📅 Monday, 4 May 2026 · No. 48

Foster Fail: She Is Not Going Anywhere

🌿 Daily Logs · ✎ 4 min · by Azmi in Meknes

Azmi's note My personal log from Meknes, not vet advice. Just what I did and saw tonight.

I chose to foster because temporary sounded easier than forever. Joke is on me. This is the three-week countdown from foster papers to adoption signature: what each week brought, the three signs that gave it away, and paperwork day. Personal adoption story, not fostering advice, for fostering questions ask your local rescue. Temporary was never going to survive that face. Welcome home, for real this time.

Week one: the guest who wasn’t

Foster room prepared by the book: hide, hay, water, nothing personal. Day one: carrier opened, inspection tour completed in 20 minutes, flop by evening. Day two: she flopped in my room, not the foster room, my room, having relocated herself during supervised exploring. First sign, logged but denied: I started calling it her room, not the foster room, by day five.Slips logged: her blanket (day 3), her corner (day 4), her spot on the rug (day 6). The language gave it away before I admitted anything. Photos from week one show a cautious guest; week one’s captions already call her family.

Week two: the evidence piles up

Three weeks of tiny binkies and nose boops later, but week two is when the data turned. Sign two: she runs to the door when I come home. First observed day 9, repeated daily since, the thump of paws at the key sound, waiting face at the gate. Sign three: the resident bunny approved, shared hay pile sniffing day 11, synchronized flops day 12. My foster notes to the rescue that week read increasingly like bragging: eating perfectly, litter habits perfect, binkies constant. The rescue coordinator replied with one line: foster fail inevitable. Everyone says the same thing: pretty girl, happy story. She has a twin out there somewhere apparently, a lookalike in the next pen. Mine is the one asleep on my slippers right now.

Week three: the papers

How I knew, the complete list: she flopped in my room on day two; she runs to the door when I come home; I started calling it her room, not the foster room. Signing day: the form took 4 minutes, the happy crying took longer. The foster room sign came down; her room sign (same door, new label, her photo on it) went up. First official act as family: the tunnel moved to her corner permanently. Official foster fail, declared proudly, celebrated with parsley for all residents. Post-adoption week one: indistinguishable from week three except the paperwork drawer is closed. Temporary lasted 21 days. Forever started before it, around day two, on my rug. Welcome home, Cho Cho, for real this time.

Paperwork day and the room sign

Signing day details for the file: the form took 4 minutes (name, date, signature, donation), the happy crying took longer (happy, happy). The coordinator’s parting words: told you, week two. The foster room sign came down that evening; her room sign went up, same door, new label, her photo printed and pinned crooked (straightened next day, re-crooked by head-rub within the hour, the sign now lives crooked permanently, her first interior decision). First official act as family: the tunnel moved to her corner permanently, willow ball restocked, castle wing opened. Foster supply inventory closed out: leftover foster paperwork filed under history, spare hide donated back to the rescue (pay it forward, with hay).

Post-adoption week: the difference nothing makes

Week four (first official week): indistinguishable from week three except the paperwork drawer is closed. Same door greeting, same slippers nap, same 19:20 tile claim. The only measurable change: my language finally legal, her vet file opened under our name, her page in the notebook retitled without the word foster. Friends’ verdicts collected: pretty girl (unanimous), happy story (unanimous), inevitable (unanimous). The twin out there, the lookalike in the next pen, got adopted the same weekend (different family, happy ending squared). Two twins, two homes, one weekend. Temporary lasted 21 days; forever started around day two. The joke was on me from the first flop, and I have never been happier to lose one.

Adoption math, for the curious: 21 foster days, 3 decisive signs, 1 four-minute form, infinite return. Cost accounting: one room renamed, one tunnel relocated, one sign re-lettered, countless nose boops (uncountable by design). The rescue’s follow-up visit (month two): passed with honors, weight good, bond good, rooms good, paperwork smug. Their verdict: textbook fail, the good kind. Fellow foster-fails write with the same three symptoms: early flopping, door greetings, possessive pronouns. Verdict confirmed across households: temporary is a story fosters tell themselves; the bunny knows the ending by day two. Prescription: sign happily, celebrate with parsley, update the room sign. Side effects: lifelong joy, slippers permanently occupied. Cho Cho’s file closed; family file opened. Home, for real, forever.

Foster fail: declared, signed, celebrated. The room is hers, the slippers are hers, the diary is fuller. Temporary never stood a chance against day-two flops and door greetings. Home forever, papers to prove it, nose boops as witnesses.

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Written by Azmi

I track my rabbits' diet, weight and naps to see what works. Photos are mine, mess included. Say hi on the contact page.

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