Little Rituals

In my old apartment, Finn would prop himself up onto the over-stuffed olive green sofa cushions; paws nestled under his chin and simply gaze out the window for hours on end. I always wondered what was going through his mind as he contentedly watched the world go by from the comfort of his home; his passionate curiosity was only peaked when he saw a squirrel taunting him from the tree. Sometimes he would pop his head up and stare but, often it was not worth the trouble as he let out a little joyous grumble and nestled back down into what I can only assume was the canine version of television.  When we moved into my condo; I bought a love seat, specifically for Finn to enjoy watching all the school children come and go from one of the sun room's many windows.  The ONLY time he ever jumped onto the small leather-like settee was when I invited him up to share potato chips with me.  Popcorn and chips were the only foods I snacked on with one hand and indulged Finn with the other. I have to admit, tight jeans were worth every second of hearing his sweet little "nom nom nom" as he crunched away on fatty, delicious treats with his soft, trusting mouth.

Even if Finn was passed out on the living room couch or snoozing away on his giant dog bed, head hanging off the side without a care in the world; he would always join me in the sun room when I was doing yoga. He would grace the heel of my foot with a couple drive-by love licks while I was suitably in downward facing dog then lay next to my mat on his other dog bed while falling in and out of sleep to the soft background music. I could never resist returning the gesture by giving him a smooch on the snout or softly rubbing his belly in between poses. Finn would occasionally get bored of all the serenity and I would find him hovering over me during final relaxation, grey beard and pink wrinkly, flabby lips two inches from my nose as he tap- danced and winked one eye to let me know he was ready for a walk WHENEVER I was.

Those small, but meaningful rituals throughout the day are what I was told I would miss most. I don't know, there's so much that has changed in my daily routines. But, I am really trying to not allow bereavement to be my sole connection to Finn. Every single day, I have visited the park where I said goodbye to him. I try not to hold onto the pictures of our last day there together: the snapshot of him taking deep, knowing breaths and twitching his nose as he gazed towards the church that sounded bells the instant I knew he was gone or even in those last moments, his silly and feisty personality never faded as he found the energy to steal treats from the pouch on his leash as it lay on the ground next to his final resting spot. Instead, I gaze and take deep breaths; I see him standing there, snow up to his knees and all over his muzzle that made him look even more dapper with his matching white eyebrows and hipster jacket; eagerly waiting for me to hide behind a tree or let him scavenge for snowman arms. He also had such a voracious appetite for snowman carnage.  If Finn happen to see a stick-arm hanging off three giant, sparkly, white blobs stacked one on top of the other; he would rip off the wooden limb and chomp away with vigor, closing his eyes to express sheer delight in his kill.  We would walk around the park and I would catch him returning to the scene of the crime for a chomp of snow to wash down the stick. Poor snowman.


Whenever I visit the park, I feel a deep connection to Finn. Sometimes it is so profound as a random tennis ball oddly sitting in the frost covered water fountain; hearts suddenly on a tree I have passed hundreds of times before and never seen; or a leaf formation on the ground that just happens to be in my path and take my breath away. Other times, it is simply the wind brushing against my cheek that reminds me of his slurpy old man kisses. But, last weekend I went out of town for the first time in a very long time and had a mild panic attack that I was not going to be able to honor that ritual, unable to see my Finn.  Then, I realized how silly I was being.  I definitely needed a weekend getaway, a break to re-charge my batteries. If I handcuff myself to my rituals, I can not live my life. What a huge disservice to myself.  And, if Finn were watching over me, he would sound off his "fix it!" bark; the one I heard every single fall when the weather would cool and the waves of Lake Michigan crashed into the shore as he danced around on the sand.  Not even his tennis ball could trump the scary current.  I always loved how much power Finn thought I had.

The day before my trip, I spent more time than usual at the park.  Partially to store up for the weekend, and also because I knew it would likely be the last time I would walk that path without a dog with me.  As I strolled through the paved loop; stopping to take in the chirps, honks and almost hypnotic sound of cars whizzing by; I noticed a stiff-legged but, overly perky dog shoving his nose into a patch of grass then growing bored, moving on to a giant stick that seemed to have a more interesting story to tell.  Or, perhaps his version of showing the trees and sticks he was the head honcho. I caught up with the white and brown-spotted pooch and his human as my purpose was not so clear, my feeble nose never my guide unless potato chips are involved.  I began chatting with the very kind human. He told me he had agreed to take "Mike" from his friend a couple years prior because his buddy no longer wanted him.  With only a few words, I knew the two had an amazing bond and I just knew by looking into the eyes of the nice man, he was a gentle soul himself.  It turned out, the old rescue dog has a couple masses and the gentleman was in the process of looking for a second veterinarian's opinion for his beloved dog and I was able to help him.  I left the park feeling full and ready for my weekend.  Mike gave me a couple quick, friendly goodbye kisses then went on to his very important business at hand.

As I write this, there is a symphony of endearing snores coming out of a little black dog with a ridiculously giant head. Gavin joined my home two days ago and when we attempted my ritual walk to park; he did not find the sound of the cars on Pulaski as hypnotic as I do. So, we walked a quieter path.  This little guy is still trying to figure out this big, new world he was plunked into and we will have to find our own rituals; while learning to trust each other.  I still went to the park to see my big lug.  Gavin was so tired after his play dates, a trip to Wigglyville and a visit from my friends Nora and Kevin.  Someone asked me if I felt at all like I was betraying Finn by bringing home a dog. Absolutely not. Is it different? Unbelievably so. Strange and exhausting? Um, puppy amnesia is a very real thing, but we are having fun.  Sometimes we look at each other with blank stares because we just do not know each other yet, but we will.  Finn and I had over 13 years to build a relationship that no longer needed words, we just knew what the other was thinking and needed.  Right now, I think Gavin is pretty darn content curled up with me, head resting comfortably on my thigh snoring like a freight train. A big one.