turn the lights off, carry me home

I think maybe I am not a good candidate to be a foster care provider for dogs.  I've been falling in love with this little rugrat and wanting him to join our family, in spite of Shawn telling me he doesn't like the idea of four dogs.  I've been hoping he might fall in love with him too.  And then tonight, just after we got back from sailing class, we let the pups out to play... and Emory and Palmer were playing, a tug of war over a toy, and suddenly Palmer got snappy and bit Emory.  

It's nothing too serious, but enough of a bite that it broke the skin, enough of a scare that Emory was upset.  And enough to make Shawn even more upset than Emory.  He wants Palmer to leave immediately (which isn't really possible because we've made the promise to the rescue agency to look after him) and I'm feeling really disappointed because I had this silly idea that he was fitting right in perfectly and was imagining saving him from any more upheaval and confusion in his life, poor little soul.

In the end, I think I'm too much of a sucker to do a good job of being a foster provider.  I'll just end up wanting to keep them all, even when it's not a good idea.

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