Rosie Update 4

I’m worried about Rosie. Nobody wants her. In the six months she’s been living with us, only two people have even called about her. And neither person was the proper fit. Donna and Mason keep reassuring me the right family will come along, but the longer she stays the more remote that seems. What happens next? What if a year comes and goes and Rosie is still at the Farnival? We just keep waiting, right?

I’ve never fostered a dog that’s been so unwanted, and I’m racking my brain trying to figure out why. Rosie is a fifty-five pound St. Bernard-Hound-Boxer mutt with a head as big and hard as a bowling ball. Although she’s medium sized, she has the strut and goofy stare of a much larger dog. She’s terrible on a leash, but when we let her run free in the woods she never goes more than a few hundred yards away, circling our perimeter like she’s on patrol. She listens and she’s loyal.

It’s hard for me not to worry about Rosie because she rarely lets me out of her sight. Rosie’s love is even bigger than her attitude, and for some reason, she’s picked me as the object of her devotion. When I’m working, she naps with her blockhead on my office chair, drooling on my feet. If I’m doing laundry she follows me up and down the stairs as I switch loads or add a dryer sheet. When we sleep, she’s like a second skin, cuddling so tight if I move she adjusts. Even when I go to the bathroom, she sits on the rug in front of my blue throne, smelling me stink the place up like I was Cleopatra pooping roses.

When I left for the frozen tundra of Vermont two months ago, I was so sure my sidekick would be adopted that I even asked Mason to arrange the meet and greet without me, advising him to make sure the family committed to daily exercise. But now, I’m wondering if anybody at all will call.

Loyal readers, I’m asking y’all to send out good vibes for our loving oaf. If anyone has any advice on how to get Rosie adopted or knows someone looking for a big galoot to add to their pack please write to thefarnival@gmail.com.