. . . THE (MIS)ADVENTURES OF A FOSTER MOM 6 MAY 2006

I arrive at Scott & Greg's beautiful house, to be greeted by a Rico-Twin (that would be Al) looking out the window . . . Al & Foxy watch for FosterMom Andréa to come pick up Zoe I take some WONderful photographs, meet all the other pooches at Chez Lubert-Martin, chat a bit, take some more WONderful photographs, look at Greg's photographs, put Zoe into the crate, and head on home. Once home, Zoe takes to VetteMan immediately; I take some more WONderful photographs of him holding her, and she is holding onto him, I swear . . . . . . Zoe's tail is down so far it practically meets her nose . . . she skitters around the yard, pees, skitters around the yard again, pees, skitters inside the house. I leave the patio doors open so everydog can go inside or outside, as s/he please. I sit at my computer to email Shell that all is well, and to begin organizing these pages. I suddenly realize that there is no skittering in the house, so I go outside to check up on the Cairn Trio . . . there's Cari, hunting wabbits; there's Rico, watching Cari hunt wabbits; there's . . . NO ZOE!!! Don't panic, I tell myself. The fence is secure, she hasn't had time to dig to China, or even to the next yard (especially since there are two-foot flower beds up against the six-foot privacy fence) . . . she's just hiding in the dark yard somewhere. I get a flashlight; it doesn't work. Mr. FixIt gets the flashlight to work; I search the entire yard. No Zoe, no sound of skittering on the pebbles, nothing! I know . . . Cari & Rico can tell me where she is. "RICO! WHERE'S ZOE?! FIND ZOE!" He points to the garden shed, so I lie down in the gravel and search under the shed; no Zoe. Rico as Lassie is a failure. Cari continues hunting wabbits. No help there. Finally, VetteMan realizes the seriousness of the matter, gets another flashlight, and patrols the yard while I look in every closet, under every bed, behind every door, in the garage . . . no Zoe. Before notifying Shell & CRUSA of my abject failure as a FosterMom, I get in my car for a drive around the neighborhood. Truly, this is an exercise in futility, as it is now dark, Zoe is terrified and did I mention that her tags were on her harness,which I had removed a few minutes before her Houdini Act? (Note to self: ALWAYS transfer tags to the collar the dog is wearing.) I make plans to make flyers the next morning; to call the local shelters on Monday; to put an advertisement in the local newspaper; to scourge myself with a wet leash. I'm several blocks away from home when my cell phone rings. VetteMan: I found her. Me: Where? VM: Come home and see. So I did. VM: Get the camera; I'll show you where she is . . . . . . not two inches from where I'd been sitting 30 minutes before, emailing to Shell. VetteMan just thought to himself, If I was a small frightened dog, used to living in a cage, where would I hide? In my printer cabinet. She was no longer shivering, skittering or panting, so I let her be for the rest of the evening and went back to writing these pages. Oh yes - those WONderful photographs I took? All black because SOMEone pushed some buttons on my camera, putting it into TV Mode, whatever THAT is. So unless we do the entire evening over again (thanks, but no thanks), you will have to use your imagination about these WONderful photos.

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