Purpose and Joy

Sidekick, trusty companion, travel buddy and as many dog-loving pet parents can attest; often the only reason to get out of bed on a rainy, cold Saturday morning. These were just some of the many roles Finn played in my life. And, as I sift through old pictures of him, I notice the grayer and bushier his eyebrows became over his sweet caramel eyes; his smile was also more magnanimous so every ounce of effort I put into keeping him healthy was truly worth it.

I rescued Finn from a hunter who had shunned him to live alone in a barn because all the other dogs in the home were attacking him. I never once questioned if that scrappy puppy and I were right for each other; but I remember how overwhelmed I was knowing that I was Finn's whole world and he counted on me for everything. His health, happiness and safety would always be in my hands; the responsibility scared and humbled me a great deal. But, I would never have guessed how rewarding it would be to care for another living being; how amazing it would be to see myself through Finn's eyes nor how much I would learn about my own life by sharing it with my four-legged kindred spirit.

Finn's purpose in my life was so grand.  If he were writing this; he would have said in what I always imagined to be an animated, yet dopey voice that his job was to make me laugh, he was always so ridiculous and silly. My faithful Finn knew he could cheer me up, even if he never could understand the aches and pains of being human.  What he could not appreciate but I can, is that I was struggling to find a dog-friendly apartment in Columbus at the same time I visited more dog-welcoming Chicago. If it were not for Finn, I might still be living in Ohio. And, it is no secret Finn was an absolute hellion when he was young. I  might still be clumsily climbing the corporate ladder in high heels and listening to my co-worker gripe about stolen yogurt in the communal fridge if he were a model puppy; rather than helping people teach their dogs to be the best version of themselves.

It gave me great joy to take care of Finn and his well being was always a priority in of my life but anyone who has lived with an aging dog knows their own purpose becomes more and more about their furry soulmate every year. For me, the motivation was knowing Finn had given so much and he deserved to be a jolly, indulged old man.  My neighbors would often make comments about how patient I was with him getting up the stairs and I would always tell them "I sure hope someone is patient with me when I'm his age". I would like to think I appreciated my vibrant guy throughout Finn's entire life but when you know your time is finite, you tend to be grateful for every little shiny moment.

There was also an element of delusion, even in his twilight time Finn was unbelievably high-spirited so I was almost offended when he had a bad day or a medication no longer seemed to give him relief or bounce.  I was never angry with him, I was mad at aging but did not understand that until now. At times, my heart was so very heavy because I knew he would not be in my life forever. That reality became more profound with every day that passed. Sometimes I curled up with Finn on his dog bed, as he very rarely wanted to exert his energy to get on the couch. I would hug him tight and cry into his fur as he very dutifully tried to kiss away my tears. Crying is not pathetic and once I allowed myself the time to accept the truth and what it meant to me; I could honor and cherish every second I had with Finn, wearing a smile on my face.

In Jon Katz's book, Going Home: Finding Peace When Pets Die, he describes the Perfect Day for aging animals and I love the idea of giving a dog a perfect day before saying goodbye.  However, I am a bit of an overachiever and even before reading the book; made it my mission to give Finn as many perfect days as I could in the past year. Sometimes it was as grand as a hiking trip to Devil's Lake where us mere humans could barely keep up with him or a week-long stay on a beach in Door County so he could swim to his heart's content as many times a day as he wanted. Often, it would be a morning romp in Lake Michigan or even if I was crunched for time; always stopping for the gaggle of teenage boys who would excitedly yell Finn's name from three blocks away and then race each other to take turns getting him to "shake", "spin", "bow" or give them kisses.  They always forgot his old hips could not handle "sit" and whenever they would utter the command; Finn would crinkle his eyebrows and smirk at me like "they are kidding, right?"  For my birthday, a few weeks before I said goodbye to Finn; my dear friend Sheila graciously agreed to join us for a hike at Caldwell Woods, one of the few forest preserves we had never explored. I can think of no better gift than a mild, winter afternoon walking with and watching Finn pounce in the snow.

For more than a year, Finn was my life and I take great pride in knowing that I gave him as many perfect days as he gave me. But now, life is different. Sure, I could fill that time with a plethora of to dos but the closet in my office is always going to be a mess so why bother risking injury by opening the door? I miss so very many things about Finn but I also miss the human interaction that I came to treasure as a part of my daily routines with him. I no longer see the jovial, chatty mail woman Lucy who always stopped to smush Finn's face nor do I get caught up in a hilarious conversation with my next door neighbors John and Jav and their dog Lola. Finn believed John's purpose on this planet was to give him treats whenever their door was open and always looked so crestfallen if they didn't see him lurking through their screendoor.

So, I must find a new purpose and different joys. I will love another dog one day, maybe eight. We will go for long walks and have different routines that I will grow to love in different ways. For now, I am exploring, floundering, volunteering, reflecting and even dating. The latter I had given up for some time because I wanted to enjoy every day I could with Finn; not have an awkward conversation with a guy over coffee who also liked music and trying new restaurants. Perhaps it's the law of averages; sharing my home with Finn came very natural, even when it was not easy. So, finding my main two-legged partner in crime might take a little more exploration.