Jitesh Jaggi

On day two, I realized she doesn't even respond to her name.

So I figured maybe the foster agency just assigned the name Coconut to her and I started to try a hundred different names the same day.

All day I went,

Olive?

Cheddar?

Buttercup?

Todd?

I knew her hearing was intact because she leaped at me when she heard me open a Kit Kat.

So I figured it out.

She just didn't care.

And so I just sat next to her throughout the day.

At one time, she protruded her little head from under the table, rested it on my lap and slept.

I couldn't help but notice that she snores.

Like she had a Harley Davidson engine in her diaphragm.

On day three, she gets called in for an extensive knee surgery.

I had just started to be less queasy about her space car, so I just reminded myself that I was just a temporary host and she was going to go to another foster home soon anyway.

But that night, Coconut came back home from the wet, crying, and continued to cry into the night.

She had 12 staples on her leg that was cut from her thigh all the way down to her foot.

Combined with the space car, almost a quarter of her little body was in stitches.

I had asked for an easy dog because of my inexperience.