Letting Go and Coming Back

...I also wanted to see how my heart would handle the task of caring for a canine with all my being and then letting him go a couple of days later. I didn’t believe my heart was strong enough to foster a dog for many months, but this would only be for a few nights. Since this was precisely what I’d be doing on the road, I wanted to test this out before finding myself an emotional basketcase in the middle of Kansas...

That's a little excerpt from the half-a-decade-long project that is Precious Cargo, the book.  I was working on this section a couple of weeks ago as Tia lay on the floor beneath me, snoring away the afternoon.  I wrote those words in 2007, and I realized even now, I still believed my heart was not strong enough to foster for many months.  My two week limit wasn't just a rule for the apartment building; it was a rule for keeping my emotions in check.  Not that time has anything to do with connection.  I loved Tia even before I met her.  But something tells me that letting her go after a few days would have been a whole lot easier than it is now.

I'm always on the other side: the transporter who picks up the puppy from the foster with little-to-no notice, and drives off.  I've always been conscious of how much dedication it takes to be a foster, and how much I respect them for opening their homes and hearts to these beautiful souls for an indefinite amount of time and then letting them go without a fight.  I've seen fosters cry at letting go of their loved ones; but I've also felt the joy of seeing Harry in his new home, and not feeling even the tiniest bit of sadness, despite how much I was in love with the little guy.

As it sunk it that Tia would be leaving me in only a few days to live with Kelly, I became worried on how I was handling it.  I didn't even want to tell her; I couldn't form the words outloud.  But then, out of the blue, on Tuesday night, I no longer had that particular problem.

"I just found out there's a transport heading north tomorrow that we might be able to get Tia on, but I wanted to check with you first since it involves getting her to the vet in the morning for her health certificate and then meeting the transporter in Lancaster," Kathleen said.

I asked more details about the transport.  It was actually leaving from Bakersfield, but Kathleen thought she could help me out by getting a short leg of the trip covered.  However, Bakersfield is almost just as far as Lancaster, and it's a much prettier drive, so I said I was up for the Bakersfield leg.  It was finally what was supposed to happen a month earlier: I was going to overnight Tia until the transport to Oregon could be arranged.

However, she wasn't going to Oregon.  Maripat had lined up a foster in Washington state, someone who had taken in other ones she had rescued from Camarillo.  Tia would hitch the ride from Bakersfield and have a two day layover in Sacramento with the transporter, Lee.  Then he would carry on up through Washington to Canada.  He does this run once or twice a month.  I had heard the man's name before, so I had no worries about whether or not he was legit.  Also, I kept thinking how I'm usually in his shoes, not mine.  I told Kathleen I was a go if everything else was confirmed, and sure enough within a few hours, it was 100% go.   I was having my last night with Tia and didn't know it until the night was over.

It was an unusual feeling for me.  I almost didn't even recognize it.  Joy of seeing a dog off to his or her new life is always enough to offset any sadness I felt about seeing them go.  But there was no joy this time.  There was nothing to offset it.  This little girl had burrowed her way into my heart and life, and I was having a hard time seeing it all come to an end--despite me fighting to get her to a new foster or forever home as quickly as possible for the past six weeks.  Now that I got what was needed, I was upset about it.  

I tried to say the words outloud, but I couldn't.  I didn't want to upset Tia by crying.  She had tuned into me, as all dogs do to their people, and I was clearly her person.  Which made it all the sadder for me.  A week earlier as we hiked the dark mountain trail to try to catch a glimpse of the "supermoon," she occasionally stopped and pressed her nose into my leg: "You okay?  You're not going to die on me are you?"

"No, I'm fine," I replied to her, sucking in air loudly trying to ignore my body that was screaming that it was quite out of shape and might just call it quits out of spite.

As I lay in bed Tuesday night, I couldn't stop myself from crying.  Tia turned to me, and in the light of the TV on the other side of the room, I saw her face, head tilted, "What's wrong?  Why are you sad?"

I couldn't say the words.  For goodness sake, this wasn't Stella.  Tia would live on tomorrow.  I would live on too.  We just wouldn't live on together anymore.

"You know what makes me feel better?" I saw Tia's mind at work, as she slinked across the bed to me and draped her body across my waist.  "Whenever you rub my back right at the base of my tail, I feel so good.  That makes you feel good too, right?  Here you go."  And she turned her head to me, and glanced over at her tail.

I laughed.  "No, Tia, that just makes YOU feel better.  Not me."  But I rubbed her back anyway.

The next morning, I got an early appointment at the vet's, and tried my best to be happy that Tia was finally on the next phase of her life.  However, I was also worried.  She wasn't going from my home to her forever home.  She would go from my home to Lee's home for a few days, then onto the foster's, and then, maybe one day, finally a forever home. Would she think I didn't love her?  Would she think I abandoned her?

At the vet's I couldn't get a hold of Maripat so I had to pay the bill up front and Maripat would reimburse me later.  However, due to me not wanting to deal with my emotions of losing Tia, I decided to rudely be angry at not being able to reach Maripat, at money, and focused all of my energy on getting upset about the bill rather than just dealing with how much I would miss this little girl.

Meanwhile, Tia had no idea that she was spending her final moments with me.

And again, I reminded myself, Holy shit, she's not dead; she's just going to Washington.  But, the result is still the same: I'll never see her again.  Ever.

I tried not to cry on the drive to Bakersfield.  I didn't want her to feel my sadness and get anxious.  As it was, she had started her anxiety panting on the way back from the vet's, where she was given an exam as well as a vaccine.  I had to be confident; I had to be happy for her so she would be okay.

Kathleen called to tell me that Lee was running half an hour late, and I said that was fine, as I was five minutes away.  "So these are your final moments with Tia.  I'm sure you're thinking about that," Kathleen said.

Aw, crap: the tears again.  "Yup, trying not to think about that.  Thanks, Kathleen," I said, trying to laugh away the tears.

"I just want to acknowledge that that's where you are, and I know this must be hard for you.  You love her a lot.  You wouldn't take care her the way you do if you didn't."

Oh come on, Kathleen, knock it off.  I'm trying to make it without getting upset.

"Thank you," I replied.  "Thanks for letting me know about Lee.  I'll call you after I see her off."

I quickly got off the phone and tried to regain my composure.  I arrived at the Kern County shelter, our rendezvous spot, and not seeing anywhere to hang out, I asked Miss Garmin (my GPS) to locate a nearby park. 

Bakersfield is not a vacation destination.  In fact, some might argue that being dead might be better than being in Bakersfield.  The first park had a group of creepy middle-aged men hanging out at a picnic table and the second park was deserted and covered in graffiti.  This was not a great place to be.  Eventually I headed back to the shelter, opened up the tailgate, and Tia and I sat in the blazing sun, watching people come in and out of the shelter while we waited for Tia's ride.

Tia had no idea what the future would hold.  She had no idea that she would never see me again after this moment in the parking lot.  I wondered how many other dogs had their final moments with their people here in this parking lot.  Tia was lucky.  She was hitching a ride to safety.  But the dogs two cars over... a man brought out the animal control officers and together they put the slipleads on the dogs and brought them inside.  An old woman in the truck didn't even get out. Those dogs: did they know this was it?  Their final moments with their people; their final moments of freedom; most likely the final days of their lives?

Tia was safe.  As I looked into her amber eyes watching the scene next to us, I couldn't imagine the world without this soul.  I couldn't fathom her being taken into the back room and that light, that fire in her eyes, being snuffed out.  Maripat, Kathleen, me, the rescues: we were the reason why Tia wasn't taken to the back room.  She was beside me now because of the work and time they and I had invested.

Tia wasn't my dog.  I might have been her person, but she wasn’t my dog. Right now, she was everyone's dog.  I tried to convince myself that by letting her go, I was allowing the rest of the world to experience this fabulous soul.  By letting her go, I was sharing her with the world.  I felt blessed to have had my time with her; now it was time for others to love her too.

Lee pulled up and we flagged each other down.  It was a simple passenger van without the seats, ready with airline crates for the ten little dogs he was picking up along the way.  There was one wire crate, like one you see in a house, with a bed in it, right behind his seat.

"You can pick up the rest and she can go in last," I said to him, hoping I could have just even a few more minutes with Tia.

"Nah, she's easy.  Let's get her in," he said.

I walked Tia over and she put her feet up on the side of the van.  She was ready to explore.  I had to get the harness off her first, but then she just went right into the crate, collar and leash still attached.  No hesitation at all.

"Wait.  Wait," I said to her.  "A hug goodbye?"

I leaned in, and gave her a kiss on the forehead.  I could sense that Lee wanted to be on his way to his next stop, but I lingered.  I was being that high maintenance foster mom, instead of the efficient transporter.  I asked when he planned on getting to Sacramento.

"When I get there," was his reply.

"Tonight?" I asked.

"Oh hell, yeah.  I plan on sleeping in my own bed tonight."

I waved good bye, and that was it.  Tia was gone.

I needed silence for a time on the road.  No radio, just the open road and my thoughts and feelings.  I didn't like this.  2007 or 2011: my heart just isn't strong enough to do this.  I can't do this again.  Short term fine, but this long with a dog: I just can't.

Forty-five minutes later a thought crossed my mind: what if that wasn't Lee?  It's not like we asked for each other's identification.  What if I just handed her off to anyone?

I know that's illogical, but still, I figured I should call Kathleen and let her know I handed Tia off to Lee as a sort of verification that it was him.  Kathleen asked how I was doing.

"I just need some more alone time.  And luckily I have two whole hours of that on the road right now!"

"If you hadn't said you'd take her, we wouldn't have been able to pull her.  You realize it's because you that she's alive,  right? You are allowed to grieve.  You love her.  It's okay that you'll miss her."

Again, Kathleen, really?

"But it's selfish," I said, trying to hold in the tears.

"How is it selfish?"

"Because she's going on to better things.  I have no right to be sad."

"Of course you do!  I don't know any foster who has had a dog longer than a week that doesn't cry when they see them go," Kathleen said.

"I wonder if she thinks I abandoned her," I admitted my other reason for crying.

"Pit bulls are resilient.  She'll make new friends."

I knew she would.  She had already professed her love for Lee before she got into the van.  I knew she would have fun on her adventure.  But I never got the sense that she thought I was just a transient in her life. 

Some dogs seem to know that I'm just there for a short time.  They get it; they know I'm not their person.  But Tia seemed to think I was hers.

Or maybe she's like that with all people.  It's like what Stephanie said about me with Stella: "I see the way you look at her."

I look at all dogs that way, I told her.  I love them all.  Maybe Tia looks at all people that way.  I certainly hope so.

It's been two days, and I still miss the little girl.  I don't miss going for boring walks three times a day; but I do miss her attempting to snuggle with me while I type on the computer, and I miss her snoring and sleep-barking.  I miss her expressive face. I miss her.

I had asked Kathleen to keep me updated on news of Tia's travels.  This afternoon I got a voicemail:  "Tia's safe, but there's been a change of plans."

Tia is currently in Sacramento and doing just fine, but rather than catch her connecting ride to Washington she's going to turn around and head south.  The foster in Washington had an emergency, and can no longer have Tia.  Ironically, the day Tia left, Maripat got an adoption application from someone here in Los Angeles. 

And so, it appears the universe hasn't cancelled the Tia plotline for me.  She's staying with a temp foster in Sacramento until she can catch a ride south, and although Kathleen said she'll be headed to boarding, I of course offered to take her in: as long as there's a definite end date.

Yeah right.  Looks like Season Two with Tia is just around the corner.