Heat.

T. wouldn't come with me to drop off Sailor. Said it was too hot. Well, she's right, it was 35 degrees celsius and the predicted thunderstorms had not arrived.

The real reason was that she didn't want to see Sailor go. He was too much like Billy.

I dropped Sailor off at the meeting point. The 'fostering' adopters were there. They seemed fine. She had two children who made all the right moves, cuddled Sailor, were gentle with him, showed common sense, asked me intelligent questions. I do like children who ask intelligent questions. (I know immediately about the suitability of people with dogs. People with people for that matter. I spent three wasted hours of my life shaking my head in disbelief at the wedding of T's best friend. They divorced within three months.)

I'm raving. Back to the subject, which is not humans.

Melanie, from GAP, had brought along Chris.

Chris is trouble.

Chris bit a fosterer's Jack Russell, who needed veterinary attention.

Chris chewed another fosterer's 'french doors', according to his report.

Chris is three years old, won two races and is losing his fur. Stress? Stress through being in foster care for over four months now?

I don't know.

I'll let you know.

We don't have french doors. What the hell are french doors?