The Wait is Over

Last October, I got a call about some puppies... who had been thrown in a trash bag... and then dumped in a ditch.

At the time, I was already overloaded, but these pups had no other hope. So, I made the decision to take in four, very emaciated, terrified little babies… and I slowly brought them back to life. Within a couple of months, they'd all been adopted…

All… except one.

That one puppy... was Ali. Ali was a simple black puppy… nothing more, nothing less. While I thought she was extremely special, I knew the reality for a little black puppy like Ali. Her age was the only thing working in her favor... and that wouldn’t last long.

During the puppy phase, I can feel the “time crunch” for each dog. As a young puppy, their chances of adoption are highest… especially for a “black puppy” … who will soon grow up to be a “black dog.” Families can fall in love with a black puppy, and go on to treasure them forever. But adopters rarely look at a simple black dog and say, “Yep. That’s the one.”

So... I worked hard during Ali’s younger months to find the perfect home for her… before it was “too late.” Then, last Christmas, I found a wonderful family who wanted to adopt Ali... and my soul was on-fire...

But... just before she was meant to go home… the family chose another dog instead.

After that, I wrote a special blog post … letting Ali tell her story "in her own words."

My hope, upon hopes, was that someone would read her story... and fall in love with my Ali.

But... no one ever did.

Months passed… and soon, Ali was no longer a puppy. Suddenly, she was just another black dog.

And while I never give up hope… I knew…

I knew the chances of Ali ever finding a home of her own were so slim. I knew that her hopes may never be realized… her dreams of a family may never come true. I knew that Ali may live with me forever… and while I was okay with that… I knew that she deserved better.

How did I know all of this? Well, I currently have six “black dogs” for adoption: Ali, Pepsi, Freddy, Lucy, Liberty, and Maddie. Five out of the six have been living with me for months or years. In addition, every other rescue and shelter across the nation... is packed with “black dogs.” Further, Ali looks like a smaller version of Pepsi, the black foster baby I’ve had for 2 years and counting… with no adoption requests.

So… I knew.
I hoped, I wished, and I prayed… but I knew.

Ali can be a little camera shy

For the last few months, Ali has been my child, my little Bali Boo. She’s been every bit as much my child... as my own dogs. From the moment I met her, I fell in love with her precious spirit, her fun personality, and her unwavering devotion to me. I’m the only mom she’s ever known… I’m her family… and she’s never had any idea... that she isn’t “mine.”

Because... in truth, she is mine… she’s my heart.

I’d accepted that Ali would probably live with me forever, but I never lost hope that the right adopter may come along one day. Either way, I knew she’d be happy and loved.. with me, forever... and that’s all that really mattered to me.

Even still... every now and then, I’d re-share my blog post about Ali, in hopes that maybe --this time-- the right family would read it.

And yet… no one ever wanted Ali…

And so… my home... became Ali’s home, and that was that.

Well... this week, I was checking emails, when I saw an adoption application in my inbox. I opened it, and at the top, I saw the name: Ali.

Seeing her name on the app... was enough to make me cry.

But as every rescuer knows, the application itself means nothing. It’s the content that matters.

As I read further, I saw that this was more than just your average adoption application.
This was the home I’d been dreaming of for Ali... for the last 9 months.

I read it several times… stunned and completely speechless. A home? For my Ali???

I rarely get my hopes up anymore, but I quickly called the adopter... to talk about Ali. I asked how he’d found out about her, and he said, “The blog you wrote about her… I fell in love with her story, and I wanted to make her part of our family.”

So, it turns out… the "Ali blog" that I’d put my entire heart into writing… worked after all. For months, I’d been beating myself up... over that very post… because I felt like I’d failed Ali... in my one chance to tell her story…

Once I'd approved the adoption, I ran in, scooped-up Ali, and held her in my arms.

 My tears had her concerned, but my smile told her it was okay. And finally… I was able to look at my baby girl and say, “You’re going home, Bali Boo! You’re going home forever!”

Ali and I have a special “Bali Boo dance” that we do every day. It’s one of her favorite things, because I sing in a funny voice and jump around like a crazy person, which makes her so excited. It’s really hard to explain the lyrics of the Bali Boo dance without sounding completely ridiculous, but it goes something like this:

“Bow, chicka bow bow, chicka bow bow. Bali’s a bow wow, chicka bow bow…”

So we danced, we sang, and we laughed. Then I cried, hugged her, and cried some more. I held her… rocked her… and promised her... that I’d remember this moment... for as long as I live.

Then, I held her little face in my hands, looked her in the eyes, and said:

“Just so you know… I’m going to cry tomorrow… and you won’t understand why. You’ll be leaving me forever, and you won’t understand why. But soon… I promise… you’ll understand why I did it. I did it for you. One day, you’ll be happy with your new family... so happy... and you may not even think of me anymore. And that’s okay. But just know… that no matter where you are, or what you’re doing, I’ll be right here… thinking of you, missing you, and loving you, forever.”

Ali kissed me on the cheek, like she always does when I’m sad, and I reassured her that I was so happy for her… and I really am.

But while the joy of an adoption is overwhelming, the pain of giving up my child is undeniable, inconsolable, and heart wrenching. I didn’t want to let her go… I never want to let them go…

But… there comes a time when you have to do the right thing for them, even if it hurts you. And for Ali, the right thing… was to let her go…

And so, with the happiest, broken heart I’ve ever had... I said goodbye to my little Bali Boo today. She was excited to meet her new dad, Paul, and her new pup sister, Annie. And I know she'll go on to live a life of happiness and love.

But she was very unsure... as I loaded her into the car... with tears streaming down my face. She couldn’t understand why I wasn’t coming with her… and she tried to stay behind with me.

It ripped my heart to pieces, but soon… she’ll know that I did it for her. Everything I’ve done, since last October, has been for her.

Then... as Ali left with her new family, I was finally able to say:
“Thank you… for taking my baby home. She’s been waiting for you her whole life.”

As they drove away, I saw Ali watching me through the car window, with hope and uncertainty. I blew her a kiss, and kept watching... as her little face... got smaller and smaller…

And then, she was gone.

My Ali is home tonight. She’s home... for the first time in her life… and I gave that to her. While I’ll probably never see Ali again in this lifetime… I’ll love her every day, for as long as I live. And I know that one day, as she’s running through the yard, happy as can be... she’ll stop… she’ll smile… and she’ll think of me.

And I have no doubt… that at that very moment… I’ll be thinking of her too.

Because I’m her mom… and that’s what moms do. They love... forever.

*I love you, Ali. Thank you for the joy, the laughs, and the love. I will never, ever, ever forget you.

CLICK HERE TO READ MY ORIGINAL BLOG ABOUT ALI

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