My name is Amy Gold, and volunteering has been part of my life long before I ever considered fostering a dog. Over the years, I’ve been involved in several community service efforts, including helping co-chair a service program at my children’s elementary school. One of the most meaningful projects we led was assembling Valentine’s Day care packages for soldiers stationed in Iraq. What started as a simple act of kindness turned into something profound—we received letters of gratitude, a signed American flag that once flew over their barracks, and even a call from a captain thanking the students. It showed me how powerful collective care can be.

Years later, after our family dog passed away, I felt pulled back toward volunteering in a different way. I began helping at adoption events and spending time with dogs at the shelter, unsure if I was ready to foster because of how emotionally hard it can be. Then my daughter showed me a post about a group of beagles who weren’t doing well and urgently needed foster homes. When we met one named Mikey—my father’s nickname—it felt personal. We planned to foster him for three weeks, and seven months later, he’s still with us.

When Mikey first came home, he was extremely timid, often hiding behind my legs and avoiding interaction. Over time, I watched him slowly come out of his shell. He became affectionate, trusting, and confident—showing a sweetness that had always been there, just waiting for space to emerge. Witnessing that transformation changed how I think about what a safe environment can do, especially for those who struggle in institutional settings.

Fostering has reinforced what volunteering taught me years ago: helping doesn’t always mean fixing something—it means holding space until growth is possible. Whether it’s supporting soldiers from afar, opening my home to a dog in need, or encouraging others to get involved, I’ve learned that community care is built through consistency, empathy, and the willingness to show up when it matters most.