring words were right: they can’t all work out perfectly; we just have to keep trying and hoping for ones that do.
The next time I went to the shelter, Morgan was in a kennel in adoptables. Her surgery site was mostly healed and she didn’t have her cone on. Maybe those few days and two nights of being with me constantly had helped the initial healing; maybe her coup of Livie had kept her busy enough to prevent further self-destruction. Small victories?! She was happy to see me, but she probably would have been happy to see any kind volunteer.
I tracked the Facebook page for the shelter, hoping each day that Morgan’s name would join the ranks of adopted animals. But day after day, it wasn’t there. For a few weeks, Morgan was in her kennel when I would visit the shelter. But then one day, she wasn’t. I was hopeful that she was back in foster care being the only dog showered with love and attention (and full access to the couch!). I was scared that she had gotten sick though, and was back in isolation. I was new to the fostering scene and didn’t want to bother anyone with my questions about a dog that I had not been able to successfully foster. I learned the lesson quickly: no matter how long (or short) an animal is with me, they leave with a piece of my heart forever.