It's Ok to Laugh

Finn was hilarious! So often, he cracked himself up and certainly made me giggle every single day with his ornery and harebrained ways.  In the midst of all the kind emails and phone calls I have received since I said goodbye to my nugget, a couple people sent me "I remember" emails. As I read through them, I instantly lightened.  One email was from Karen Okura, an amazing woman and a fabulous trainer who actually inspired me to start my career:

"I will always remember Finny goosing me in the butt at Camp Dogwood. Repeatedly!! And how he laughed uproariously every time he did it! He had a wonderfully wicked and funny sense of humor. I will miss that."

I started thinking, how better to celebrate Finn than by remembering his merriment and the joy he brought to others? I began carrying a journal around with me and would jot down anything that came to mind about him; places we visited, little silly things he did throughout the day, antics from his puppy hood, his sweet ways as he aged, favorite activities that made him smile, anything that came to mind.  As the memories continue to flow, I find it gives me tremendous peace to think of all the great times I shared with my zany, lovable lug. I even started soliciting "Favorite Finn Stories" from friends and family to add to my collection. The tales make me grin from ear to ear and are helping me heal so much.

Don't get me wrong, I am still very much mourning and am sometimes mistaken for Sylvester Stallone in the Rocky movies. But, rather than wallowing in my sorrow as I often glance at empty dog beds around the house or becoming bitter because I don't have a reason to go outside and walk (Finn was the catalyst for so much self-discovery, including helping me figure out how much I LOVE the outdoors);  I choose to heal.  I want to remember him and walk forward with that silly, wagging tail in my heart and soul where it will always be.

When Finn and I first moved to Chicago, we lived with this total dodo who said he loved dogs but really just accepted Finn being in his apartment.  I was working insane hours at a job I hated and despite giving Finn about three hours of exercise a day (the minimum required for a young Chocolate Lab); I felt so guilty leaving him alone for an afternoon to go to a friend's baby shower. So, like so many others, I decided to nix the crate and leave him in my bedroom; assuming if he ruined anything at least it was mine and not said butt head roommate's belongings.

As I opened the front door of my apartment, excited to see my puppy, a feather drifted past me. Then, as I walked further into the apartment, more airy feathers circled the living room.  Weird, I thought.  The suspense was quickly resolved when I opened my bedroom door. There, in the middle of my bed, stood an exuberant Finn with a HUGE patch of feathers stuck to his belly and a roaring sea of 12-inch-deep feathers coating EVERYTHING in my tiny Lincoln Park bedroom.

He was smiling proudly, tail thump thump thumping the wall as sprang off the bed to shower me with kisses. The mystery of how he had a patch of feathers resembling cow udders unfolded as feathers floated up to my face and stuck to the slobbery spots.  I suddenly remembered the most expensive thing I owned at the time, my king-sized Ralph Lauren feather pillow and burst out laughing because I envisioned all the fun he had tearing it up. Life is too short to take ridiculous things like that seriously, so I chuckled, shook my head and cleaned up the feathers.  Well, if you have ever cleaned up feathers, you know it is a long, arduous process because they float EVERYWHERE. As I attempted to wrestle them into a garbage bag, Finn entertained himself by racing through the apartment, looking for yet something else to destroy, occasionally digging his head into the trash bag to check out his brilliant masterpiece. I knew something was up when he was out of sight for a couple minutes and it was eerily quiet.  Out of my bedroom he came, bucking like a bronco with his front two legs very purposely placed through the armholes of a certain unmentionable he pulled out of my laundry basket.  He thrashed around, leaping and prancing as the elastic helped hurdle him higher and faster through the apartment; the whole time looking at me like, "isn't this hysterical"?

As I continue to write down so many memories about Finn, mine and others'; I laugh uproariously or smile and twinkle my nose like he often did at all the shenanigans he pulled and how much fun he had.  And, somehow, even though I still cry whenever it strikes and visit him everyday in the park; remembering his good times actually made me do something in the past few days I have not done in a long time, laugh. Repeatedly. And, somewhere over the Rainbow Bridge, I know Finn's tail is thumping whatever is closest to him because he would have loved that.

Happy Birthday, Big Guy!

If Finn were still with me, today would have been his 14th birthday.  For almost a decade and a half of my life he was there; making me smile, kissing away tears, sharing long walks and the peace that comes from being outside around grass and trees that extended beyond the parkway living we had grown accustom to or sharing popcorn while cozying up on the couch.

The wave of emotional ups and downs that I have experienced in the last two weeks since we said goodbye has left me feeling so very grateful for every second we had together and all the love and support that has come my way since his passing. Yet, sometimes I have to pry my sobbing self off the floor or stop in disbelief that I will never again be able to rub his belly, see his sparkling face prance to greet me at the door after two. whole. hours. of me being gone or watch him chase his tennis ball into the lake with sheer delight.  I miss that dog so much.

But, today I celebrate Finn and the wonderful zest he had for life.  Sure, I will cry when it hits me but I will go to the park where we had so many fun times, I will tell stories about him that make me smile and I will look at pictures of him and remember all the amazing memories we shared together.

Finn LOVED tennis balls and he LOVED the lake. We are talking hyperventilating, squealing, old guy standing up in the backseat of the car when we were 1/2 a mile away from his mecca.  He was not allowed to chase the ball into the lake because he had two bad knees so I would walk into the water until it was waist deep then throw the ball.  He would swim with delight after his prize possession and nab it the way a retriever was meant to do; he'd then race back to the beach, drop the ball and bark in disbelief that I still was not throwing it for him to tear after like we did when he was puppy. Finn would finally concede, huffing a little to let me know he preferred it the old way but he'd chase me right back into the water. I'd toss the ball again and watch the absolute joy he took in every stride towards the simple, fuzzy, yellow blob.  I had so fun much running into the water, occasionally turning back to see the anticipation and delight in his face as he followed me.

It wasn't until this past summer that he let go of his youngster habits and figured out how relaxing it was to just swim with his tennis ball in his mouth. After he collected his toy, he'd often circle or follow me, ball in tow with such a tranquil look on his face. I'd walk around slowly and Finn would follow, never letting go of his ball but it was so peaceful for both of us and it had to feel so good on his senior joints to coast along in the the water rather than flail about with wild abandon. The blissful look on his face will always bring comfort to my heart and was absolutely worth getting up two hours early at least three days a week to take him to the lake. It truly was one of my favorite ways to start my day, invading the quiet people beach without worry that other dogs would invade his space with an unbelievably happy dog.

In his honor today, I let go.  I let go of expectations of myself that I will stop hurting when I choose. I let go of knowing when the time will be right to live with and love another dog. I let go of worry that people might think I'm a freak for crying at the grocery store because I pick up sardines for Finn and suddenly realize I no longer have need for those nasty, stinky fish in my home.  And I hold on to the memories and the joy that he brought to every single thing he ever did. Happy birthday, my sweet boy!  Hope you are having fun in dog heaven!

The Eulogy

Although today (January 8, 2013)  was the first time that I met an incredibly sweet and gentle soul named Finnigan, I was fortunate enough to feel as if I already knew him. I had the great pleasure of speaking with his mom for some time, and her glowing description of her precious Finn was so accurate. Finnigan had begun to decline in health, and doctors’ best estimate was that he would not live past September or October. However, Finn surprised them all, by not only surviving but continuing to thrive and be the happy-go-lucky boy he always was.

Finn’s mom worked so hard to keep him as comfortable as possible, even moving with him to a home without stairs, to make it easier for him to have a normal daily life. Although she herself is a strict vegetarian, his mom even made sure to stock up on all kinds of meat, to help Finnigan stay strong and healthy. Throughout everything, Finnigan absolutely never complained, and even as he became weaker and had more difficulty walking, his tail never stopped wagging.
Finnigan could not have had a more peaceful passing. This morning, he enjoyed having a delicious snack of chicken nuggets. He was able to go with his much-loved human friends to the forest preserve where he had enjoyed many happy times with his mom. It was a beautiful crisp day, and Finnigan took in every bit of it, chewing on sticks, giving friendly kisses, and happily enjoying some more treats in the park. He lay down on his comfortable bed in the fresh air, and relaxed and became sleepy, lying nose to nose with his beloved mom. Finn’s last sweet breath was the familiar smell of his mom, comforting him through his very last moments. ~ Dr. Juliana Lyles

I was lucky enough to find Dr. Julie through the Two Hearts Pet Loss Center, Coleen Ellis is such a wonderful resource and has a great book available for order on her website.