Trust

It was Monday evening and the last session of our first round of obedience classes together. Gavin and I had to skip school last week because his usually expressive eyes were drippy and goopy. Turns out it was just allergies; he was back to his crazy, puppy self with some eye drops and a diet change. While I kept an eye on my sweet boy, I wanted to prevent the other dogs in class from getting sick. We missed the tunnel introduction that everyone else enjoyed the week prior so he was squealing even louder than his fellow graduates who already had their turn tearing through the tubes.

Gavin gets fired up about everything, except mornings, for which I am very grateful. I sometimes get to finish two cups of coffee before he squeaks, grunts and then slides off the bed head-first, his legs sometimes ending up resting against the bed-frame. Often, he slinks in, then throws himself onto the living room floor, still too tired to go outside for our first walk.

Gavin's feet were sliding all over the classroom floor as I gripped his harness so tightly, the edges were digging into my palms. The teacher walked to the other end of the colorful tube to lasso Gavin once he crossed the finish line. When she FINALLY gave Gavin the green light to run, he charged through the nylon hoops so fast all we saw was his sparkly white teeth on the other side, smiling proudly at his accomplishment. But, the next hurdle was a smaller tunnel and I could see Gavin's trepidation as I stuck my head and a jar of beef baby food (his favorite) through the hole to encourage him. He moved his head forward, then backed up, trying to figure out if his trust in me outweighed his nervousness about a tighter space and a mesh surface that felt very different on his tiny paws.

It was in that room that I found my passion in life and I recall the first night of class Finn and I took together.  I was holding tightly onto to Finn's leash with both hands as he sprang into the air and the instructors made their rounds. I was so worried he would knock one of them over or that we were the worst students ever. I now know that my fellow human classmates were not paying any attention to me as they were likely thinking the same thing about their rebel dogs. One of the teachers asked me what happened to Finn's eye, pointing to a tiny abrasion below his fiery peeper. My landlord, who I liked to call "Scary Mary" had left the gate open to our back yard and Finn escaped. I was literally right behind him but he did not know it and raced to the front door of our place. Ours was such a stubborn love, he tried so hard to get back into our house that he scraped his face on the brick. Then Finn grew SO. EXCITED. to see me right next him that he bloodied my nose jumping up to let me know he missed in those five seconds. Our instructor schooled me that I should not be proud of the unhealthy attachment as she held his leash and asked me to walk away from him; Finn's tail knocking into the wall like a pounding heartbeat after too much coffee. Thankfully, she gave me some tips to help him, and I, have the confidence to be away from each other every now and then.

As a first time pet parent, I was concerned I would not get the basics right. And, in the first couple of years, every time Finn looked at me cross-eyed, I raced him to the veterinarian. I now trust that I can take care of Gavin just fine and he somehow trusts me with every ounce of his being; even with a very short history between to two of us to carry his faith forward. After Gavin made it through the second tunnel, he pranced along beside me, happy to be reunited with his person and me proud of my Lil' Big Head for all he has been willing to learn in the past three months.

Two days before Finn passed away, we were in the car at Gompers Park. I paused before turning the car off to take my feisty lug for a long, slow stroll through one of our favorite haunts because a song I loved was still playing on the radio. I reached into the backseat, as I often did, and Finn rested his head on my hand as he also often did right at the moment these words by Mumford and Sons came flowing from my speakers, "And I will wait, I will wait for you. So break my step, and relent. You forgave and I won't forget."  Though he was having a REALLY good day, I could feel him losing interest in the fight. Like so many moments last year with Finn that strengthened my compassion and spirit, yet somehow softened me in a way I never expected; he trusted me every step of the way, even when I was not sure if I trusted myself.

To me, the ultimate sign of trust is holding someone's hand and I always felt like Finn's head resting on my hand or lap was akin to putting his fears, aches and pains in my palm; always knowing they would be handled with care. When dogs started picking on Finn, I had to find a way let go of my desire to go to the dog park with my chocolate love; and his loyalty flourished as much as his bright smile.

This morning, Gavin and I were headed out for a walk. I had his leash, a full garbage bag and coffee in my hand. I looked up to see an off-leash dog coming at us. I yelled, "get your dog, get your dog, get your dog". And, the response I heard from the person who was nowhere to be seen was, "my dogs aren't vicious" to which I replied, "I don't care". My job is to keep Gavin safe and all I know about the random dog we encountered is that he charges the fence with his brother and barks ferociously at anyone and everyone who walks past their house. He could very well be a pussycat but I do not know the gentleman nor his dog and Gavin trusts me to take care of him. Fortunately, nothing happened to either of us. Gavin seemed completely un-phased by the incident and my growing tension at my irresponsible neighbor as he gleefully chased squirrels up the trees after I told him, "get it" and rolled around at the park with is new buddy, Big Mac. When Gavin rides in the car, he shimmies his way onto the console as far as his car harness allows him and once he takes in a few long whiffs of whatever amazing smells are flowing through the sunroof, he rests his head on my arm to let me know he trusts I will take very good care of him. And, I will do everything I can to keep his trust.

The photo of Finn was taken by Colleen Stein, to say she was Finn's dog walker does not do her justice. He loved her so much. Gavin's beautiful photo was taken by my dear friend, Nora McMahon.