Episode 66: Why Small Acts of Care Matter More Than You Think
Episode 66
Host: Jill Mastroianni
Why Small Acts of Care Matter More Than You Think
In this Friday episode, Jill shares the unexpected lessons she’s learning from fostering a puppy named Boots, and how chaos, inconvenience, and small acts of care reveal what agency really looks like. Through stories about raising a guide dog puppy as a child, parenting, and estate planning, this episode reframes death readiness as something much more human: choosing small, meaningful actions even when the outcome isn’t guaranteed.
What You’ll Learn in This Episode
Agency isn’t always big or visible. Sometimes it looks like fostering one dog, making one appointment, or organizing one folder, small actions that still move life forward.
Discomfort is often part of meaningful care. Whether it’s fostering a puppy or updating your estate planning documents, the things that matter most are often inconvenient, and worth it anyway.
Preparation creates power. Jill reflects on responding to overwhelming world events by returning to what she knows best: knowledge, planning, and helping others feel more prepared.
What we model matters. Fostering Boots becomes a way for Jill to show her daughter that small acts still have value, even if they don’t change the whole world.
Estate planning and fostering share surprising parallels. Both require patience, emotional risk, and planning for a future you may not personally see.
You don’t have to enjoy something for it to be important. Jill compares updating her records to running: she never regrets doing it, even when she doesn’t feel like starting.
Small acts compound into legacy. The episode reminds listeners that legacy is built through consistent, imperfect, everyday decisions, not grand gestures.
Resources & Links
Detroit Dog Rescue: https://detroitdogrescue.com/
Connect with Jill:
Website: DeathReadiness.com
Email: jill@deathreadiness.com
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I wanted to give back in a way that felt inconvenient, so we fostered a puppy. What followed was chaos, laughter, poop in unexpected places… and a powerful reminder about what agency really looks like. This episode connects fostering, family, and estate planning in a way you probably don’t expect. Because sometimes the smallest actions carry the biggest meaning.
Welcome to the Death Readiness Podcast. This is not your dad’s estate planning podcast. I’m Jill Mastroianni, former estate attorney, current realist, and your guide to wills, trusts, probate and the conversations no one wants to have. If your Google search history includes, “Do I need a trust?” “What exactly is probate?” and “Am I supposed to do something with mom’s Will?” you’re in the right place.
I’ve found myself recently feeling overwhelmed by everything in the world that seems wrong or outside my control. And I was frustrated with myself, too. It felt like I was just going through the motions, day after day, and maybe that was part of the problem. I felt too small to do anything meaningful, so I ended up doing nothing at all.
When I started feeling both frightened and frustrated by immigration enforcement tactics and the lack of humanity, I tried to respond in the way I know best, by digging into the law. I thought maybe one small thing I could do was help people understand their rights, where those rights come from, and how knowledge and preparation can create at least some measure of power. Knowledge and preparation aren’t always enough, but they felt better than standing still.
That work felt safe, familiar and squarely in my lane.
And I realized I wanted to give back in a way that felt a little uncomfortable, maybe even inconvenient.
So I brought up the idea of fostering a puppy with my husband. Our daughter is fourteen, and I thought this might be one small way the three of us could give something back to our community together.
And, I think that idea came from something much earlier in my life.
When I was in third grade, my parents decided that our family would raise a guide dog puppy through the local Guide Dog Foundation. Both of my parents worked full-time. They had three kids. We already had one dog. Looking back, I have no idea how they thought they had the capacity to add a puppy. But they did.
I still remember the home visit. A representative from the Guide Dog Foundation came to our house and asked my mom how her kids would handle raising a puppy and then giving it back. My mom told her that she volunteered with hospice and that she brought us along with her sometimes. She said we already knew how to say goodbye. And she was right.
I also remember the day we picked up Velvet, a black lab puppy with a tiny green collar. It was a school day, and I had spent the entire day barely able to think about anything else. I was so excited to bring her home.
Our existing dog, Sandy, was… less excited. She climbed onto the top ledge of the couch, as far away from Velvet as physically possible.
And, the Sandy–Velvet relationship didn’t improve much from there. At the time, there was a commercial on TV comparing Velveeta to cheddar cheese — the jingle went something like, “It’s Velveeta versus Cheddar.” We used to sing it, except we swapped in Sandy’s name: “It’s Velveeta versus Sandy.” We thought it was absolutely hilarious.
As part of raising a guide dog puppy, we had specific skills we were responsible for teaching. My assignment was teaching Velvet how to walk down stairs. Dogs are usually pretty confident going up stairs, going down is the scary part. So Velvet and I practiced. A lot. And eventually she became a total champion at stairs.
We also had to bring her to gatherings where the Guide Dog Foundation tested the puppies’ progress. I still remember my dad telling me that Velvet was the only dog who wasn’t afraid to go down the stairs. I was so proud. Honestly, I’m still proud of that. I worked really hard with her.
And Velvet taught me things, too. When I played hide-and-seek with my friends, I could hide out in plain sight up in a tree as long as Velvet was in the backyard. She had so much chaotic puppy energy that no one wanted to run past her to come find me.
I also learned the Guide Dog Foundation’s command for bathroom breaks: “Take a break.” My daughter overheard me saying that to our foster puppy recently. I explained it was something I learned back when I was training Velvet, and then, a few minutes later, I heard her outside telling Boots to “take a break.”
So now my daughter is using something I learned in third grade with our new foster puppy.
And that brings us to Boots.
I said earlier that I wanted to give back in a way that felt, at the very least, inconvenient.
Well, Boots has absolutely delivered on that promise.
For our family, Boots is dog number four. We already have three dogs ranging from about twenty pounds to seventy-five pounds. My morning routine used to be walking all three together for three miles. It turns out four dogs is my tipping point — literally. The leashes get tangled, and I go down. So now I do two walks every morning, two dogs at a time. It takes longer, even though neither walk is the full three miles.
I haven’t had a puppy since July of 2018, when I found a stray six-week-old puppy in a bush on my way to work. That dog is now fully grown, my running partner, and a very good boy.
Boots, on the other hand, is still figuring things out.
I’m probably breaking all kinds of rules by letting her sleep in bed with me. The plan was the crate, but she kept going to the bathroom in there. Now she’s moved on to my husband’s meditation pillow. To be fair, she does seem to prefer square things — like her pee pad. The meditation pillow is also square.
Either I’ve forgotten how hard house-training is, or Boots is uniquely opposed to it. She’s had so many accidents that we’ve started calling them “poopsies.” I think that’s our way of making something objectively disgusting sound just a little bit cute.
She is also extremely adorable, which helps. I take a lot of pictures, mostly so I have photographic evidence of how cute she is right after she’s done something terrible.
Any time I leave the house, Boots comes with me so she doesn’t cause chaos while I’m gone. She’s been to tour a local Pilates studio, which is entirely aspirational for me, and to a local store where my daughter used a gift card. I carried her the whole time to avoid any surprise bathroom breaks. I learned that lesson years ago after bringing my dad’s puppy, Hans, into a UPS store in Manhattan. I saw a puddle on the ground and thought, Oh, I didn’t realize it was raining. It was not raining.
When I work, Boots usually sleeps in a dog bed next to my desk. I often keep her on a leash because otherwise she’ll disappear under my desk, fly up the stairs, and find some new way to create mischief, usually involving poop in a location I didn’t know was accessible.
But going back to Velvet, she was a good girl.
The summer before fourth grade, I went with my mom to drop Velvet off at the Guide Dog Foundation. After that, every time a newsletter arrived in the mail from them, we scanned it to see if she had graduated. Eventually, my parents reached out to check on her.
That’s when we learned Velvet had vision issues and hip problems. She wasn’t going to be a good fit as a guide dog after all.
So Velvet came back home, this time, permanently.
And when she returned, she was so well-behaved. Guide Dog School will do that to a dog, even the ones who don’t make it to the big leagues.
My mom and I went back to pick her up, and I remember being nervous they wouldn’t give us the same dog. How could they possibly keep all those black labs straight? But when we got home, my mom asked me to take Velvet for a walk. I did, and she immediately led me right to the center of the road so she could go to the bathroom.
And that’s when I knew: yep, this is definitely Velvet.
Yet another habit that probably disqualified her from a career as a guide dog.
So, what’s the plan with Boots?
Later today I’m taking her to Detroit Dog Rescue for vaccines. And, I also have to bring a fecal sample. I’m picking up my daughter from school, and the three of us — me, my daughter, and Boots — will be driving there together with her little “poopsie” in tow.
Am I changing the world? No. But I am changing Boots’ world.
A family came to Detroit Dog Rescue because they couldn’t care for an unexpected litter of puppies, which included Boots and her 3 siblings. They knew the dogs would be safe there, and that’s only possible because Detroit Dog Rescue, the city’s first no-kill shelter, relies heavily on foster families to make space.
And maybe just as importantly, I’m showing my daughter that the small things we choose to do still matter.
We’re not going to save every dog. But we can make room for one, for a little while. And somehow that feels both very small and surprisingly big at the same time.
People sometimes think agency means doing something large and visible like fixing a system or solving a problem permanently. But in my experience, agency looks smaller than that. It looks like fostering one dog, making one appointment, organizing one folder, or signing one document.
Fostering Boots has required planning, patience, discomfort, emotional risk — and accepting that I don’t control the outcome.
And estate planning asks for these same things. Both are acts of care for a future you may not personally see.
And speaking of inconvenient things — do you know what’s on my own to-do list? Updating my wills and holding weekly Death Readiness meetings with my husband so our records stay current. I’m not looking forward to it. But I’ll do it the same way I’m doing everything else right now, one inconvenient task at a time.
Before I go for a run, I often debate whether I should skip it. I have too much to do. It’s too cold. My legs are tired. But there has never once been a run I finished and thought, I wish I hadn’t done that. I’m forty-four years old and I’ve been running since fourth grade. That’s a lot of runs to have zero regrets about.
Updating my records is the same way. I never regret doing it. I always feel better afterward.
We don’t have to love something for it to matter. Sometimes the things that make the biggest difference are the ones that are inconvenient, imperfect, or just plain annoying.
So for now, I’ll be saying a lot of “No, Boots,” while she learns that outside is the only bathroom, my podcast headphones are not a chew toy, and the threads of our basement carpet do not need to be pulled up.
And even with all of that, I already love this puppy — and I know I’ll be sad when she gets adopted. But that sadness is part of the deal. I signed up to be inconvenienced in a way that makes the world just a little bit better.
If you’re interested in adopting Boots, one of her three siblings, or any of the amazing dogs in the metro Detroit area, check out Detroit Dog Rescue at detroitdogrescue.com. That’s detroitdogrescue.com.
Thanks for joining me today.
Next week on Tuesday Triage: a grandmother wants to divide her required minimum distributions equally among her grandchildren but one of her grandchildren has Down syndrome. How do you gift with love and fairness without accidentally jeopardizing government benefits? That’s exactly what we’re unpacking in the next episode.
This is Death Readiness, real, messy and yours to own. I’m Jill Mastroianni and I’m here to help you sort through it, especially when you don’t know where to start.
Hi, I'm April, Jill's daughter. Thanks for listening to The Death Readiness Podcast. While my mom is an attorney, she’s not your attorney. The Death Readiness Podcast is for educational and entertainment purposes only. It does not provide legal advice. For legal guidance tailored to your unique situation, consult with a licensed attorney in your state. To learn more about the services my mom offers, visit DeathReadiness.com.
