Fostering Joy and Healing
We’re happy to share this guest story from Dr. Alison Kirby, a dedicated foster parent and former pediatric physician whose journey with therapy dogs and medical fostering has transformed countless lives. In her words, Dr. Kirby reflects on the special bond she shares with her dogs, the resilience of the animals she's fostered, and the deep sense of purpose each experience brings. Read on for Dr. Kirby’s story of healing and second chances.
My journey to providing medical foster care for Blue Mountain Humane Society began with Xela—“Shayla”—my certified therapy dog who worked with me in the pediatric clinic. The kids called her Dr. Dog. She was gentle, patient, and a great listener, especially with teenagers. Xela balanced my work and life and was the best business partner I ever had.
Xela, also known as Dr. Dog, was a certified therapy dog.
When Xela passed away at 15, I was heartbroken. I called the Humane Society, letting them know I’d be interested in another sweet-tempered female golden retriever mix. A couple of weeks later, they contacted me about a dog. We went to meet Ben—a mix of black lab, border collie, and Australian shepherd. He wasn’t like Xela, but we loved his playful personality and adopted him. Ben bonded deeply with my husband, which is a wonderful thing. Everyone needs someone who adores them, even if that someone is a dog.
I adored Xela, but I also love border collies. About a year ago, I heard there was an unclaimed border collie found running down Alder Street in near-freezing, pouring rain. I offered to provide foster care for the dog. His name was Bob.
Bob is a weirdly calm border collie. He likes to sit still and be petted, and he was so soft and so sweet. His beautiful eyes — one blue, one brown! In Native American lore, dogs with heterochromia are said to communicate with both the human world and the spirit world. I was intrigued by this dog, and he had clearly led a difficult life. He was very thin and scraped up, and I felt I could give him a good foster home and get him ready for a forever family.
We were traveling at the time, so we put in a request to keep him with us for a week. Over those few days, we saw how much he liked playing with our other dog, and my husband saw how quickly Bob was bonding to me. I absolutely loved having a dog again who adored me. We talked about the practicality of living and traveling with two dogs and the pros and cons of adopting a 7-year-old dog. In the end, looking into those beautiful eyes sealed the deal. He needed me, and I needed him.
At first, I suspected Bob might have been a failed ranch dog; he couldn’t seem to learn. He stayed gentle but was always on high alert. It took six months for him to settle enough to learn basic commands. I’ve seen this with traumatized children whose brains are stuck in fight, flight, or freeze mode until they feel safe.
Bob’s history, which I learned later, explained a lot. He had lived with a homeless person struggling with mental illness and suffered neglect and abuse, including being tasered. Despite being labeled as vicious, Bob has never shown me that side. He is safe now and will never have to be cold or fearful again.
Now, he and Ben run in the backyard like greyhounds doing figure-eight laps. Through genetic testing, we learned that Ben and Bob are actually cousins. They are the same age, and we hope they’ll grow old together. We still go camping and take both dogs. They love to hike — Ben likes the water, and Bob hates being wet or cold. Ben barks when the doorbell rings; Bob brings a squeaky toy to the door. The boys go everywhere with us, and the four of us sleep in one bed like a human-canine game of Tetris.
Bob, left, with his buddy Ben.
I love our boys, and I also love doing medical foster care for the Humane Society. One of my favorite little friends was a rat terrier mix who was hit by a car and then unclaimed. He had significant injuries to his hips and skin, but after six weeks of healing, he was adopted by a family who adores him and calls him Mr. Peanut.
We have cared for four or five foster dogs. The most recent was another border collie who appeared to have been hit by a car and had a hip injury. We had no history on him, and no one came forward to claim him. After his surgery, he came to live with us for a few weeks. His name was Jake.
It took a couple of weeks for Jake and our two dogs to establish a new hierarchy, which involved skirmishes with snarling and snapping, but that’s just how dogs arrange their social structure. I felt bad for Bob because he quickly became the lowest rung on the ladder. Jake was very needy, and I can’t imagine his grief, pain, and confusion. He adored being petted, and he snapped at the other dogs if they tried to get attention too. As his hip healed, his demeanor improved. I worked with Jake on physical therapy, helping him walk in sand and in a creek to strengthen his weak leg. I knew a dog who was functioning fairly normally would have a better chance of being adopted.
Jake had surgery on his left hip.
One of the greatest heartaches of medical foster care is getting the dogs physically healthy, only to see them languish at the Humane Society or in the foster system, waiting for an adoptive family. I pull out all the stops to get a foster dog adopted. I walk him past the elementary school as children get out in the afternoon, sit at the downtown plaza with the dog wearing a big scarf that says “Adopt Me,” and post stories and photos on Facebook—whatever it takes to help them find the perfect match. That’s exactly what happened for Jake: he found a family who loves him just as he is, even if he has a limp. I had joy in my heart and tears in my eyes when Jake’s new family hugged and played with him.
Being a foster family for dogs is like raising children sometimes: teaching manners, soothing fears, and breaking up fights. Sometimes it’s like working in a medical clinic again, which I greatly miss. Sometimes it’s like being a canine psychotherapist. But fostering animals almost always leaves me with a profound sense of gratitude for the joy the dogs bring to my life, even if I can only keep two dogs.
— Alison Kirby, MD
