After I’d fostered just a couple of dogs, my own dogs thought that I was fostering for their benefit and happiness. Every dog so far was interesting, showed how much she or he liked the two of them and fit themselves into their pack as fast as possible. When they heard my car pull into the driveway one July afternoon with Gwen in the back seat, Teddy and Josie immediately thought she would make life better.  They turned out to be right.

I followed a set of steps to make sure first introductions went well.  First, the new dog, in this case Gwen, walked on a leash around my front yard.  Then I brought her into my fenced back yard, letting go of the leash so it trailed behind her.  She explored the yard for a few minutes on her own, sniffing the ground and air.  Stretching her legs from the car ride. Listening to my own two dogs, Teddy and Josie, whine and yip in impatience to come out and meet her.

When I opened the back sliding door, they rushed out.  Gwen did something unexpected.  She half jumped in the air, then made a perfect play bow.  She had not one hesitating moment.  There was no slow-warming up period.  She greeted both of them as immediate friends.  I thought, ‘Her bio said she was dog friendly.  That’s sure an understatement!” 

Gwen had a kind of magical attitude.  She expected other dogs to like her and she expected to like them.  It worked like the charm – her charm – that it was. In her doggy way, Gwen set intentions.  Many dogs are friendly or enjoy what comes their way.  But they can be alert for little red flags. 

Not Gwen when it came to friendships with other dogs.  She’d approach with something more than confidence, more than openness.  She simply knew the other dog would like her and she was never wrong.  Not that first day, not at the dog park or meeting other dogs on walks.

She was simply terrible on a leash.  She never pulled but couldn’t seem to get the hang of walking in a straight line.  She’d weave to my left side then zoom to my right.  I’d coax her to my left side, giving her  a treat when she stayed in the dog-space.  She’d look at me and I’d be sure she was making progress.  Then something – often I would have no idea what – would interest her on my right and she’d sashay in that direction.  She never pulled hard.  She simply couldn’t get the hang of walking in a straight line.

When we’d walk by another dog on a walk, her meandering seemed to have a purpose.  Gwen would drift over in their direction, grinning her sweetest smile.  Most dogs would beam their smiles back.  For the occasional dog who had a tepid response, Gwen would turn up her friendliness wattage and win them over.  They’d grin back after a second or two.  Worked every time. 

It was Gwen’s world, the one where she loved other dogs and they loved her back. Her magic, her intentions, ruled without fail.