“I’m so sorry to call you this late.”
It was 3:47 AM when the rescue coordinator’s voice cracked through my phone. I’d picked up Mochi earlier that day—a sweet, cream-colored Pittie with the softest ears I’d ever touched. Standard foster. Two weeks, maybe three, until she found her forever home.
“Her sister is destroying our intake kennel,” the coordinator said. “She hasn’t stopped screaming since Mochi left. We’ve tried everything. Blankets with her scent. Kongs. Thunder vests. She broke a tooth trying to chew through the gate.”
I looked down at Mochi, who was sleeping at the foot of my bed. Except… she wasn’t really sleeping. Her eyes were open. Staring at the door. Waiting.
I drove to the shelter at 4 AM in my pajamas.
Matcha was a disaster. Hoarse from screaming, paws raw from pacing, trembling so hard she could barely stand. The second she smelled Mochi in my car, she collapsed against the crate and went completely still. Like she could finally breathe.
“Just foster them together for a few days,” they said. “Until we figure out placement.”
That was eight months ago.
They sleep in a pile every night. They eat #fblifestyle the same bowl even though I bought two. When Mochi goes to the vet, Matcha comes. When Matcha gets groomed, Mochi waits in the lobby.
I was supposed to be their temporary stop. Turns out, I was their destination.

 Location: Portland, Oregon

 Dogs: Mochi & Matcha