I had spent weeks telling myself I was preparing him for somebody else.
A family with a fenced yard.
Someone home often.
No steep stairs.
Someone willing to continue exercises.Book Workouts
Someone patient enough to accept that his gait might always look unusual.
There were good people who could offer that.
I knew it.
That night I opened the adoption application template on my laptop.
Sombra slept beside the couch.
I typed:
Name: Sombra.
Age: estimated three to four years.
Breed: mixed.
Temperament: affectionate, gentle, observant.
Medical history: severe historic pelvic trauma, profound malnutrition at intake, continuing rehabilitation.
I stopped.
The cursor blinked.
Sombra woke.
He stood slowly.
Walked across the living room.
Placed his head on my knee.
I looked at the screen.
“You’re making this difficult.”
Tail wag.
“You were supposed to be a foster.”
Tail wag.
“I rescue dogs.”Shop Dog Food
His tail moved faster.
