It all started with a scrawny 6 pound poodle

Frank, fka Napoleon

The beginning of how Pepper came to be our dog....

One Saturday afternoon my husband, KC, dropped me off at a local shopping center to get my nails done and, if time, run to Target (okay, I will always make time for Target).  As it turns out, it was the day of the local high school’s prom so the people at the nail salon just laughed at me when I walked in without an appointment.  Realizing I had at least two hours before my husband would be done with his errands, I started walking towards Target.  Now, I love Target but even I was going to have trouble killing two hours there, so on the way was Petsmart with a sandwich sign out front that said, ‘Adoptions Today’.  I hadn’t had a puppy fix in a while so I went in, thinking I could just hold a few puppies and smell their puppy breath and I'd be good to go.  I met the lovely volunteers from Arizona Poodle Rescue (APR) and they began to tell me about their organization and all the dogs available for adoption.  I sat and held several puppies for at least an hour.  They were so sweet, cuddly and precious but I knew I wasn’t going to adopt one, I already had two at home, Daisy the Miniature Pinscher and Lilly, the Miniature Schnauzer, and I definitely did not have time to housebreak a puppy.  I expressed that out loud, part excuse, part 'don't try to talk me into this because my family won't go for it.'  That's when Rochelle, the fearless leader of the Tucson chapter of APR, casually said, “you know, you should consider fostering.”   Fostering!  Yes, that's the answer!  I thought, “I could sell this to my husband. We wouldn’t really be getting a new dog, but we’d be giving a dog a home until they found their forever home!  It's perfect!"  I called my husband, it’d been well over two hours so I thought he’d be ready, but asked him to pick me up at Petsmart instead of Target.  Oh, and come inside.  “Oh boy,” was all he said.  He showed up and I rapidly explained the merits of fostering, not pausing for a breath until I'd made my case about how we’d be a great fit; we live on an acre, there isn't a stitch of carpet in our house, our kids are older and responsible and can help, our dogs are older and mellow, and, and, and... we love dogs!  He asked Rochelle a few questions and then said, "what ever you want to do."  Yay!  No, wait!  Is this a trick?  Don't I have to do some more selling?  Why are you agreeing so quickly?  I decided not to question it and just be excited.  Which dog were we going to go home with?  I was honest and said we didn't really have time for a puppy.  Rochelle decided a little white poodle named Napoleon would be a good first foster for us.  He was a well-behaved boy who had been found as a stray.  When he was picked up he had wire wrapped around his privates and was incredibly matted.  Rochelle said he seemed grateful during the entire grooming process and never gave her any trouble.  He weighed just six pounds but easily needed to gain at least four more pounds, you could see every bone in his body; poor fella must have been without food for a while!  He was definitely cute; he had a puppy face even though he wasn’t a puppy.  My concern was that I had been trying to pet him all day and he didn’t want anything to do with me!  “He’ll warm up to you when he gets home,” Rochelle said.  So, we put a leash on him and with a spring in his trot, he pranced out the store with KC.

When we got home, it quickly became apparent that Napoleon had a crush on KC.  He would look at my husband like he was the maker of liver snacks and made sure he was sitting right next to him, wherever in the house that may be.  Couch, kitchen, bed, bath - it didn't matter. Sunday morning came and the new dog had slept in our bed but never made a sound nor moved all night.  And no accidents!  What a good dog!  The sun came up and I woke to a little white dog sitting next to KC's pillow, staring at him while waiting for him to wake up.  Apparently, KC didn’t wake up quick enough for him because Napoleon decided to kiss him awake.  It was very sweet and my 6'5" husband loved it, all the while pretending to hate it, of course.  That night, I overheard him tell the dog, “You’re such a good boy, if you really are housebroken, we might be in trouble.”

I went to work the next day and got a forward of an email that a woman had sent APR, inquiring about Napoleon.  As his foster mom, it was my responsibility to contact her and let her know all about him.  I knew KC was going to be sick to lose him so soon.  I called him with the bad news.  “Tess, I don’t think I can give him up,” was his reply.  “Are you sure about this?” I asked.  Without hesitation, his one word answer was, “Yes.” Oh dear.  Here I was, a brand new foster mom and I’m already screwing things up, they're going to hate me.  I called APR and explained the situation.  Surprisingly, they were very understanding (as I found out later, they all had "been there") and the following Saturday, we went back to Petsmart to complete the paperwork and pay the fee and become an official "Foster Failure."  Napoleon was renamed Frank and he is stubborn, sweet, and a little prince.  He continues to be KC’s baby while tolerating the rest of us.  Little did we know what adopting Frank would lead to…