Finally, Sunshine

It was FINALLY sunny on Saturday morning, after a frigid, wet April; and I was given the gift of a few unexpected free hours. Gavin and I headed out for a run together. As the rubber soles of my sneakers pounded into the pavement and the amazingly familiar feeling of my heart racing faster and faster with each stride; I watched Gavin's ears whip back and forth in the breeze while his muscly, stubby legs paced so perfectly and effortlessly with mine. With a snappy glance, we both knew that I finally got it. I had been intentionally walking more briskly so our leash training was pleasurable for both of us but I did not realize how much my gait had slowed down over the years with Finn. When he was a puppy, my neighbors used to call me the "Swoosh Queen". Apparently Finn and I were in a zone, my arms moving wildly and his tail twirling like a windup toy, no one dared interrupt our finely tuned march; not even to tell me those pants were never cool.

Finn loved charging after a ball so much he often looked like Bambi trying to get his footing on ice; you could see his mischievous grin as he barreled into the lake on a warm day and during our race game, six feet barely hit the ground as we watched each other, laughing. But, running, just for the sake of a jog was very high on his "do not like" list. In 2003, I attempted to incorporate his 3-hour a day exercise routines with my marathon training runs and a couple blocks into our first jog; he kept looking up at me with those sad puppy, Lab eyes and his uni brow was so crinkled that I knew he was miserable. He stopped so many times, I almost ate a concrete sandwich. Finn was never afraid to let me know what he was thinking. So, I peeled myself out of bed before 16 or 18-mile training runs to give Finn a good walk; often so early I saw people coming home from a long night of celebration. And, though he knew the instant I walked in the door always meant it was walk time; if he saw a crusty coat of salt glistening from my arms or my face wince with every slow, stiff-legged step; Finn patiently plopped onto the couch with me and gently laid his head next to one of my wobbly knees. I still remember the first time I was in bed with the flu; Finn curled himself into a little tight ball in the crook of my knees all day. He never once complained that we went outside only for brief business ventures, did not seem to mind being seen with me in polka dot pajamas pants and tried to make me feel better by giving my hand the occasional slurp.

It was so breathtakingly beautiful on Saturday; Gavin and I were still full of energy after our jog. So, we walked through not one, but two parks; played a long game of fetch at our favorite abandoned tennis court and trekked through the forest preserves for the first time together. Gavin LOVES everyone and jiggles towards literally anyone his cheesy smile so I stopped often for the obligatory "how old is he", "how long have you had him" and of course, the good ol' butt sniffing and romp with other dogs. I would prefer to take in the breeze and glow of the sun more quietly, but Gavin adores these things and deserves to have fun.

I don't know if it was the feeling of the sun finally warming my forehead; the loveliness of bright yellow daffodils and jam-colored hyacinths; seeing human charm in a little girl skipping along the path with a stick and an older brother hugging a crying sibling or the rush of memories I used to share with Finn along all the routes Gavin and I enjoyed on Saturday but I involuntarily stopped walking, looked up and felt a flood of tears gush down my cheeks. My Little Big Head glanced at me, wiggled his butt and laid in the grass, finally, next to the water fountain where Finn and I often stopped for a rest on warmer days. I sat with him in silence and fought like heck to not feel guilty crying about Finn sitting next to Gavin nor fret because I was enjoying my day with Gavin knowing that it had been a long time since Finn and I could walk for mindlessly for hours on a warm, sunny day.

Gavin and I had one of those pivotal moments on Monday. We were cruising along on yet another gorgeous, sunny day when my foot hit a rock the wrong way. I felt my ankle twist and my body turn the opposite direction. While I tumbled to the ground, all I could think about was holding onto the leash. I must have tried to catch my fall because I landed facing a different side of the street from where I started and recall seeing a landscaper watch it all happen, his face cringing. My ankle was throbbing and my empty right hand was covered in blood but, Gavin. The leash. It felt like eternity but I know it was not more than a second or two, his leash was on the ground and despite the people, squirrels, dogs around us; he was sitting so close to me that I felt his entire weight on my good leg. He looked back to see my eyes and make sure I was fine but resumed his statuesque position until I was able to get up. And, as I hobbled home, he walked as slowly as I needed him to, finally. According to Apocrypha, "A faithful friend is the medicine of life", from the book "Healing After Loss: Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief". I know now I have that in Gavin.