My household is fostering a puppy. A big, happy, goofy puppy. Here’s a photo: His name is Presley, and he is about a year old. He has been with my family since March, when a local rescue worker found him wandering in a park. This was him when she coaxed him into her car and put out the call for a foster home. He was skinny and insecure. It looked like he was abandoned, and had to spend too much of his puppy life walking outside. He hates the rain, and is terrified of the sound of traffic. The deal with fostering is that the foster home cares for the dog until he gets adopted. He’s going to his new family on Saturday. The funny thing about this is how much better a dog he is than our own dogs. Here are A.J. (left) and Xena (right). They are Shih Tzu rescues. Our dogs have it great. But because they are our dogs, we don’t have to worry about making them adoptable. They're just good enough to bring to a friend's house, go to daycare, and ride
Validated ministry in theological education, social justice advocacy, religious publishing... you get the picture. Pondering life, faith, church, and world. Views are my own and do not represent my employer.