The Circle of Life: How Becoming a Dog Foster Mom Brought Me Back to Life

There are moments in life when you realize you aren't quite ready for what comes next, but you also know you can't stay where you are. For me, that realization came after losing my soul dog, Spirit.

Spirit wasn't just a dog. He was one of those once-in-a-lifetime souls who changes you forever. He saved my life in ways that only he and I will ever fully understand. When he died, I was devastated. I wasn't ready to adopt another dog, but I wasn't ready to live without the love of dogs in my life, either. I knew I needed time to grieve Spirit. I didn't want to rush into adopting another dog simply because the silence in my house was painful. I needed to make space for everything I had lost and everything I was still processing.

But I also knew something about myself: dogs are part of my life. So I started thinking about fostering.

Fostering felt like the perfect middle ground. I could open my home and my heart to a dog who needed me without making the lifelong commitment of adoption before I was ready. Then I discovered Almost There Rescue in Phoenix, Arizona. They specifically rescue pregnant mama dogs and nursing babies, and something about that mission immediately resonated with me.

I thought, Wait. This could be perfect.

When I am eventually ready to adopt my next soul dog, why not foster a pregnant mama who resembles the type of breed I might eventually want to adopt? I could help save a mama, help her raise her babies, and perhaps one day have the incredible experience of watching my next little soul dog be born.

That thought felt profoundly significant because I have experienced the other side of the circle of life.

I was with my last two dogs when they crossed over. But I wasn't simply there when they died. I helped them cross. I remember telling them that they had completed their mission here in this life, that they had done everything they came here to do, and that they had taken such incredible care of me. They saved my life.

I told them both that I didn't have the blessing or honor of watching them come into this world, but I did have the blessing and honor of watching them leave it.

I didn't get to witness their first breath,

but I was blessed to be there for their last.

There was something incredibly sacred about being entrusted with those moments. So the idea that I might someday have the opportunity to experience the other end of that journey felt like a beautiful 360-degree circle. Birth, life, love, loss, and eventually another beginning. Of course, I was excited about fostering, but I was also nervous.

I had experienced so many significant losses in such a short amount of time. Two soul dogs. My dad. A divorce. And the emotional aftermath of all of it. For about a year and a half, I had withdrawn. I was healing. I was protecting my energy. I had built a quiet, safe space around myself and, honestly, I had become comfortable there.

Life was predictable. It was peaceful. It was mine.

So I wondered what would happen when two tiny, chaotic, completely dependent puppies came crashing into that carefully constructed protective shield. Would they disrupt my healing? Would I become overwhelmed? Would I become too attached? And perhaps the biggest question of all: What happens when you raise precious little puppies, love them, nurture them, and then have to give them away?

And then there was the possibility I tried not to think about: What if I fell in love with them all and adopted them myself?

Those were real concerns. But underneath all of them was another feeling that was stronger.

I knew that whatever chaos these puppies brought into my life, it would be positive and rewarding.

I just didn't know yet that it would also be life-changing. Then the email came. My two foster puppies were ready for pickup. I was at the rescue within about two hours.

Suddenly, I was loaded up with two seven-week-old shepherd mixes, a trunk full of puppy supplies, and absolutely no idea what I had just gotten myself into. I was headed home to disrupt the quiet, safe space I had built for myself and my dog Charlotte. Charlotte, of course, had absolutely no idea what was coming either.

But while all of this was happening with the puppies, a completely separate part of my life had also been changing.

For more than a year, I had been posting ads looking for someone to board their horses in my now-empty stable. It hadn't always been empty. I used to have two miniature donkeys. Then one suddenly crossed over, leaving the other one alone.

Anyone who knows horses and donkeys knows how deeply social they are. They aren't meant to live alone, and losing a companion can result in profound grief and depression. I knew I couldn't leave my remaining donkey alone indefinitely, but I also wasn't emotionally ready to take on the responsibility of adopting another mini donkey while I was going through my own grief and loss.

So I made the difficult decision to find her a wonderful home. And I did. But then the stable was empty. And over time, I began noticing something else.

The energy of my home and business had gradually become dull and lifeless.

At first, I noticed the external changes—the empty stable, the quiet property, the lack of animals and activity. But eventually, I realized I was seeing something reflected back at me.

I had spent so much time protecting my energy that I had unintentionally stopped creating new energy.

I wasn't unhappy. But I wasn't fully alive, either. That realization caused me to start thinking about what I wanted to create next. Maybe I would adopt another pair of donkeys. Maybe I would board horses. Maybe I could eventually bring back equine-assisted therapy, something I had offered years earlier before our equine coach moved out of state.

I began putting the idea out there. I posted ads. I interviewed people. I explored possibilities. I tried to figure out what the next chapter for that space—and for me—might look like. But I couldn't find the right fit. Eventually, I realized that perhaps the point wasn't that I needed to immediately fill the empty stable. Perhaps I simply needed to become open again...

Open to possibilities.

Open to change.

Open to life.

Instead of focusing on what had been lost, I started focusing on what I wanted to create. I started telling the universe what I wanted. I began paying attention to the energy I was putting into my home, my practice, my property, and my own life.

And then, within about a month, pieces of the puzzle started coming together in ways I couldn't have planned.

At almost exactly the same time that I was opening my heart to fostering, I was also beginning to open my mind to what could come next for my property and my practice. And suddenly, there were puppies.

The timing felt like synchronicity.

After approximately a year and a half of feeling like my home, my practice, and my life had become quieter and more lifeless, there was suddenly movement again. Two seven-week-old puppies running around.

There was noise.

There was responsibility.

There was laughter.

There was chaos.

There was life.

Back in my home. Back in Free Spirit.

And, unexpectedly, back in me.

I thought I was opening my home to two puppies because they needed somewhere safe to grow. What I didn't realize was that they were going to help me grow, too. They disrupted my routines. They interrupted my quiet. They demanded my attention. They made me laugh. They made me get out of my head. They gave Charlotte a completely new experience. They filled my home with puppy sounds and energy. And they reminded me of something grief had caused me to temporarily forget.

Life is supposed to be lived, not just protected.

Fostering didn't erase my grief. It didn't replace Spirit. It didn't mean I was suddenly "over" everything that had happened. Instead, it gave me permission to begin participating in life again. That's an important distinction.

Healing isn't necessarily about getting back to the person you were before the loss. Sometimes healing means becoming willing to discover who you are after it. I don't know yet whether my next soul dog will come through fostering. I don't know whether I'll become a foster failure. I don't know how many puppies will eventually pass through my home. And I don't know exactly what the next chapter will look like. But I do know this: I spent a long time afraid of what might happen if I opened my heart again.

Then I realized something.

Keeping my heart closed doesn't protect me from loss.

It only protects me from love.

Spirit taught me how deeply a dog can change a human life. My other soul dogs taught me the sacredness of loving someone through their entire journey. And now these tiny foster puppies are teaching me something different: there is still life after loss.

There is still purpose.

There is still love.

There is still room for something new.

And maybe one day, I will have the incredible privilege of watching my next soul dog enter this world, just as I was blessed to help my previous soul dogs leave it. Maybe that is my version of the circle of life.

Looking back, I realize the biggest lesson isn't actually about fostering puppies or filling an empty stable. It is about what happens when we stop waiting for life to happen to us and start participating in creating the life we want.

For a long time, I was an observer. I was watching. Waiting. Healing. Protecting. Trying to figure out what came next.

Then I started asking myself a different question:

What do I want my life to feel like?

Not what am I afraid will happen?

Not what could I lose?

Not what if it doesn't work?

What do I want to create?

Once I became clear about my intentions, I started putting energy behind it. To some it may seem like a coincidence. To me, it's manifestation. It's intentional. It's what happens when you become open enough to notice opportunities that were always around you.

I'm no longer an observer of my life.

I'm an active participant in it.

And maybe that's the real lesson.

When you open your mind and your heart to what you want, and you begin embodying the energy of the life you're trying to create, the universe has a way of rearranging the pieces.

Sometimes it doesn't happen exactly when or how you expect it to. Sometimes the path looks completely unrelated to where you thought you were going. And sometimes the thing you thought was going to disrupt your life turns out to be the very thing that brings it back to life.

For me, it happened with two tiny foster puppies.

And an empty stable.

And a home that had become too solemn.

And a woman who finally decided she was ready to stop watching life from a safe distance and start living it again.

Sometimes healing isn't about protecting yourself from life.

Sometimes healing is finally allowing yourself to live it.

For anyone reading this who feels stuck, withdrawn, or disconnected from the life they once felt excited about, start by getting honest with yourself about what you want.

Ask yourself not only what you want to accomplish, but how you want your life to feel.

✨Pay attention to the environments, people, activities, and experiences that energize you.

✨Move your body.

✨Spend time outside.

✨Spend time with loved ones including pets

✨Spend time with yourself.

✨Create physical spaces that reflect the energy you want to invite into your life.

✨Journal.

✨Meditate.

✨Connect with whatever spiritual practice feels meaningful to you.

✨Take one small action toward something you've been wanting instead of waiting until you have the entire plan figured out.

Most importantly, don't confuse protecting your energy with closing your heart. You can have boundaries and still be open. You can honor your grief and still experience joy. You can miss the people and animals you've lost and still make room for new love. You can be afraid and still say yes.

And sometimes, the first step toward the life you want isn't knowing exactly where you're going. It's simply being willing to open the door.