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Saturday, December 28, 2013

Happy

Almost two years ago; I made a huge change to my business, one that I knew was right for me but the responses I received were less than enthusiastic. In a world of bigger, bigger, BIGGER; I chose to scale back my business so I could do what I loved again, spend time training dogs and working with people. I had a few moments of terror that I questioned whether or not I could make my living without being attached to a large facility and during every panic, freak-out, cold-sweat flash; I asked to universe for Finn to be healthy and for me to be happy, over and over again.

That winter, Finn was beyond happy, all the time. We still went for long walks, without any concern of time or reserving energy for the stairs. And, when the sun hit the snow just right and I knew I was exactly where I wanted to be; I was able to simply breathe in the fresh air and be thankful for the big, sweet Lug standing next to me, enjoying every step we took together.

It is fairly easy to smile when the sky is crystal blue and "healthy" really means all our parts are working together seamlessly and relatively pain-free. Gavin and I went home to Columbus this week for Christmas. The time always seems to soar past me like a bald eagle; and attempts to see my grandmother or sister, just one more time, before I drive to back Chicago often fail. As I watched my mother take care of my step dad, who she has continuously told me over the phone is doing fine; I ached for both of them because how can one be happy when the one we love has faded? Or when we constantly feel the need to apologize for being a perceived burden to our loved ones?

I remember crying in my car every single time I turned on the ignition because I was mourning Finn long before he was actually gone. And, I knew if I could allow myself that time to be sad, I could appreciate our time together even more. But, I refused to look at pictures of him when he was young and I still have not brought myself to do so. I did not want to feel sorry for myself for missing any moments of youth that we shared or to not see him, love my Lug, for exactly who he grew to be. But, sadness when someone is still here is much harder to talk about than once they are gone.

I have heard so many people say to both my mom and Jim how lucky they are or it could have been so much worse and "let me know if you need anything". I am mystified how she is supposed to respond. Her husband has been through two very intense brain surgeries and is being subjected to chemotherapy, radiation, physical therapy and a life that is very difficult, for both of them. I wonder what their happiness looks like now. They still laugh together and share moments that gives me hope that I will find a human partner who I can share a love so deep. But, so much of who they both were was stripped from them, without warning.

Is it possible to be happy when worry is far more than trivial stresses? I know I did a terrible job of finding my own peace and light last Christmas. My happiness was contingent on whether or not Finn was having a good health day and the strength of the flicker in his tawny eyes that seemed to fade the same way Jim's brightness has also dimmed. I can see Jim misses the vivacious, always willing-to-help, jokester that he has unceasingly been his entire life. Why is it so difficult to talk about loss that is not absolute? To me, it seems like the cultural norm to is chant gratitude for life, any life, even if that life is harder and painful. Please pray for Jim and my mom, they need all the love they can get right now. Gavin did his best to share his love and was so unbelievably sweet as Lil' Big Head gently placed his paws on the side of the bed, not directly on Jim, for my stepdad to tell him to "be a good boy" for his mom. Gavin whacked me with his tail every time they had a moment.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

Graceland

It is no secret that I could become smitten with just about any dog. For years, I wanted a second dog in the house for Finn but my landlord did not allow it. The fall of 2010, months after I moved into my condo, a friend sent me a photo of a gorgeous gray-faced gal named Calillou. I immediately set up a meeting with the dog I could only say her name while singing the last syllable in a high-pitched, off key tune. I sat in the grass with the something or other mixed breed dog on a warm, sunny day and she smiled through broken teeth and squirmed towards me on the emerald green grass. Calillou so quickly found the window to my heart that salty tears rolled down my cheeks; and I watched her throw herself on her back when another dog barked at her. It would only be a perfect marriage if she allowed Finn to remain King of the Castle as easily as the wind blows. I went to sleep that night with my sacked-out Lug stretched across the foot of my bed and visions of a senior dog love dancing in my head.

My friend Sheila went with me to make the introduction because the shelter requires any potential adopter to sign in before bringing their own dog inside. There was no way I was leaving Finn alone in that parking lot for even a second. I opened the door to lift my Lug begrudgingly, out of my SUV; he had not been allowed to jump on his own for years, to prevent any further damage to his old boy knees. Usually, Finn looked around brightly, eager to discover what fun I had planned for us ANYWHERE we arrived; even at the vet's office where he was always showered with treats and returned the favor by lavishing anyone who was near with blubbery smooches. But, my Lug stopped, he was so tentative and his smile faded while he eerily looked around. I choked, ruminating all the animals who stood in that same parking lot; hesitant then left behind, confused and scared.

I knew Finn would tell me very quickly if Calillou was meant to be his gal pal; but despite any inkling that my Lug might be the one to get himself ruffled at the sight of a new dog; Calillou took one look at Finn and started snarling and lunging. My Lug turned to me, with a knowing look that said "can we go now?" And, we did.


This past week, Gavin and I have had a foster dog in the house named Elvis. The big, sweet goober arrived late Sunday evening and from the instant he walked in the door after a long ride from Missouri; I knew my Lil' Big Head and he were not a perfect match.  Elvis would try to so hard play with Gavin and Lil' Big Head found the Lab's oafish ways extremely annoying as Humpfest 2013 ensued for two days. It was pathetic to watch Gavin try to grasp Elvis's back end and the 90-pound dog, just stood, tongue hanging out the side of his grinning mouth. The instant Gavin stopped, Elvis swatted him again, trying to initiate a game. And, when Elvis barrelled into Gavin, repeatedly, every single walk; Lil' Big Head took out his frustration on every tree he could scale and gnaw. We worked hard to only chase trees at Gompers Park but I let it go this week; Gavin needed a win.

As the week went on and I attempted to keep up with all the emails that came from having so many suitors for the adorable creature who I grew very fond of; Gavin grew despondent. My heart shattered as I watched Gavin retreat to the bathroom and curl up into the tightest ball. Some friends have said maybe Gavin was not ready to share me but for reasons I cannot explain; Gavin relaxed the most when Elvis clumsily laid on my lap, the best he could. My hunch is that Lil' Big Head knew Elvis would not try to lay on top of him if he was preoccupied by me, at least for a few seconds.

Wednesday night, Elvis was laying on the floor and I went to snuggle with Gavin in the bathroom as I held him close and whispered, "he's not staying little buddy, I promise". Gavin yelped and barked like I have never heard then snapped at the air. His eyes were blown apart when he realized how close he jerked towards my face; it was gut-wrenching. Gavin would rather chew his own leg off than hurt anyone. While I tended to Gavin, thinking his neck was injured and maybe Elvis clumsily jumped on him too hard, just trying to use Gavin as a trampoline. But, after a visit to the vet, it turns out my Lil' Big Head had an allergic reaction to a possible bug bite because his nose, a place I kiss ALL the time was swollen and sore.

Luckily, the next night, I spoke to a woman named Nicole that I just knew was the right fit for Big E. I sat in the back seat of my tiny car and lured Elvis over my lap with baby food as his giant, klunky paws soaked my lap, jacket, bag and back seat with muddy, rain water. We drove through Friday afternoon traffic and every time I uttered a word, the clumsy, adorable dog tried to jump into the front seat and onto my lap so I drove silently and occasionally glanced over my shoulder as Elvis caught a bit of sleep in the back seat. When I met Nicole, I could see in her eyes, what a kind person she was and I felt honored to be a part of helping Elvis find his way to her.

And, I while I will always hold a special spot in my heart for Elvis; I think I will be waiting until I am ready for a forever second dog before I open my door again. I promised Gavin he gets first pick too; I can love any dog as long as Lil' Big Head is happy. This morning, I took him to the school he likes to play fetch and wiggle for every person that walks by and I spotted a giant paw print in the snow that I can only guess is Elvis's; then we walked to the pet store and I let Lil' Big Head pick out two new toys. As soon as we come home from our holiday travels; Gavin will need to see his girlfriend Grace again. He has forgiven me and; as I write this, I have a big, snoring head in my lap again. I missed that.


Wednesday, December 11, 2013

My Other Dog

For years, I have stood next to lovely people who have a bouncing puppy grabbing at their pant legs, tugging on shoestrings, then, squatting on the rug and peeing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the pictures of a beautiful dog, the same breed and color but much older and clearly, very loved. I wait for the words "but, my other dog" because they are always uttered and never ill-intended. The rational side of the brain knows that every dog is different and even if we fall head over heels with a specific breed of dog; the personalities vary as greatly as the weather does hour to hour in Chicago. But, it takes considerable effort to look into the eyes of a newly hitched dog, and see only the amazing dog in front of us, no assumptions or paws to fill.

When I started the quest for a new dog; I was waffling on whether or not I would be able to look at another Lab's face and not feel hurt; not assume impossible attributes. The dogs I was looking at online had been through enough turmoil in their lives to walk into a home with unrealistic expectations. I spent a lot of time thinking about WHY I thought I was ready for a dog before I reached out to any rescue. For me, the role of caretaker fills me up in a way that nothing else seems to do. But, even though my heart was ready to love again; I would be lying if I said Gavin and I did not butt heads a time or two.

In the late hours of the night; I would throw Lil' Big Head's leash onto his collar and trot down the stairs. Gavin would stop and stare. I would wave for my little buddy to come along; head lower, stare. This went on for a couple weeks; I would sit on the stairs, wait to put Gavin's leash on when we hit the bottom of the steps, wave hot dogs, meatballs or baby food in his face and Lil' Big Head just refused to go outside for his last pee without an epic struggle. One night, I was mustering the energy to start our nightly routine and decided to threw another option to Gavin. I stood at the edge of the rug near the couch where Lil' Big Head was snoozing in the tightest ball he could possibly curl and said "outside or bed?" Gavin lifted his head, slid off the sofa and shuffled right into my bedroom. Finn adored being outside and peeing on every tree, leaf or pole he could lift his leg on; any time of the day and in any weather. And, though I thought I was looking at Gavin as his own dog; years of going outside for fun pees seemed standard to me but Gavin would much rather sleep.

A couple days after Gavin wobbled onto my lap and let me know his heart was mine if I wanted it and I, of course, was smitten too; a friend sent me a picture of a Chocolate Lab. I glanced at Camden, my stomach did somersaults and I had no control of my fingers as I sent an email and kept hitting refresh over and over again, waiting for a response. The volunteer who brought Gavin to meet me just gushed over how much Lil' Big Head went bonkers for other dogs. And, while I would likely highly advise anyone adopting a new dog to not also adopt a second dog at the same time; I thought if they loved each other, I could save two dogs!

When I walked up to the door to meet the big, brown boy; I could see through the glass a giant, barky dog who's nubbin for a tail was bobbing back and forth. Cam was happy to meet me and even more ecstatic to go for a walk, walk, walk while he stopped to snuffle leaves, just like my Finn. He was not eating much except for cheap, grocery store treats; despite all the efforts his awesome foster mom was making trying to get him to eat food higher quality than my own. Camden REALLY hated his ears being touched and; even though I was not supposed to fall again, I did.


As I rattled off to my mom through the speaker in the ceiling of my car that I was going to put post-it notes
all over the house to remind myself to not rub Camden's ears; one of Finn's favorite spots. And, if he and Gavin were not a match made in heaven, I would not adopt Camden. I was very open with both rescues and delighted they both were willing to see if the two dogs would be a good fit. As I continued to ramble on faster and faster; I could hear my mom's thoughts by her silence. But, she knows that I need to figure things out for myself. And while, it may have seemed absolutely ludicrous to adopt both dogs at the same time; I was so turned around when I first met Finn that I did not even know I was lost but tending to my Lug's needs and getting to know him made me feel like I was home. Unfortunately, big, sweet Camden did not like my stairs at all and Gavin's energy was way too much for the awesome four-year old Lab. My mom later told me she was nervous that living with another Chocolate Lab so soon might prove harder than I imagined.

At the risk of sounding hokey, I believe things work out for a reason. I have kept in touch with the rescue and Camden ended up staying where he belongs, with his once-foster mom. And, starting this Sunday, we will have a foster dog in the house through the same rescue. Gavin is going to be ricocheting off the ceiling with excitement to have another puppy actually staying with us, not just visiting for an hour or two. I have to thank Buzzy, Skipper, Cinnamon and Mika for making me smile and helping me realize that I can look into the radiant face of a Lab with pure appreciation for those goofy grins.

And, while Gavin shares Finn's infatuation for sharing microwave popcorn, does a mean imitation of my Lug's "I got my bone shuffle", also likes to sit, stare, sit, stare, beg with his eyes whenever I am cutting up treats for my sessions and has recently started to bark when I try to take his picture, one of Finn's favorite comedy routines; I have to continually and attentively remind myself to listen as much as I can to Gavin. Lil' Big Head recently started the doorknob gaze when we come home. I always treasured the anticipation Finn had on his face as I fumbled to find my keys, my Lug adored coming home. Gavin is going to dig his digs even more when he realizes his new buddy will be staying for awhile.

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Holding On & Letting Go

Wilbur blushed. "But I'm not terrific, Charlotte, I'm just about average for a pig".

"You're terrific as far as I'm concerned", replied Charlotte, sweetly, "and that's what counts. You're my best friend and I think you are sensational."-E.B. White

When I gawkily arrived at the dusty, dirt road and clumsily opened the greasy door handle of the chipped, cracked barn door; I wanted a dog, a buddy. I never intended to find my muse in the runt, outcast of the litter; a creature who would weave for me new paths, passions and a friendship that I will treasure far beyond my feeble days. Fortitude came so easily to my Lug and he reveled in being my rock, my inspiration. And, every time I looked into his devoted, merry eyes; I believed I was sensational too.

This time of year, I am usually as giddy as my nephew, Isaac, about upcoming holiday traditions. Every year growing up; I looked forward to the stories my grandmother would tell about how her mother had passed onto her the sparkly, teal and silver wind-chime I always searched for the perfect position on twinkly, tinseled limbs. I loved seeing what character my mom and aunt chose for each of my cousins; we all had a wooden, hand-painted ornament with our name inscribed at the bottom; my sister Beth was a cherub. How did they know she would turn into a woman with such a big heart? But, mending a heartache caused by bereavement is not a smooth, uphill ride. And, I remember, after losing my grandfather exactly 11 years ago today, we all tried to make Christmas festive and fun; to honor what we all knew my Papaw would have wished. However, it was formidable to lift each other's spirits and not be melancholy about the vibrant man that we were all missing.

While I am so looking forward to seeing Gavin gallop through wadded-up wrapping paper and wiggle-stretch-shimmy on the carpet next to my brother Matt; there's a lump in my throat. And, because the holidays bring such significance to love and magic, I can't NOT think of Finn. He exuded both. But, when Gavin is not in super sonic play mode, he needs me to lean on so now I have to find the moxie for both Lil' Big Head and I. And, oh, that Lil' Big Head sure brings his own ways of showing love to me everyday. This weekend, I took a nap on the couch for the first time in ages; though I was telling myself I was going to "rest my eyes", a favorite tale of my Papaw's.  When I plopped my head onto the pillow, Gavin curled up in the crook of my knees, so endearing. And, when I woke up twenty minutes later to heavy breathing on my neck and his paw wrapped around my waist the first thing that popped into my mind was Jeanine Garofalo's line from Truth About Cats and Dogs, "you can love your pets, but don't LOOVVEE your pets". I laid there for awhile longer and just rubbed Gavin's shoulders, there was no need to disturb Lil' Big Head, he was so peaceful.

I thought I would have a hard time with another dog, any dog laying on Finn's beds; ripping apart my Lug's old toys or wearing his coat. But, it's just stuff. And, Gavin is my dude, he deserves to be spoiled and treasured for the dog that he is. Lil' Big Head looks so handsome with Finn's coat layered on top of his sweatshirt but he also resembles a burrito and it does not phase him that Finn's name is scribbled across the chest. The name tag is only present because I accidentally laid the coat on a candle the week after I bought it and burned a hole in a coat that cost more than my own. Sometimes, I still have to remind myself when tears roll down my cheeks as I am cleaning up Gavin's toys, or what's left of them and I stop myself before tossing a bone onto the big orthopedic dog bed that Finn's not there.

When I see Finn in my dreams, his body is young but he still has bushy grey eyebrows as they made him
look more dashing and animated; fitting for my Lug. And, while I talk now of my sadness; it still creeps in at times but it rolls along like a wave now rather than a sucker punch to the chest. The Finn who paddles through my heart stops and sits next to my Papaw by a stream. My Papaw looks over at me with the orneriest of grins and a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. They reminded me so much of each other, raucous sense of humor but, if I needed my Papaw, he was my rock too. Now, it is my turn to be Gavin's anchor; devote my love and keep that barn door open because nothing would make him happier than another dog in the house.

Wilbur's heart brimmed with happiness....."Welcome to the barn cellar. You have chosen a hallowed doorway from which to string your webs. I think it is only fair to tell you that I was devoted to your mother...I shall always treasure her memory. To you, her daughters, I pledge my friendship, forever and ever."
"I pledge mine." said Joy
"I do, too," said Aranea
"And so do I," said Nellie
It was a happy day for Wilbur. And many, more happy, tranquil days followed.
-E.B. White 



Thursday, November 28, 2013

Thanks and Giving

Last year at this time, I was nestled in between my nephew and the arm of my mom's sofa. Finn was sound asleep at my feet next to the twinkling Christmas tree. Gavin was named Cappucino and was likely spooning his brother, in a cage, on a cold, concrete floor. Isaac and I were drawing a picture together; he would outline a silhouette then I would scribble a jewel tone into an ornament. As the picture took shape, I noticed the scene looked just like the first Christmas Finn and I visited Ohio. The previous day, my brother Matt and I had been reminiscing and laughing about my Lug's Clark Griswold-like entrance to my childhood home. Isaac giggled when he told me he heard the whole story and held his hand over his mouth while he snickered about how naughty Finn was as a puppy.

This year, I am grateful for so many things, including my marvelous luck to have saved a diamond of a dog from a potentially terrible fate and challenges that allow me to grow and test my strength. This week has been a bit of a doozie in our house; Gavin is none the wiser because he's been living it up at daycare while I frantically called electricians, turned off circuit breakers and notified my neighbors that we had some electrical issues that caused my dryer and dishwasher to stop working and the coffee maker to catch on fire. Lil' Big Head and I are safe now, and the burden of replacing two not-so-cheap appliances seems miniscule when I think of the alternate story lines that could have unfolded.

So, today, I offer my thanks to my amazing mom who offered her help and support while I was panicking and to my family of friends in Chicago that I will be sharing my Thanksgiving meal this evening. But, I am also more aware than I was a week ago that I can never, ever be too grateful for my health, safety and the warmth of a snoring puppy.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

The Woman in the Mirror

"If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and then make a change." Michael Jackson

Thankfully, the depraved demon spirit that possessed Lil' Big Head for the past couple of weeks has been cast out. Even when Gavin is absurdly disobedient and elfin; it's because he wants so badly to play, all the time. Hapless Lil' Big Head convulses, trying with all his puppy self control, to not nose dive onto the rug and sink a tooth into one of the sisal knots. And, who am I to squash his friskiness? I regularly fight to control my laughter; and am constantly re-evaluating how to teach Lil' Big Head and other dogs the house rules without taking away their personality or vigor.

Every time I turn up the temperature on my thermostat, Gavin's walks become shorter and his shivering becomes more prominent the instant we step outside. Becoming a cold weather wimp has been a seamless transition for me and I am sure I can concoct fun ways to keep Gavin entertained this winter. But, I thought I should find a new form of exercise so I do not bust out of my pants before eating season even begins. My friend Nora suggested online workouts through Fitness Blender and I found my salvation. Gavin is perplexed by all my hopping and lunging around the house; much to his confusion, without squeaky balls. One morning I was perusing through the hundreds of FREE workout videos and I stumbled upon viewer comments and man, they were downright mean. I know this may sound a little Pollyanna of me, but if I dislike the video, I stop watching it and move on with my life. I could not understand why so many folks slandered this couple who have spent their money, time and expertise to help others, for FREE.

Later that night, I saw the same anonymous cruelty on Facebook. A woman's dog had been shot twice with arrows and it was so sad to see her crying and holding onto her injured boy. I started thumbing through the photos to make sure the dog was okay and to see if the woman could afford the surgeries her baby had to endure. Again, among dozens of comments that seemed to be directed towards a guy who said he did not like dogs, NOT ONE expressed interest in the dog's current health status or how the woman was doing. This is why I unplug to recharge my batteries.

A few years ago, I was in need of a break from all the inner chaos that can develop from battling traffic throughout the day and trying to keep up with emails. So, Finn and I went to Asheville, North Carolina to go hiking for a week. My Lug was no longer a young stallion so my plan was to traverse the mountain for two hours at a time then take Finn back to our cabin and rest. It turns out that I was the one who needed the longest naps as Finn bobbed and tapped from the door to my bed not long after lunch, holding his manly pink, mint-scented, rubber ball.

At the time, it was his security blanket; my Lug carried that ball with him everywhere he went. Finn could walk for hours while chomping and slobbering, rarely skipping a beat while he explored the countryside with me. One afternoon, I stopped to take a photo and Finn looked down the side of the mountain, the ball must have slipped out of his mouth as it rolled down wet leaves and stopped about six feet below us. Not much ever troubled Finn, but losing his ball was devastating. Every time we hiked after that, my Lug stopped and stood, crestfallen; and I had to call him away to follow me. I could have replaced forlorn Finn's prized toy but as we both sucked in as much fresh air as possible; I started thinking about what kind of damage that ball could do to the environment. What if an animal ate the toy and choked? What if the foreign matter had an adverse effect on the vegetation and killed indigenous plants on that side of the mountain? I decided Finn and I needed to recover his ball.

When we went back to the the cabin to rest, I thought I could create a makeshift pulley out of two leashes so I went to the store, tested out my new contraption on my Lug and we hit the road to recover his ball. I wrapped my left leg around a tree and held onto one leash wrapped around Finn's chest with my left hand, and gripped the other loop securing his tummy with my right fist as his eyes lit up. My Lug was so excited to retrieve his toy and shimmied down the mountain while I held on to make sure he did not slide on the wet leaves or get his paw caught in a hidden hole. Finn was elated and I waited to share this adventure with my mother AFTER we were back home safe and sound.

I often think about how Finn and I were such a team, always up for an adventure and a challenge; and I will never know if anything bad would have occurred by us leaving the ball on the mountain. But, I can look at myself in the mirror and know I did my best to prevent a deer from ingesting a ball that could cause suffering and injury.

The other night I was walking into the drugstore and I was in a hurry but I saw an elderly man, who was
severely hunched over, limping and prodding through the parking lot with his walker. My eyes welled up because the hatred I had recently read was heavy on in my mind. The first thing that ran through my head was a wish that no one has or will ever taunt this gentleman for being frail and slow. Another night, I might have quickly glanced up from an email as I tried to respectfully pass him but I walked behind him, very aware of our shared presence. When the man's thin hand shook as he reached for a basket; I asked if he needed any help but by watching his body language, he either did not hear me or he did not want my help. And, if I learned anything at all from my independent Papaw or my freethinking Finn; both who would rather topple over than to let their dignity slip away, I try not to interfere without being given permission. I hoped I would see him again as I slowly walked through the aisles, looking for my staple items. The elderly man walked towards me and I smiled and said hello and he repeated it back to me. That was it, the end of my interaction with a stranger who I secretly sent peace and light.

I am humble enough to know that my actions have a minuscule impact on the world. But when I crawl into bed tonight, I hope the person who just peered back at me from my bathroom mirror chose to make eye contact and either pull a dollar out of my wallet for the man standing at the expressway exit or at least tell him I'm sorry for not having any cash. Or, instead of typing "people suck" when I read about another dog who was treated terribly by a human, that I make a small donation to an organization that supports people who love their pets but can't afford the care they would like to provide or I simply wave a "thank you" hand to someone who allows me to merge into traffic.

In keeping the Michael Jackson theme, Gavin and I are working on a new trick, "Moonwalk" which was inspired by a lovely client's daughter. I have not quite mastered holding a video camera and training but it "feels real good" to spread the creativity of a child. And, Gavin recently passed the exam for us to start volunteering with Safe Humane's Ambassador program, Lil' Big Head is ready to spread love with the world.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

IT'S Back!

El Diablo, Booger, Turd Devil, Dirtbag and a nickname I stole from one of my clients, Punk. The label changes, but the gremlin "BLEH! BLEH! BLUP! BLEH BLEH BLEH!" and charging so fast from one side of the room to the other his feet slip around on the hardwood floor like Gavin is both possessed and on fire has been a daily occurrence. This has been Lil Big Head's awesome response to the command "sit" and usually includes him batting me with his paw, nipping the air then laying down staring at me with his "how bout no?" look on his face.

Without fail, the instant I turn off my electric toothbrush; I hear rapid pitter patter into my bedroom. Gavin knows that unless I tell him "you are going to see your friends today" that it means he has enjoy a peanut butter stuffed toy in his crate for a bit. Cue the violins for poor Lil' Big Head. And, everyday, I find him laying with his frog legs extended towards the door, facing away from me and head ducked as low as he can possibly make it while he looks eerily over his shoulder. Lil' Big Head thinks I can't see him. But, when I catch a glimpse of his giant peepers in the mirror, he tries to look again doing his best to be invisible and hoping that just this once I will let him stay on the bed. I tell him a second time "go to your house" and Gavin slithers front paws first and drags his back end behind him. I am certain that rubbing his junk on my blanket is punctuation for his message. Lil' Big Head always shuffles through the living room, past the office door and into his house where he sighs then begrudgingly eats his Kong.

I actually find Gavin's daily attempts to stay snuggled in my room adorable and if the goober did not fly past his antler, dogwood stick, dumb bell and bone to eat my blankets; I would let him sleep wherever he darn well chose to when I was not home. But Lil' Big Head has been an absolute terror this past week and I am glad Finn helped me learn over the years to laugh off some of his embarrassing mischief.

The Finn I remember had a warm glowing halo above his head and always gazed at me with a lifetime of love in his eyes. But, memories can be very selective and when I watch Gavin knock over a 4-year old child with his wiggle butt; I remember getting schooled by my brother Matt when he returned to the living room to find puppy Finn laying on the couch, with bread crumbs hanging off his lips and ketchup and mustard smothered all over his big ol' snout. My ungraceful Lug managed to scale the entertainment center with such stealth, the plate was in the exact spot Matt had left it and every knick-knack on the shelves were in their proper position.

Finn was elated when he was a good boy and he was just as haughty and happy when someone furrowed their brow at him. Gavin on the other hand, has mastered the guilty look. The evening that Lil' Big butt-checked a little boy; he kept turning back to me for treats (which is a new and super cool development) but he got so excited that he truly lost control of his back end. And, as the kid kept shaking his finger at me saying, "You should teach your dog to lay down" over and over again; Gavin slunk behind me with his tender "I'm sorry" face. The tiny human was so salty; I felt obligated to prove to him that Gavin is pretty dang good flopping onto his belly so I told Lil' Big Head to "settle". Irony is not lost on me.

What I have grown to understand and perhaps it is age, experience or just surviving what I thought I might
not, Finn's loss; is that I care less about proving myself to the world than I did when Finn and I were in the same stage of our relationship. My Lug never barked AT me, except when I was unbelievably stressed out. When Finn was a pup; I gave him a bone every time he barked so my mean, upstairs landlady would not yell at us. Once we started training, I realized what a whoopsy that was and when I stopped being so keyed up about every little thing; I realized Finn was telling me to settle down, I was stressing HIM out. The first time I called out "meatballs" and Finn kept wandering through the park, sniffing grass; I knew he was losing his hearing and Finn had to be on leash for the rest of our walks. Young me might have worried who saw my dog not listen and be compelled to explain it away every time I saw someone who knew he had a stellar recall. But, my image became less important than keeping my Lug safe and treasuring our strolls and his vibrant spirit.

On Saturday afternoon, Gavin was into EVERYTHING. Every single time I turned my back, Lil' Big Head was racing through house and digging paper towel rolls from the recycling bin. And when I let him back out of his crate, he squawked and gnarred then threw himself onto my bed where he thrashed and again, tried to maul the same blanket he wraps himself up in on chilly days. I was more excited than usual for his play date with Grace and Bailey. Unfortunately, El Diablo grew bored of stampeding past Kate and I with his girlfriend; and stealing Grace's stick. Gavin decided that he could have the most fun by hump, hump, humping Grace. I would pull him off and as I held him in a settle position, he kept thrusting the air with pure crazy in his eyes then race right back to mount Grace. Head or tail, Gavin did not care. It was exhausting to keep grabbing him and Gavin took great pride in making Kate laugh every time he shoved his winky onto poor Grace's head while Bailey proceeded to jump on her back end. Sweet Grace just stood there and looking right and left, waiting for us to save her. Fortunately, when I brought my terrible puppy home he slept like a baby but was back at his punky ways again the next morning, bouncing from dog bed to couch and shoving his butt into the air while he growled and rolled around like a cockroach. Thanks goodness I had a long day and was already planning on him going to daycare. Now, if you will excuse me, IT is sleeping and I'd like to savor the moment.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Tribute to My Boys

My dearest Finn,

I did not sit down for three years. And, I watched you treat children as human bowling pins while you had the time of your life barreling over squeals and giggles. Because of you, I learned how to be patient and listen; and sometimes behavior is not "good" or "bad" but a message, a channel to open my eyes. You inspired me to find the person I was meant to be. I thank you, my Lug, my everything for helping me see that if I gave a little, what I would receive in return was so much more than I could ever have imagined, even in my most beautiful dreams. And, your dog kisses had magical powers to mend my broken heart, many times.

You made me laugh and approach the world with a lighter step when all I wanted to do was dig my heels in the ground and fight for what I thought was right. When you refused to let age and crappy genes deter you from being the brave soul, independent spirit and happy-go-lucky dog you always were; my compassion blossomed deeper than I thought possible. You taught me that happiness is not something to seek outside myself but it is always in my heart; I just had to be quiet long enough to experience it.

Your insatiable appetite for life gave me the strength to get up when I fell down. No care, worry or stress in the world seemed as troublesome after a long walk with you. And, I now understand that if I stopped trying so hard to figure out the right time; all I had to do was look into your eyes, the truth was in front of me all along. Most of all, the love I will always feel when I see you standing in front of me, looking up with pure adoration; is ever present, and it is still with me everyday; even if I can't rub your silky, floppy ears. My faith has been restored in magic and blessings as I strive to more closely connect with my spiritual side and trust that there is so much beauty my human heart can not understand, yet.

To my sweet pea Gavin,

I am learning that staying inside while snuggling on the couch together when it's wet and dreary outside is a
lovely way to to spend an afternoon; and your snore-warble-hum is a very tranquil lullaby. I watch you wiggle and jiggle with even more enthusiasm than normal whenever a large man with a hood or a pregnant woman pass us on the street; I know that you loved someone else and were loved once too. We are both figuring out that the world is not that scary when standing next to a friend who opens their arms for a warm hug.

I do not dare think of a day when you will not be with me because the thousands of joyful moments I know you will inevitably bring to my life squashed any consideration I gave to placing a padlock around my heart. I can give you an amazing life with as much fun as your heart desires and deserves while you become a part of; not necessarily my whole world. My relationship with you and the awesome dog that you are are quite different from my angel Lug. But, you and I know how many times a day I whisper "I love you" and you repeat it back with your deep, soulful eyes. I watch you and am inspired as you leap into the air, willing to give everyone your love. Sometimes you fall but you always bounce right back up, so excited and ready to again give your affection. I can see we will learn a lot from each other, darling Lil' Big Head.




Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Paul's Passing

It was 2003, and like so many other grown-up firsts in my life; Finn was my trusty companion, happy to accompany me into a new apartment, just the two of us, finally. Technically, my Lug was a roommate but keeping him company was never work. And, he didn't complain about how grimy I was from from helping hoist boxes into our big kid pad. We both bounded out the door, eager to explore our new neighborhood when I spotted a petite man leaning against the fence, smoking a cigarette. His saucy smile took up most of his face as he said, "Grrrrrrlllllll, are you my new neighbor?" With a little wiggle of his shoulders and a whole lot of sass; I learned his name was Paul, he had a Pit Bull named Harper and we were going to get along just fine as he crouched down, squealed Finn's name repeatedly and let my Lug smooch him forehead to chin.

Because of Paul, and our other neighbor Brett, that beat-up, crappy apartment became my home for seven years and the man who stood standing in his white tank top and faded blue jean uniform will always be on my short list of amazing people who have brought nothing but joy to my life. Being the nice neighbor that he was, Paul agreed that before he came into the yard with Harper, he would yell out "HELLO!" and I would do the same. Finn's unbelievable uneasiness around other dogs was heightened at that time and I didn't want to put my Lug or Harper in a stressful situation. But, as time went on, Paul and I decided that we were both willing to put in the work to make sure our boys were content around each other so we could freely come and go in the yard. Harper was my first Pit Bull love, he was and still is one of the easiest dogs to get along with. He and Finn spent years hanging out together, taking turns lifting their legs on the same spot, over and over again.

Paul used to make dinner every Sunday night for everyone in the building. He absolutely thrived on making
people happy and my Lug's nose used to twinkle with delight every time I came home from taco night, the smell of frying beef never swirled in my kitchen. I used to tease Paul when he ordered tater tots at lunch or when I opened his cabinets to find eight types of marshmallow filled cereals. But I was always a teensy bit jealous he could eat like a teenager and still have a waistline closer to Scarlett O'Hara's than mine. Paul gave me the security and feeling of family that I missed so much when I moved to Chicago; I knew I could call him any hour of the day and did so many times. Paul would show up at the door with a toolbox in hand or a pair of rubber gloves and a package of frankfurters when I had to take my Lug's temperature in a place I never wanted to go, twice, post-surgery. Paul was honest, when I needed to hear the truth and managed to be there for so many people in this world. He was always telling me stories of yet another friend sleeping on his couch or a new foster dog because someone, anyone uttered the word "help". When Finn had a vestibular attack a few years ago, Paul was at my house 20 minutes after I called him to help me make sure my dizzy Lug could get up and down the stairs upon our return from the emergency room.

I hope I was there for Paul as much as he was there for me. A couple years ago, Paul and I were living much further apart; I was dating a guy I really liked and Paul was dating a guy who really liked him. Both our businesses were growing. He cancelled lunch plans one week then I cancelled coffee the next week.Then a year went by and another.

I had thought about calling Paul a hundred times when I passed through his neighborhood but became sidetracked when my phone rang. I kept meaning to tell him that I wrote about he and Harper; mostly as an excuse to say hi and see how they both were doing. Oh, I just know Paul would have loved Lil' Big Head. Now I never can talk to my dear friend, who I lost touch with, because he passed away last week. Shocked, shaken and regretful, I started looking through his Facebook page and learned that Paul went into the hospital the same day Finn passed away. All of this I keep telling myself as I try to find peace in my heart and grasp never being able to see Paul smile, hear his crazy stories or hug my kind, generous, funny, beautiful friend again.

Paul, if you are up there, please know how sorry I am that I didn't know you were sick and that I was not there for you. There will always be a very special place in my heart for you and your friendship. I am so terribly sorry that we lost touch. I am so fortunate to have shared your light and your love for as many years as I did and I truly hope you rest in peace. Finn and Bentley, please show him the ropes.

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Disheveled Duos


Lil' Big Head absolutely loves our agility class. We are a team, tackling obstacles together. I don't care much for competition, which is why I assume I have never excelled in sports. But I love the way Stacey and Janice make the experience about each duo and what the dog CAN do; it makes me so happy to see Lil' Big Head's giant smile when he charges out of the tunnel, he always seems so proud of himself. There is never pressure to perform at a certain level and Gavin has been a stellar study, but more importantly the class is strengthening our bond.

Before class, my mushy little monkey dog was shaking so much from the cold; I was grateful that I taught him to have one favorite spot for business trips. Lil' Big Head has no fur. He wanted to get back inside; under a warm blanket, pronto. I bundled Gavin in one of my jackets for the drive because I could not recall where I had stored the hipster hoodie I bought for him when I was in Oregon over Memorial Day weekend. Lil' Big Head ran through the drills like we had been teammates for years, sometimes it's hard to believe he has only been with me for seven months because he seems so content and cheerful to be by my side.

We were practicing the dog walk and Gavin began running too fast and fell off onto the floor. Unlucky little guy tumbled right onto the spot where a metal gate separate the space between class and daycare. For the first time, I heard Lil' Big Head yelp. And, Gavin sat there, next to the equipment, looking up at me with his big, sad doe eyes. I ran over to comfort him and he leaned into me while I stroked his chest. We all wanted to see if he was ok, so I stepped away from him a tiny bit to see if he would stand and put weight on his leg; Gavin limped as he tried to walk. Luckily, Lil' Big Head shook it off and was moving just fine within a couple of seconds.

The last time I heard my Lug make that godawful sound that tore my soul up inside was the summer of 2011. Finn had a lump on his belly that I lovingly called his nubbin'. My Lug could have been covered head to toe in skin tags, lumps and bumps; I did not care as long as I knew he was not hurting nor were they a sign of something worse. But, because the benign mass was hanging off the lowest point of my Lug's barrel chest and it was growing so fast, one of my favorite veterinarians advised me to have it removed. I hated subjecting my senior dog to anesthesia but we had been carefully monitoring Finn's nubbin; and we knew it would soon become troublesome for him to walk. And, the thought of waiting another year; doing the surgery on an even older Finn helped me decide to move forward at her suggestion. Before I scheduled the appointment, Dr. Berman, who is also a brilliant surgeon, introduced me to the veterinary technician who would be by her side, Finn's side, during the procedure. Seeing this women's face and knowing she cared enough to meet me gave me more comfort but I was a wreck thinking about the upcoming procedure.

When I dropped Finn off at the vet that morning, no breakfast in his stomach which he did not understand or approve as he kept running into the kitchen, then onto his bed with an indignant look; I stared at the sheet of paper every veterinary hospital gives you when you drop your pet off at 8am and started bawling. I knew who the audience was, it was me 11 years prior. I read the words, "if your dog is scheduled for surgery later in the day, be thankful. It means your dog is the youngest and the healthiest". I understood the worries of being a new pet parent to a puppy that was being neutered, and how hard it was to wait all day but my Lug's surgery was scheduled for 9am, did that mean he was the oldest and unhealthiest? The Office Manager had left me a message the day prior that they were out of my business cards but I completely forgot to pass them along as I raced out of there, wearing sunglasses on a dreary day to hide my bulging eyes.

One of the many reasons I love positive training is once Gavin fell off the dog walk; no one, including me, was interested in getting him back on again, we just wanted to re-build his confidence. We had an awesome rest of class, Lil' Big Head's ears flopping in the wind of his own excitement because he chose to continue running through the course. Then, as we were leaving class, the poor dog's dumb mom did not see him hesitate. CRUUUUDDDDDDD! Because, for a second time, in one day, Gavin yelped. Lil' Big Head had paused at the exit and I didn't see it until it was too late and the door caught his tail. Pitiful, considerate, contemplative Lil' Big Head looked at me with the same sad expression he had given me less than an hour prior, but that time it was because of my clumsiness. Thank goodness I had the time to sit in the waiting area and feed Gavin lots of cheese so he has good associations again with the space, and Janice let us get back on the dog walk, one of us on each side of him so he was sure to safely walk up and down the incline. When we got home, all Gavin wanted to do was snuggle and I rubbed his white tuxedo as he fell asleep.

Those few seconds I waited to see if Gavin had stubbed his leg or if it was something serious were awful. There was nothing I could do but wait. And, the hour and a half I waited to hear that Finn was awake was excruciating. Ring, ring, ring. I saw that it was Dr. Berman's hospital and when I answered, it was her. She has the best sing song voice and told me that her "big man" had came through the surgery amazingly well and they confirmed that the lump was completely benign. When I picked Finn up, he was wrapped in a bandage the veterinary technician told me was to relieve the pressure and prevent fluid from creeping into the space where the lump used to be; I was allowed to remove it within a couple of days.

What I thought was an ace bandage turned out to be a giant bandaid and when I went to slowly peel it off Finn's abdomen, my Lug yelped and ran into the bathroom. Poor guy stood, wagging his tail, not wanting to move. I sat on the floor with him for a few minutes so he knew I understood and he smothered my face with his awesome slobbery kisses. I pulled the olive oil off the shelf, a bag of cotton balls out of the drawer and called Finn to his bed. Once I realized just how much oil it was going to take to grease up my Lug, I searched for the coconut oil so he would not smell like salad dressing. And, for two hours I coated teeny tiny areas of adhesive over and over again with oily cotton balls so the band-aid glided right off Finn's fur with ease and not a lick of pain. Finn took turns giving me kisses and slurping on his bone. Cream cheese specs on my nose and the smell of the tropics permeating my living room will always remind me of Finn. And, I hope I don't have to hear Lil' Big Head yelp again for a very, very long time.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Bumps in the Night

My body instinctively shot straight into the air, I thought my heart was going to thrash out of my chest. Gavin remained undisturbed in dreamland as he rolled over, hummed and murmured. Lil' Big Head only moved because he was nestled in the crook of my knees when I jumped. The crash that woke me was so intense and I was terrified as I tentatively opened the hideous gold-plated doorknob to my bedroom.

It has been less time than not that I keep my door shut at night; a bizarre feeling overcomes me still when I actually turn the knob to enter my living room. Despite my attempts to help Finn into my bed or reward him for going to one of his own beds in my room; my Lug preferred sleeping in the living room at night, always in a place he could see me. After we moved into Kate's, Finn slept in the bedroom with me again so I can only deduce he wanted more space to stretch out his old dude limbs. I believe in allowing senior dogs to maneuver in their own ways and pace. Gray faced pups with stiff legs and changing bodies deserve and have more than earned the right to find the comfiest, most relaxing spot to sleep, and walk only when they want. Right now, I am painfully trudging through the book, The Last Walk, a read I was desperate to get my hands on last Fall but it had not yet been released. Some of Pierce's entries make my stomach do somersaults but the science behind human-animal bonds and grieving seems to keep my interest. My heart breaks when she talks about her elderly dog Ody hiding all day; "making" the old dog go for walks then watching him fall over and over again; and the poor senior Vizsla getting stuck under the trampoline and lost, repeatedly. I hope Ody is not as miserable as I interpret her words and with every chapter I ingest; I look up and wonder if Finn knows how I hard I tried to do right by him, especially when he was my merry old man.

As I walked into my living room, still no Gavin behind me to protect me; I saw that a latch had broken in one of my windows. No harm, no glass and no burglar; thankfully. When I crawled back into bed, Lil' Big Head stretched and spun in three circles, like he always does and fell back into a deep sleep as close to me as he could. My adrenaline was still buzzing so I wondered as I tried to fall back to sleep, if Gavin would instinctively protect me if it was necessary.

I have always operated on the assumption that yes, a dog who lives with and loves me everyday would fight along with me if there was a serious threat to either of us. Finn met so many people over the years and wagged his tail or kissed every single one. But, one afternoon, there was a man walking down an alley behind us and the fur on my Lug's back stood straight up as he leaned forward and let off a deep, haunting growl. As the man's footsteps grew further and further away, Finn remained still, his feet in the ground, refusing to walk with me. My Lug never growled at another person again so when Finn finally moved along, I figured that he sensed something in that guy I did not see.

It gave me such peace when just the two of us travelled together that I could rely on my Lug to protect us or scare off someone who heard his deep, hearty bark. Gavin has barked a total of five times since he has been with me and it's a scraggly, weeny kind of bark that provokes pitiful laughter more than fear. After a long drive home from North Carolina, I decided to splurge on a bed and breakfast in downtown Louisville. For some reason, the teeny, tiny woman who rented the place to me, gave me the creeps; and Finn and I were the only guests in the big, breezy house. I slept like a log on the comfiest bed I have ever laid on that night because I always felt so secure with my Lug by my side. I hope my Finn felt the same with me and Gavin will always know I have his back.

But, despite being sweet, smart, fun boy dogs; Gavin and Finn could not be more different. I am a ridiculous klutz and every single time I stubbed my toe on my dresser or broke a coffee cup; I would hear my Lug's paws racing along the hardwood floor as fast as he could. Then I would see his droopy lips, perked ears and sweet, milk-chocolate brown eyes standing over me with his "You okay?" look. Finn could be so serious when he knew he was needed. Once my Lug assured everything was in order, every muscle in his body relaxed as he bounced back to one of his many favorite sleeping spots or whatever was left of a bully stick.

Dear, lovable Gavin very much likes his beauty rest, if he is not playing. I was cleaning the kitchen last
weekend and dropped a ceramic lid on the floor. I stopped myself on the way to the broom because I was curious; and when I looked around the corner, Gavin continued to lay on his back, warbling. He was completely passed out. Glad to know Lil' Big Head feels safe in my house.

The first three months with Gavin were laborious. I often looked at him, clueless and confused as to what he was thinking or needed. And, I could see by his eyes, he was thinking, "Lady, I don't know what the heck you want either". I was trying too hard to figure out how to keep Finn in my heart and love Gavin the way he deserves, simultaneously. It might just be time together or perhaps I know more now what Lil' Big Head needs; but I feel like he and I are in such an amiable, beautiful place. Gavin still goes to dog camp once a week. He just loves romping with other pooches so much; I want him to have that joy, not just tire him out, which was the original goal. Usually, on camp day, Gavin waits by the door for Steve to come pick him up. But this week, Lil' Big Head kept hopping back onto the couch with me while I responded to client emails. It was very sweet and once he was wearing his collar and leash, he galloped through the doorway with anticipation.

One of the main reasons I chose a place on the third floor was the frequency I saw drunks staring at my first floor bedroom window near Wrigleyville. Every time Finn and I sat, resting, on the stairs together; I reminded myself that I chose my home for the safety of both he and I. And, when regrets creep in, I hold on to the belief that seeing dogs so infrequently in our current neighborhood and spending the majority of our time strolling through parks, on grass rather than the sidewalk; kept my Lug stress-free and kicky as long as it did. When I go to sleep at night now, next to my perfect little lump of a snuggler; I keep my mace handy just in case something does go bump in the night.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

October 8th

It was 8:30am and it took all the strength I had when I picked up the phone, not to sob or seem as desperate as I felt. Finn had tripped walking up the stairs and started to twist and tumble backwards. I could see the panic in his eyes as I tried to catch him. Grabbing my Lug's chest; I felt the burning in my ankle as it rolled on the step and we both started to fall. Luckily I was able to grab the railing and stable both Finn and I. My heart was racing and I looked at Finn who was also trying to figure out what had just happened; knowing that we could have both been severely marred. As each ring blared in my ear; I wondered what I would do if Kate had changed her mind about her offer to live in her basement. I was out of other options, medications, herbs and therapies. She was my only hope but I could not bear to put that burden on her.

From the book, Healing After Loss by Martha Whitmore Hickman, on October 8th: "In our sadness and despair, can we act and think as though faith is an accurate mirror of truth; that there is, out there in the darkness, a hand that reaches out to us in compassion and love?"

Ten minutes later, I was packing up Finn's medications, his dog bed, calming music and his Thundershirt. And, once I made sure I had all of my Lug's things; I nabbed my Keurig so we could be ready later that night to move, once he had a chance to rest. I did not know if the arrangement would work. Either of Kate's dogs might have been stressed having a dog they did not know well live in the basement. Finn's anxieties changed so much in his elderly days, a new home might have been too much for him. But, I had to try. I learned a powerful lesson, allowing Kate to help me. And, the risk I took not knowing what could be in a new house paid off by giving me three whole months with my Lug.

Today, a year later; I could dwell on the fact that Finn is not here to enjoy his favorite time of year. Heck, every time of year was his favorite, but Finn got the biggest kick out of the crunchy leaves when we hiked in the Fall. Or, I could feel sorry for myself because today
also marks the anniversary of the end of the end with my Lug. But, I celebrate Kate today and will do so every year on October 8th. With a key to her basement, she gave and taught me so much. Because of Kate, I had:

  • Long strolls through Horner Park, he loved wandering up and down the hill there.
  • One last road trip to Ohio to chase geese and each as much leftover turkey as he wanted. At his age, Finn no longer had to steal my stepdad's sausage.
  • A quiet Christmas, filled with my own cooking and visits from friends.
  • Car rides to Gompers Park, Caldwell Woods, Eugene Field Park and treks through nearby forest preserves.
  • My birthday hike with Sheila, my Lug ate the snowman's arms and was so spirited, we played our race game and I did not have to pretend to run. I'm so happy Sheila took as much video as she did.
  • "I got my bone" shuffle down the hall almost everyday. Old dogs deserve to be spoiled. 
  • Snuggling on the couch, twice! It was so amazing for him to want to climb up onto the sofa.
  • OH MY GOD, happy dance, spindly leg race to greet me at the door every single time I came home.
  • After 13 years of preferring to "shake" with his left paw, Finn finally decided it would be worthwhile to give right "paw". He still liked to use his brain but senior joints can't do a whole lot, so I got creative.
  • So many belly rubs, massages, mornings on his dog bed laying nose to nose like no one else in the world existed. The sound of his happy grumble when I hit the right spot will always bring me joy.
  • One last TV appearance, Finn wanted nothing more than to kiss the cameraman and anchor.
  • A new friend, Bailey.
  • Countless kisses, laughs, loving moments and reminders that life is worth fighting for.
  • Eternal peace that I did everything I possibly could for him to have a happy, long life.

Thank you, Kate. You will forever be my angel on earth. And, Gavin loves you just as much as Finn always, always did!

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Nine Months Later

When I was a child and moaned about being bored; my father promised me that time soars much faster with age. Again and again, I am mystified that it has been a nine months since I stroked one of my Lug's favorite spots, right between his eyes. We laid nose to nose and I whispered, "I'm going to miss you so much". I found it impossible to utter "goodbye". The finality was too much to bear.

Outside of my sun room; in plain sight from the spot I practice yoga, there are two trees that I often focus my gaze during poses. In the past week, as the leaves have started to fall; the canopies of both trees have dramatically changed shape. Every time my eyes meet the two heart-shaped trees; I think of Finn and wonder if he is sending his love from a beautiful after-life; a world beyond my comprehension. Or perhaps they are just haphazard symbols I need and want to mean something so I can stay connected to my Lug. I have no clue what the answer is, but I know thinking of Finn watching over me from a better place gives me peace and doesn't hurt anyone.

In the words of Frank O' Connor from the book Healing After Loss, "All I know from my own experience is that the more loss we feel the more grateful we should be for whatever it was we had to lose. It means we had something worth grieving for. The ones I'm sorry for are the ones that go through life not even knowing what grief is".

I find this quote fascinating; now that January is further and further away, I try to hide my tears when random reminders of Finn sometimes sting. And, when a client I have not seen in ages asks me about Finn; I sniffle because I miss my Lug, not because of the kind inquiry; though every person expresses how terrible he or she feels about making me cry. And I don't want anyone to feel bad asking about Finn. What a shame it would be if I were unphased. There will always, always be a special place in my heart reserved for my Lug and all our memories. But, my ticker seems to have grown to allow space to adore the snuggle bug, delicate flower that is Gavin; it is very comforting when tears still sometimes strike.

Friends and family often describe Finn as "gentle" and an "old soul" but that was who Finn grew to be; not who he always was. I remember how happy I was when I discovered the nubbin inside his ears; my Lug barely sat still for any petting unless he was passed out from chasing tennis balls. Oh, Finn's eyes rolled back into his head as he clumsily leaned into my knuckle then knocked my hand onto the pillow with the weight of his head. I thought my Lug was telling me he was done with the massage but when I stopped, he popped his head up with his best "Damnit!" face. So, I smushed my hand back under his head watched it bob up and down as he relaxed; something that did not come naturally to Finn. As I think back to the hours I spent in the last couple of years massaging his old muscles; I acknowledge that those cherished quiet moments were well earned, on both our parts.

Gavin gives his affection so easily and when he meets any one of his many new daily friends, I no longer have to tell them that I just lost my Finn. I once needed the sympathy to survive. But now, when I see someone who asks about Finn, all I need is a hug. And, Lil' Big Head will happily jingle jangle to join.

Gavin and I are attending a big fundraiser tonight for the organization that saved his life; I can't wait to see how handsome he is in his sparkly red bow tie. No doubt Lil' Big Head will be the life of the party and will absolutely cherish all his admirers. I like giving Gavin what he needs and wants. A giant celebration around other dogs would have made Finn crazy. My Lug preferred being an only child and treasured being the center of my attention all the time while Lil' Big Head is completely content blending into the party.



Thursday, September 26, 2013

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Pit

It was more than an urge to fill the silence; deeper than the need to feel the unconditional love of a dog; it was a thump in my chest as a very skinny, black dog with snot dripping down his heart-shaped nose stood across the room from me, hesitant. I bent down and I saw his cocoa brown eyes brighten with every wiggly-step he took towards me. The spark between the formerly known as Cappucino and I told me that the meet 'n' greet, arranged by Alive Rescue, might have a different ending than the other dogs with heart-wrenching stories that I had met in weeks prior. I fell in love with so many soulful eyes from behind my computer screen then subsequently rubbed burly shoulders or tossed a ball and decided that bringing home an animal simply out of pity was not the right next chapter in my book. I know plenty of people who fall in love with a pooch long after they settle in together; but that was not my path. And, I did not set out to adopt a Pit Bull or not adopt one. Nor did I aspire to bring in a dog for the sake of making a larger impact on the world.

But, I sensed there may be more for Lil' Big Head and I; just like Finn and no matter what motivated me with either. Sometimes, sitting in traffic, I think of what my typed-up, laminated world might look like if Finn had not rescued me after I saved him. During my first morning walk with Gavin, he gambled behind me down the short, slippery wooden steps of my condo building. I wondered what the hundreds of moms and school children would think of my new puppy. I knew it would be hard to introduce Gavin to my neighbors because my veil of sadness preceded me by at least six steps. But, would they look at him different because he had a giant head? Then, a welcome revelation. The same people I witnessed walk so far into the parkway to avoid my cheery, senior Lug that they almost tripped on the curb also looked eerily over their shoulder and sped up as Gavin trailed behind them. Lil' Big Head's display was really pitiful as he tried so hard to show off his ecstatic scrunch face and accompanying squirm, jiggle dance as person after person passed by him; convinced he loved each human more than the last.

Fortunately, some kids saw him and squealed, "he is soooo cute" as they surrounded my bouncing performing artist. After I confirmed for half-listening minors that yes, the dog softly oozing into their shins for more, more, more chest massages was probably a Pit Bull; many would start rattling off stories of how funny their Pit Bull is when he snores or how much they love their uncle's Pittie. I have lost count of how many people have sped up to walk with us and ask me if Gavin is a Pit with one breath. Then, passionately illustrate with the next gulp, the friendliness of their own Pit Bull and tell me how the breed gets a bad reputation. The conversation always ends with me receiving a hearty pat on the back for joining in the revolution against prejudice. It often seems like Gavin and I joined a club.

I snapped the below picture a few days after Gavin came home with me and his face has blossomed so much since then; the way it does when a dog feels understood and secure. In those six months, I forgot that some folks just do not like dogs or big ones. I try to be a respectful good human, even though I cannot imagine disliking dogs. Finn was not allowed to nudge someone that was steering clear of us, and Gavin is starting to understand the same rule. One morning, as Lil' Big Head and I power-walked towards the promised land of squirrels; I saw a petite woman a half block away, scurry the other direction while yanking her petite marshmallow of a dog. The terror in her eyes was so jutting, I looked behind me to see if there was a zombie reaching for my pony-tail. I could feel my deltoids tense and told her in the nicest tone I could muster that just because Gavin is a Pit Bull (or looks like one) does not mean he is mean and she responded, "Oh, I'm sure he's nice but mine is not". Like everyone else, I got so caught up in my own hectic schedule and multi-tasking that I neglected to realize, that very rarely, is it about me.

There is a man in my neighborhood with a seemingly lovely Boxer who I have seen play with a lot of Lil Big Head's friends before he was my Gavin. But, the dog is always off-leash and the guy, well, was and to my knowledge still is, a real jerk. I used to see the pair together at the park and would ask the man to politely to please put his dog on a leash. I never wanted or cared to explain that yes, Finn was looking up at me. But if the Boxer's dad had met us a decade earlier, Finn's fear of other dogs would have been very clear by the deep barks he heard way before he saw us. I trusted Finn with dogs I knew well and trusted too. But, my Lug's faith in me and relaxed demeanor, around other dogs, was built on a lot of work together and my promise to him that I would keep bouncy dogs away from his face. I was absolutely aghast when I saw this older man, who I believe is also a father to a few human children, dance around and taunt me while saying, "you think your dog is too good for mine" and puckering out his bottom lip. Really, he looked like he just stole my lunch money the way he was sashaying around. I changed our route and now when I see the teenage boy trapped in an older man's body; Gavin and I walk on by. Lil' Big Head does not need to be friends with the Boxer if it means I would have to have spend even two seconds speaking with that guy.

I would like to believe the world has changed; only twice have I had someone on the street blatantly tell me that Gavin is going to kill them because they label him a Pit Bull or scream bloody murder and run away. Yeah, high pitched noises and fast movement is the best approach near a dog one fear's might be aggressive. Luckily for them, Gavin is quite the opposite. Saturday morning, I was procrastinating cleaning the house when I re-read the story about Lennox, the Pit Bull who was torn from his home in Belfast, I looked at Gavin, who could be Lennox's cousin. He was sound asleep, squeaking and honking on the same bed Finn once quivered and squealed delightfully in dreamland while he rested his head on his ducky toy. I could not imagine, even after only six months, someone taking Gavin from me. And, I was beyond angry.

There are countless animals, sitting behind bars, scared and unwanted. Yet, Lennox, a dog who was
absolutely adored by his family was ripped from his home. Just because he had a big head. I took Gavin for a walk, it was such a beautiful day and I thought it might help me shake the fiery reaction I had to the article. As Lil' Big Head and I entered the forest preserve, I could tell by the way his head perked up; there was a dog ahead of us. I braced myself for the inevitable nut on the forehead. Every single time Finn and I were in that spot, BONK. I would look up and see a squirrel chuckling, holding an acorn.

So, I asked the obligatory "does your dog like other dogs?" to the mom holding a Beagle's leash. And, when she asked me the same, I could see her hesitate. The shard was wedged on my shoulders. I told her that Gavin was VERY friendly and as the two dogs sniffed butts and shared a few pounces; she sighed and told me she still gets nervous around Pit Bulls. I could have rolled my eyes or fired off some rant about prejudice because I was a still amped up from Lennox's story. But, all that would have told her was I am a jerk. Instead, I let Gavin roll around like a tootsie roll while her sons rubbed his belly and maybe, hopefully, I changed her view of my Pittie and other nice dogs out there. No matter what they look like.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

For the Love of Fall and Friends

Without a doubt, Fall is my favorite season; apples, pumpkins, HALLOWEEN, dusting off my hiking shoes and being able to traverse all three parks in my neighborhood on one walk; without worrying about the lovable, four-legged dude bopping along next to me broiling in summer's heat. Last Autumn was a 90-mile an hour, bumpy ride up and down; with loops and corkscrews that throttled me through every twist and turn. I arose each morning with a soft grin; feeling the breeze from Finn's windshield wiper tail wags while he tickled my ear with his old man kisses. But, a heavy dread entered my heart when my Lug paced and panted, trying to get himself up the stairs. Constantly thankful for Finn's smile and excitement when I walked in the door, I also wondered as I touched the knob if he would be there.

I was driving Finn to the veterinarian one afternoon and my phone rang, it was Sheila. She asked how I was and I screeched, "How do you think I am? Finn is dying!" And, as the words violently spewed from my mouth, I plummeted. How could I be so mean and terrible to one of my dearest friends in the whole world? I often felt so alone as my Lug aged, like no one understood what weighed on my mind. Would I be able to catch Finn if he fell down the stairs? Was I able to see past my need to have my Lug next to me to know when he was suffering? How would I know what that looked like? The decision on when to let him go, if I was blessed or cursed with it, was constantly there. Even when I tried to not think about it and just walk, snuggle and enjoy every second I had with my Lug. That night and many nights after, my soul sister Sheila brought me dinner and wine. And while Finn wrapped his grey and brown paws around his bone and joyfully sucked out every morsel of marrow; Sheila hugged me when I apologized; and listened while I talked through crocodile tears. I could never repay Sheila for all she did for me and she would never ask.

It has been almost a year since Kate opened her basement door to Finn and I. Kate's puppy, Grace who is also Gavin's girlfriend, was sharing the perfect autumn stroll with me today as I retraced the same path I took with Finn the morning after we moved in. I remember the relief and amazing simple joys of walking return. Finn was so charged up. I will be eternally grateful for Kate's generosity and the most astonishing gift anyone has ever given to me, life with my Lug.

My walks with Gavin are so different but increasing more relaxing. I so very often fumble trying to recall all his canine pals' names and the nice humans who make small talk with me while Lil' Big Head bounces into the air. I have discovered that I avoided a lot of nice dogs in my neighborhood. And, I have grown to look forward to seeing some of the cheerful faces at the other end of their leashes. It is amazing how dogs bring humans together. After I had earrings made of Finn's ashes, the beautiful Gina who created my dangly, sparkly reminders of love sent me a scrapbook page of my Lug she plans to use on her website. I was so touched. And, fellow hiker, dog lover, blogger AND my first follower Heather sent me some delicious treats for Gavin and some of my clients to try. They were a hit and the people who continue to bless me with their presence because of Finn and Gavin never fail to pleasantly surprise me.

Gavin has been such a superstar in the house that I started thinking about a plan for him to have more freedom when he was home alone. Of course, I am certain Finn was whispering in his ear because as I sat in my sun room, looking at my schedule and trying to determine a couple days where he could have short test runs; the little booger ate a piece of my rug and peed on the floor, the latter for the first time EVER. So, in his crate Lil' Big Head stays for now. Then Gavin showed off more of Finn Bear's favorite tricks when a friend came over as he snatched a flip flop and danced around the table, laughing and looking over his shoulder. And, after every stinker puppy moment, Lil' Big Head finds a way to melt my heart. When I dropped him off at daycare the morning after I repaired my rug, again; Lil' Big Head turned around for the first time. I could see his enormous Pit Bull smile through the glass, while he paused at the door to doggie nirvana. Gavin thought for a second about choosing me over his friends and I fell more in love with him.

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Warts and All

My friend Christine called me to tell me something bad had happened, something terrible. Finn was going to Gurnee the following day to spend the week chasing their dog Payton; letting her jump on his back while he spun in circles making his happy growling sounds I would learn he reserved for few dogs in his life and when her energy exceeded his, my Lug would hold a rope in his mouth and swing his head from side to side to keep Payton entertained. The tone in Christine's voice told me it was not her normal worry wart jingle to remind me to send Finn's favorite toys along and when I turned on the radio; I knew my trip to Paris and London, September 12, 2001, was going to be cancelled.

Confused, crying, terrified and anxious; I began calling my family and friends; and beat my hands against the steering wheel, sitting, helpless in traffic. All I wanted to do was retrieve Finn from daycare and take him home with me, where I hoped and prayed we would both be safe. Like so many others, I was glued to the television and unable to muster gratitude or even much relief for  the well-being of those I love; it felt too cavalier as I watched, with horror the unspeakable tragedies played over and over again. I found comfort in the rich, chocolate brown fur of my crazy, amazing Lug. A creature incapable of being cruel or vicious, just for revenge. Finn laid by side all day, stoic and thoughtful; doing his best to erase the tears plummeting down my cheeks with his sandpaper tongue. No matter how many mistakes I made with him, it would have never crossed his mind to hurt me, it was not his way.

The day after 9/11, we were on our way to the dog park; Finn was bouncing and zagging along with a giant grin spread across his beautiful face. I had yet to discover my passion for dog training and had barely skated through one round of obedience classes with Finn. My Lug was so strong, a friend gave me a prong collar to walk him after I expressed how worried I was crossing the busy streets in my neighborhood. I was unaware that some folks used them to harshly correct dogs for making bad choices but it gave me more control when Finn's enthusiasm overtook him and turned my Lug into an 80 pound pulling machine. He spotted a dog across the street and the leash, collar and I were no match for his exuberance. My Lug was so excited that when he pulled forward with no regard to what was around his neck; I tripped on the curb and his leash flew from my hands. I heard a loud "SCREEEEEECH! YELP!" and pushing myself off the pavement, I looked up and Finn was not there. A maroon sedan was sitting in the middle of the street and a guy, a really cute one looked at me with the deepest "I'm sorry" eyes I have ever seen. I stumbled across Greenview Avenue as the other dog and his person stood; watching, with sympathy. Finn sat, trembling on the parkway with a big gash above his eye. In the seconds it took for me to drag my aching body across the street, I envisioned the worst but scooped my sweet dog up into the car that had just hit him. To this day, my stomach turns with disgust at how badly I had let Finn down. But, my scrappy Lug forgave me the second his eyes met mine and I held him so tightly while the nice guy gave me his cell phone and drove us to the veterinarian. Finn walked into the waiting room like he was strolling into a party; tail wagging happily side to side and jumping to kiss the first technician he approached, standing there, waiting for us.

I firmly believe that science has yet to prove the complexity of dog emotions. In the midst of massive chaos in the world; I questioned my own safety but was so in awe of Finn's strength, mercy and courage. I promised him I would never betray his trust again and he rewarded me by showing me everyday what pure happiness truly looked like.

Before my vacation, Gavin and I were making lovely strides in his leash walking and I fully acknowledge it has been a lot of work for both of us. While we separately enjoyed our own version of a holiday; Gavin needed a refresher after more than a week of nothing but rough and tumble play with his canine pals. The very reason I moved to my neighborhood; trees, and lots of them, has cursed me. Trees mean squirrels and Gavin is so crazy overstimulated at the sight of even one bushy grey tail; he can not help his puppy monkey self. I have pep talks in my own head, trying so hard to convince myself that it is not age nor my lack in strength but Lil' Big Head's short, muscley body that has made leash training physically more difficult for me than the 1000's of other dogs I have trained. I will keep telling myself that.

So, Gavin and I revisited some of the basics we started back in the spring and to help his frustration level, Lil' Big Head is allowed to chase squirrels up the trees again, at Gompers Park only. It helps me use four-letter words on our walks, like "ouch", much, much less. Despite the blemish in our outside progress, Gavin and I seem to have developed a deeper appreciation for each other and I did not anticipate that. Lil' Big Head seems much more eager to listen and he is certainly more content when we are home alone. Our first night back, I think Lil' Big Head was snoring before he even laid down and I know my eyes were shut the instant I opened my bedroom door. I woke up the next morning to Gavin's dear face, head on the pillow next to mine like he had been in my home for years. I tell him all the time what a sweet puppy he is; I am so fortunate to have lived with and still share my home with lovely, nice dogs who would never attack or bite, despite the atrocious things humans have done to them.

To this day, weeks before 9/11; I wince when I actually put something on my calendar that day and I hope that never changes. I hope I never look at it as just another day, in my own little world. I recall a substitute veterinarian who made a snarky comment about the little wart on Finn's forehead and laughed as she said it would prevent him from ever being a model. I grew more and more sensitive about Finn with time but to me, he was more dazzling with each old man bump, lump and skin tag; once I knew that's all they were. Our relationship grew to one that no longer needed words, we had our own language no one else spoke or understood. My Lug was so adoring, through bad hair days and ill-informed decisions. And, I hope, Gavin will forgive my foibles as I will do his. We are off for a walk, wish us luck. When I stop today and look at up the trees, I will remember and honor all of the people I cried for 12 years ago.

The photo of Finn is courtesy of Robyn Rachel.