I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you.
When I signed up to foster you, I promised you that I would love you and take care of you until your forever family came along. I know you and I both secretly hoped that family would be ours.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you everything you needed. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be—and couldn’t find—the angel to cure you of your severe separation anxiety.
I wish I could have been that one-in-a-million person you needed. The one who could put everything on hold—the needs of his children, the needs of his marriage, the demands of his job—to spend all his time with you until you are better. Maybe it’s two months. Maybe it’s six months. Severe separation anxiety is a bitch.
I’m sorry I let you go. From here, I can only imagine where you’ll go next. If you’re lucky, to another foster. If not, maybe a kennel. Or worse. It’s most definitely not what you need. I’m sorry that I, like most other people out there, don’t have enough time, enough patience, and enough understanding to work through your complex condition with you.
There is no doubt in my mind that you are worth it. Underneath your anxiety, you’re just a sweet puppy who never knew anything better. A gentle dog, who wants desperately to please, but your anxiety keeps getting in the way.
Most of all, I’m sorry that I can’t talk to you. I can’t ask you for forgiveness. I can’t tell you how much I love you. I can only show you through my tears how heartbroken I am. How I will always love you and how I will never forget you.
I love you, Squishy.
If you’re that one-in-a-million, please visit: http://mimisforeverhome.org/murray