I haven’t written in two weeks, but that’s because it’s been a crazy two weeks to say the least. If you follow me on Twitter, then you’ll know what this is about.
Tucker went back to his foster mom today.
He was a wonderful dog, and we fell in love with him instantly, but, unfortunately, he had a prey drive, and was taking it out on Jersey.
After the first night, and the first snip, I thought he was just adjusting to her.
After the first attack, I thought maybe I was mistaking play for fighting.
After the second attack, I started to have doubts.
After the (thankfully only attempted, as I had him on a leash) third attack, all within 2 weeks, Paul and I made the toughest decision of our lives, and decided to return him to the rescue group.
I’ve been crying all week, so today, when it was actually time to bring him back, I was much more composed that I thought I’d be. And actually, I probably wouldn’t have cried at all; I was at peace with the decision, except for the fact that Paul was crying when I got in the car.
Stoic boyfriend crying never helps.
We will heal. Jersey will prosper. Tucker will find a new home.
But there will always be a tiny, Boston Terrier sized hole in our hearts.