It’s Rosie’s Foster-versary! (And That Ain’t No April Fool’s!)

It was exactly one year ago today that I brought little 8-pound Rosie home to my studio apartment in a cab from the Upper East Side to foster her, while I thought long and hard about whether to make her a permanent fixture in my life. Julio the doorman was at the front desk when I walked into the building with her.

rosie julio
Julio and Rosie

“What the hell is that?” he said.

“Um, it’s a dog.”

“I know it’s a dog — but whose?”

“Mine, now.” I said, shaking slightly more than Rosie was. “Well … sort of mine.”

I had lost my 19-year-old cat Ethel two years before, so I had ample time to think about whether to get another pet. But I still had doubts. Would I be a good dog mom? Would Rosie grow up to resent me? Would she be a terror as a teenager and run off with an angry pitbull? Would she be into drugs? Prostitution? Trump?

One of Rosie’s first meals – a “mix-up” (ground turkey, eggs, peas, carrots, and chicken broth). Bon Appétit!

When I got her to my apartment, it was late and I had nothing healthy to feed her. (The former foster family said they fed her “whatever they ate — hamburgers, fries … ” — um, no.) I also had no toys to give her. I made her a scrambled egg and called my friend Fiona for advice.

“Give her a balled-up sock and roll it around on the floor. Give her one of those sweatbands you wear around your wrist and see if she’ll go for that.”

Rosie seemed like a rather intelligent dog, but clearly didn’t have very intelligent taste in toys because she loved the wristband and the sock.

Rosie’s first “official” toy, the crinkly pale green frog.

The next day, I went to Pet Central and, knowing nothing about dogs and what turns them on about toys, got her the lamest ones — a tiny pale green frog that made a faint crinkly sound and a plastic Nylabone with sharp bits that stuck out of it — presumably to massage her gums — that the vet later told me she could have choked on. Nice going, mom!

But hats off to me … I’ve obviously done a few things right, because I officially adopted Rosie on April 13th, 2016, and she’s still here — all 13 pounds of her — and so am I — (here; not 13 pounds) — and it looks like we’re stuck with each other. Thank god for miracles.