Best Kind of Failure – Greyhound Foster Failure

Best Kind of Failure – Greyhound Foster Failure
Foster failure greyhound
Lovely Lily

Failure is never as pretty except when it’s foster failure.  For the uninitiated, that means just say you are fostering a dog (or cat, bird, rabbit, horse) and that dog never leaves your house. You adopt the dog and love that dog for the rest of his or her life. I think it’s called foster failure because you failed to adopt the dog to another person or household. But really it should have a more positive spin than foster failure.

Lily greyhound was my first foster failure.

The year was 1999 in Southern California and I was bordering on the brink of failing to afford my balloon mortgage payment and trying to be self-employed; not a sound economic strategy. The year before I adopted Painter greyhound.

The adoption group now know as Fast Friends called to ask if I could foster and I thought sure why not, it’s not like I can afford another dog.

I went to pick her up and was told that she peed and pooped in her crate and they seemed eager to give her to me. Thrilled, actually. Her name was Birdie; I hated that name.

She walked into my house with so much attitude and jumped on the couch in five minutes. She was all of 2 years 3 months old. Her racing name was Impatient Roar and she exited racing at such a young age because she caused interference. I didn’t pay attention to these clues.

She was a handful from day one. Where Painter was 99 percent good boy, her whole life she hovered around 65 percent I’ll be good if I want to be mode.

I tried not to bond with her.                                                                                

Lily greyhound
Foot wash? Water bowl?


I needed to take her to the vet to be spayed and because I had to fly to San Jose for a new client meeting also had Painter in the car as I was dropping him off at a friend’s house. The day was hot so I took both dogs into the vet office and when Painter came back into the car alone – he cried –loudly.

When I picked him up after my trip and brought him home, he went from room to room looking for her. He seemed depressed. When I brought her back after the spay, both were overjoyed to see each other. She seemed to be on better behavior too.

When the adoption group said they were sending over potential adopters, my heart sank. Eventually push came to shove and she stayed. I foster failed and I paid for her on an installment plan.

The day I made the decision to keep her I called her Lily and she responded.

Lily lived to 12 years 9 months so we shared many mischievous years together. Her nickname was Drama Queen and she responded to it. I will save some of those stories for another time.

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