Hey there! My name is Polly Pocket and I am in the HOUSE!
I’ve been with my foster family for about a week now and I am learning so much about being a part of a family. First things first – I got my very own Sirius Republic “Lily” collar with hot pink fleece lining. I look pretty cute, huh?
I am still getting to know my foster siblings. Rufus and I are able to hang outside together but Turk and I have only been able to see each other from afar.
From what I hear, he is not a huge fan of me or any other fosters. Maybe I’ll be able to change his mind eventually?
When I first came to live here, I was so scared of everything that I would cry and cry every time Foster Mama left my sight. I didn’t like to go outside alone and I refused to eat my food if Foster Mama didn’t sit with me the whole time. If anyone tried to touch me, I would flatten to the floor or try to run away because I wasn’t sure if I could trust these people yet. Needless to say, I was a mess.
But Foster Mama did some research on fearful dogs and found out that it was best to let me come out of my shell on my own terms and not try to force it. That was a pretty smart move, because once I was here for a couple of days, I realized how awesome Foster Mama and Foster Dad really are! They give me hot dogs when I “sit” my bottom on the ground, go potty outside, or when I go into the crate on my own. They even let me snooze on my very own Molly Mutt bed!
I’m not gonna lie though – things aren’t all perfect at Foster House. Foster Mama and Dad
abandon leave me sometimes and I get worried that they are never going to come back. The worst part though, is that when they do abandon leave me, they put me in a crate. I hate crates so much. I tried to explain to them how much I hated crates the first time the put me in one…
But wouldn’t you know it, the bent wires and shredded bedding didn’t deter them! So the next time, I had to get a little more drastic so they would finally understand…
I overheard Foster Mama telling Foster Dad that she is frustrated, but not deterred. She asked her friend Aleks for advice on how to handle my “sep-ur-ation anxiety” and Aleks told her that my problem isn’t actually “sep-ur-ation anxiety” at all, but more of a hardcore hissy fit. How dare she say that! I wouldn’t never throw a hissy fit…unless, of course, that hissy fit resulted in the return of my dearest foster parents from wherever they disappear off to from time-to-time.
So Aleks gave Foster Mama some tips to make me
love tolerate my crate, like feeding me exclusively from Kongs inside my crate, leaving me a piece of their clothing so I can smell them while they are gone, and playing a recording of their voices (or the radio or whatever) on repeat so I can hear voices in the house when they are away. I’ll admit, I’m not sold on the whole “crate” or “foster parents abandoning me every day for something called ‘work'” thing yet.
But I’m willing to work on it… they did spring me from the slammer so I owe them that much, right?