(Dawn and Mason selfie, two months ago)
Right now, as I type, it’s pouring outside. A heavy fog hovers over the yard and between the naked tree branches. I hear the rain tapping against the ground, the roof, the windows, and try not to think about Mason. He’s sitting on the couch, slumped really, staring at our foster dog Dawn and brooding. I told him an hour ago that ICHBA has already received an inquiry about her.
It’s hard for me to watch him watching her. I know his heart sags with the reality that one day, maybe one day really soon, he has to say goodbye.
He’s attached. She’s attached. It’s a love affair. And who could blame them? Mason’s the one that went into that dark shed last Christmas Eve morning to capture her, he’s the one that wooed her when she was imprisoned in our basement until we could have her spayed. He cares about that sweet shy ghetto mutt more than I’ve seen him care about any dog.
And Dawn feels just as strongly about him. For the longest time, he kept inviting her onto our bed for an afternoon nap, but she kept declining, whining a little but always going back to her perch on the couch. And then, a few days ago I walked around the corner and caught her snuggled next to Mace. He was sound asleep, chest rhythmically rising and falling. Her snout was on his stomach, brown liquid eyes wide open but as peaceful as I’ve ever seen them. She loves my husband.
The inquiry is just an email, asking to speak with ICHBA about Dawn. It may not go a step farther, but it’s enough to kickstart the emotional process of letting Dawn go. It’s not going to be easy…especially for Mason.