My horrible week reached its pinnacle this evening when Wesley and the kids took Buster out for a walk. One of our neighbors saw the dog and identified him as belonging to a girl who lives down the street. We explained to Trevor that we were going to have to give him back to his owners because it wouldn't be fair for us to keep him. We praised Trevor for being such a good caretaker and friend to Buster, whose real name is Stewie.
It didn't matter what we said, Trevor was devasted. I fought back tears as I wiped his. As much as I didn't want the dog, I would have given anything to be able to keep him for Trevor's sake. Wesley took him back out tonight and met the owners down the street. Turns out, they have a little boy about Trevor's age, and they have been searching frantically for the dog. He's going back to a good home with people that love him. Wesley said as soon as he saw the little boy, we were an afterthought.
So, as I type this, we have a 7-year-old sleeping in our bed, waiting for us to comfort him. I know he'll get past it. He's already handling it much more maturely than I would expect. But, just in case, I'm going to take a quick gander at Petfinder to see what other creature is in need of love from a little boy with so much to give.