Puppies are unlike anything else.

Anyone who rhapsodizes about the joys of puppyhood is either lying to get rid of a puppy or has clearly never owned a puppy.

And yet, as I write this, there's a puppy sleeping in my favorite chair and, while she's sleeping, I'm reminded how cute she is.

Meet Emy. She's our foster dog. Emy came to Suncoast Animal League when volunteers accepted dogs removed from a rescuer who clearly didn't understand the meaning of the word "rescue.” She's 6 months old, wildly sweet, desperate to please, ready to play and… a puppy. And a good one. I'm not trying to say she's trouble, but, well, I forgot what it means to have a puppy. I forgot about middle-of-the-night walks. I forgot puppies need to be taught that shoes are friends, not food. I forgot puppies don't know that other dogs sometimes want to rest, too.

But Emy's learning. Calypso, our dachshund, has no issues explaining the rules of the road to Emy. Banyan, our coonhound, plays with her and collapses, exhausted, after hours of racing around the yard. And the living room. And the bedroom. She's a good puppy, and she's going to be a fantastic pet for a family or maybe an Ironman athlete. But she will not be our pet.

You see, we really don't want another dog. We're not fostering to find our next new best friend (Calypso, who is reading this over my shoulder, breathed a huge sigh of relief when I typed that). So why are we fostering?

Earlier this year, Kate Bradshaw and I traveled to Redland to watch Suncoast Animal League rescue over 70 abandoned dogs. After we drove home and processed the horrors of all those sweet sets of sad brown eyes abandoned in the sweltering heat of south Florida's farmland, I couldn't stop thinking about them. Months passed; I watched Suncoast take in dog after dog and tell their stories. And then there's our dog's story.

Banyan came to the Humane Society of Pinellas from Citrus County Animal Services. When we visited her, she wouldn't go near us. When the volunteer brought her to a quiet room where she could meet us and Calypso, we had to sit on the floor with her for over an hour before she'd allow us to touch her. At 2, most of her life had been lived inside kennels and cages.

I'd watch Banyan when people come near her: her happy tail would curl up under her body and she'd tremble nonstop until they left. At a Christmas party two years ago, she felt trapped in our kitchen and she jumped into our sink. Out on walks, she would flail with naked terror when someone would approach her to pet her.

We were certain she'd been beaten. Our neighbor, a dog trainer, told us most likely she hadn't been beaten, but also hadn't been around humans at a crucial time in her development. Between three weeks and three months of age, if a dog doesn't get human interaction, it doesn't get properly socialized. Banyan was a textbook example of this.

Suncoast Animal League's founder, Rick Chaboudy, has a theory: Dogs do better in foster homes than cages. Had Banyan gone to Suncoast instead of Citrus County Animal Services, she would be a different dog.

With those Redland and Alabama dogs — and my own sweet Banyan — tugging at my heart, I knew I wanted to help. Neither Barry nor I have time or the fortitude to volunteer at a shelter, and any money we give would be small change, we knew. We made the only choice we could: we became a foster family with Suncoast Animal League. They provide the medical care and food, we provide a home and socialization and temporary love.

And something's happening, a delightful surprise: Banyan's blossoming. She's playing like crazy, yes, but something more: When we had friends over two weeks ago, she jumped up on the couch next to my friend Nicole, snuggled next to her, and allowed about 30 minutes of petting. Banyan's learning to play. She's more confident around other people. Emy's changed her life.

This Saturday, Emy will be at Dogtoberfest, ready to move on to her forever home. I'll be there, too — Calypso's racing in "Running of the Wieners,” I'm judging the costume contest and Banyan's going to try her paw at lure-coursing. CL's one of the sponsors, but that isn't why I wrote this.

I wrote it because I won't be sorry to see Emy go.

I won't be sorry to see Emy go because it means she's found a family of her own. I won't be sorry to see Emy go because that means we have room in our home to save another dog from ending up as terrified as Banyan was that first day we brought her home, and on so many days since. I won't be sorry to see Emy go, but I will miss her and she will always have a tiny piece of my heart.