Friends around the web saw cryptic posts about this furry little lady, a ten year old dog I fostered for the good part of a week.

Long story short: I’m not ready for a dog.

Long story long: I went into a pet store because they had a sign for rescue cats. But it was a young puppy that caught my eye with the wag of his tail. It couldn’t happen right that moment, but I began to wonder, am I a dog person? Most of my friends will emphatically tell you I most certainly am not! Why, with all the travel I do and living alone, it didn’t make one lick of sense.

I called the shelter later to find out more about the puppy, the breed, and fostering process. Maybe I was a dog person after all, but perhaps an older dog might be a better fit, they recommended. In fact, there was an adult collie mix that might be right for me and I could pick her up the next day. So I did.

It seemed like the universe was telling me to do this. A few friends and folks I respect had talked about the joy of rescuing dogs earlier this day and it just felt… time.

And this particular lady? She was sweet. Aloof, but solid in every way. You’d think we’d have been a perfect match.

But she didn’t care for one of the other dogs at the farm studio (though she got along swimmingly with every other four legged and two legged person). She howled a bit when left alone (not the best attribute for an apartment dweller). But in the end? We didn’t jive. We eyed each other with suspicion. She kept her distance and I kept trying to win her over. A sweet dog, but not the right fit. More me than her, really. Thing is? I really loved waking up for our morning walks. That was my favorite part. Well, that and having an ear to bend.

I like to think I’m going to be a great dog person, one day. When I’ve got that porch and yard and travel a bit less. When that time comes, I’d like to find one in person and not over the phone.

Until then? I’ve got my eye peeled for a cat that needs a home.