On a rainy afternoon in January, Fawn stretched her paws against the tile floor of a veterinarian’s office. I felt frozen with anxiety as the doctor thumbed through X-ray results and cleared his throat. He was about to diagnose the strange lump in my 1-year-old dog’s stomach.
My mind drifted to when I first saw Fawn, a year earlier. She was surrounded by other puppies in the backyard of Gainesville Pet Rescue. I had decided to foster — taking care of a pet until someone else adopts it — to experience the joy of having a puppy without all the responsibility. Plus, it was free.
The meaning of “free” can vary, though, and free puppies aren’t exactly like free beer. Free beer doesn’t pee on your carpet.
Still, Fawn was adorable. She resembled a miniature deer with soft, caramel-colored fur and effusive golden eyes. I let her nap on sunny patches of grass on the North Lawn when campus wasn’t busy. Though she wasn’t much longer than my MacBook, she managed to pause videos in e-Learning by pawing the spacebar.
Three days later it was time to put Fawn up for adoption. I carefully loaded her toys and kibble into the trunk. I wrapped the puppy in a blanket on my lap and navigated toward Archer Road. But I couldn’t resist the urge to make a phone call half-way through the trip.
“If I adopted a puppy,” I asked my girlfriend, Caitlin, “would you help me take care of it?”
Fawn tried to lick the adoption papers as I signed them. Pet foster parents giving in and adopting dogs is common enough that the rescue volunteers had an endearing nickname for me: a failed foster.
At first Caitlin and I struggled with being real pet owners. We had our first fight — an argument about house training — after two weeks of sleeping in four-hour increments. When Fawn first sat obediently and stared at the door handle, I imagined a gospel choir singing. The next challenge would be to socialize her.
By introducing Fawn to ten people each day, as some experts suggested, I befriended dozens of UF students and alumni. In retrospect, meeting these new people was one of the best parts of my college career. I’ll remember our conversations, road trips and other group activities long after textbooks have slipped my mind.
Caitlin had to take a six-week field trip for her geology major, which meant she wouldn’t get to see Fawn grow up. To keep her in the loop, I programmed an app called “Pup Pics.” It rewarded Caitlin with virtual points for each day she spent in the desert, and she could redeem them to “unlock” new photos and videos of Fawn.
The last video showed a full-grown dog — long and lean — splashing through the water of Hogtown Creek. The following day I slung a poster-board over Fawn that read “Welcome home, Caitlin,” which was a little embarrassing but totally worth it.
I snapped out of my nostalgic daydream to see the veterinarian thumbing through test results. His face appeared strained and pale as if he were about to deliver unpleasant news. Finally, he explained, “There appeared to be a lump in Fawn’s stomach because she was constipated — and she just defecated on my expensive X-ray machine.”
The heavy feeling evaporated from my chest, and I smiled while apologizing to the doctor. Maybe raising Fawn had transformed me into more of an animal person. A year earlier I had shunned the responsibilities of caring for a puppy, but there I was, spending a small fortune on tests to protect her from the slightest danger.
Cody Romano is a UF public relations senior. His columns usually appear Thursdays.
