Foster Pet: MitchSome foster homes take in foster children and then claim to be foster homes. And I suppose they are, after a fashion...but we've decided to enter new realms of fostering.
I've mentioned that we do volunteer work for the Humane Society...it's good work, and they have a good mission, my recent misgivings about how much--or in this case little--our local shelter feeds the bigger dogs notwithstanding. But no dog is going to do as well sitting in a concrete-and-fence kennel as they are living in an actual house with an actual family and actual canine playmates.
Enter Mitch. He's staying with us until he can find a forever home, or until he fits in here well enough and something happens to Tasha, in which case he may well already be home.
Mitch is a dopey-looking hound, if the truth were told. He's a sort of german shepherd crossed with a rottweiler and a learning-disabled giant hamster on speed. Other than being much, MUCH smaller than Bo (but still probably 50 pounds or better), he reminds me a whole lot of my dearly departed buddy.
He's got one crooked ear which endears us, he gets very WORRIED with many wrinkles on his head when something sudden or interesting happens, and he aggressively seeks to pursue new realms of knowledge...like what those fuzzy, fast things are that make the funny hissing noises and have nasty pokey things in their fingers.
And he gives Bo kisses, sans about 90% of the slobber inherent in a kiss from a hounds who shares genes with Saint Bernards. Ah, the Bo kisses when I get home from work. Nothing like them. Mitch ain't Bo, but he ain't bad.