It started with a leash, a little hope, and a dog I didn’t plan on keeping.
When I first dipped my toe into the world of dog fostering, I told myself I was doing a good thing and helping a dog find their forever home while giving them a safe, loving pit stop. Sign me up. I figured it would be short-term—a week or two here and there. There were no strings. There was no commitment. But, as life has taught me many times over, the best things tend to happen when you’re not looking for them.
That’s how Manny came into my life.
Manny was a young Lab mix with kind eyes and nervous energy. He’d been rescued from a difficult situation in Turkey and needed a place to stay until his “real” home was found. When we were dropped off, he seemed tired from the journey and unsure of his new surroundings. But slowly, over the days and weeks that followed, something shifted—not just in him, but in me.
Manny didn’t come in with a dramatic story, but didn’t need one. His presence was a calm in the chaos. At the time, like many of us, I was navigating my own challenges—emotional burnout, bouts of anxiety, and that gnawing sense of loneliness that tends to creep in during quiet evenings. Manny didn’t fix everything, but somehow, he made it all feel lighter. His head on my lap, his tail thumping every time I walked into the room—it grounded me in a way I didn’t realize I needed.
By the time the rescue group checked in, asking if I thought Manny was ready for adoption, my partner and I told them that we just couldn’t let him go.
Eventually, I stopped pretending. Manny wasn’t my foster dog anymore. He was my dog.
Adopting Manny wasn’t the original plan, but it was absolutely the right decision. Still, I didn’t want that to end my fostering journey. There were so many dogs out there who needed a temporary place to land, and now that Manny was settled, we had room—both literally and emotionally—to help.
Enter Mini, Cloud (who stayed with us twice, LouLou, and most recently, Kiwi.
Kiwi was a tiny whirlwind of scruff and spunk, part terrier, part mystery, and all attitude. He and Manny were a hilarious duo—he, the calm and stoic big brother; he, the high-energy little brother with something to say about everything. I wasn’t sure how long we’d have Kiwi. He’d come from a situation where he was safe but couldn’t stay any longer and needed a place to stay. We thought, with Manny and us, that would be the perfect place, and it was.
At first, Kiwi seemed high energy yet somewhat timid. But Manny was patient with him, and slowly, he began to really relax and open up. I’ll never forget the first time he climbed onto the couch beside me and cuddled right into Manny, who was already half asleep, and proceeded to fall asleep, resting his head on Manny.
We had Kiwi for months—long enough that people started asking, “Are you going to keep him too?” And honestly, I thought about it a lot.
But fostering teaches you something important: just because you can doesn’t always mean you should.
Manny and I had built a rhythm together. We had space and structure that worked for both of us. Kiwi needed more—more attention, more consistency, and probably more space to run—than our city life could always provide. I loved Kiwi deeply, but I also knew that the best forever home for Kiwi might not be with me.
And then, one day, it happened. We took Kiwi to an adoption meet-up event, and a couple met him and fell in love. Having already had dogs before, they seemed experienced and patient, with a peaceful home and a soft spot for high-energy dogs. Kiwi would be the perfect fit for their low-energy dog, who they wanted to see be more active. Within a week, Kiwi was adopted.
Letting him go was hard—really hard. But when I saw the first update—the photo of him playing with the new family’s other dog, with a big, huge smile on his face—it let me know that I not only helped him along his journey, but I also knew when it was the right time to let go.
Fostering, I’ve come to realize, is a bittersweet kind of magic. You open your door, your schedule, and your heart. You teach these animals how to trust again, play, and rest easy. And then, if you’re lucky—and strong—you let them go so they can have the life they deserve.
But what I didn’t expect, not really, was how much these dogs would give me in return.
Manny saved me as much as I saved him. In the quiet companionship of our daily walks, I found mindfulness. In his unconditional love, I found stability. And in every new foster we welcome, I find purpose.
When people hear about what I do, they often say things like, “I could never foster. I’d get too attached.” And I get it. You do get attached. You love them. You cry when they leave.
But you also get to be part of something beautiful. You get to help rewrite a story—for them, and maybe even for yourself.
Not every foster becomes a forever, and that’s okay. Manny was my “foster fail,” and I wear that badge proudly. Kiwi was my success story because we helped him start a new chapter filled with love and security.
They say rescue pets are lucky to have us. But I think we’re the lucky ones.
I didn’t expect fostering to change my life. But it did—in the softest, most profound way. It gave me Manny. It gave Kiwi a future. And it gave me a reason to keep showing up, even on the hard days.
Because in saving them, we so often end up saving ourselves. And that’s the kind of love story I’ll keep writing, one paw at a time.
markmunroe
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