Warts and All

My friend Christine called me to tell me something bad had happened, something terrible. Finn was going to Gurnee the following day to spend the week chasing their dog Payton; letting her jump on his back while he spun in circles making his happy growling sounds I would learn he reserved for few dogs in his life and when her energy exceeded his, my Lug would hold a rope in his mouth and swing his head from side to side to keep Payton entertained. The tone in Christine's voice told me it was not her normal worry wart jingle to remind me to send Finn's favorite toys along and when I turned on the radio; I knew my trip to Paris and London, September 12, 2001, was going to be cancelled.

Confused, crying, terrified and anxious; I began calling my family and friends; and beat my hands against the steering wheel, sitting, helpless in traffic. All I wanted to do was retrieve Finn from daycare and take him home with me, where I hoped and prayed we would both be safe. Like so many others, I was glued to the television and unable to muster gratitude or even much relief for  the well-being of those I love; it felt too cavalier as I watched, with horror the unspeakable tragedies played over and over again. I found comfort in the rich, chocolate brown fur of my crazy, amazing Lug. A creature incapable of being cruel or vicious, just for revenge. Finn laid by side all day, stoic and thoughtful; doing his best to erase the tears plummeting down my cheeks with his sandpaper tongue. No matter how many mistakes I made with him, it would have never crossed his mind to hurt me, it was not his way.

The day after 9/11, we were on our way to the dog park; Finn was bouncing and zagging along with a giant grin spread across his beautiful face. I had yet to discover my passion for dog training and had barely skated through one round of obedience classes with Finn. My Lug was so strong, a friend gave me a prong collar to walk him after I expressed how worried I was crossing the busy streets in my neighborhood. I was unaware that some folks used them to harshly correct dogs for making bad choices but it gave me more control when Finn's enthusiasm overtook him and turned my Lug into an 80 pound pulling machine. He spotted a dog across the street and the leash, collar and I were no match for his exuberance. My Lug was so excited that when he pulled forward with no regard to what was around his neck; I tripped on the curb and his leash flew from my hands. I heard a loud "SCREEEEEECH! YELP!" and pushing myself off the pavement, I looked up and Finn was not there. A maroon sedan was sitting in the middle of the street and a guy, a really cute one looked at me with the deepest "I'm sorry" eyes I have ever seen. I stumbled across Greenview Avenue as the other dog and his person stood; watching, with sympathy. Finn sat, trembling on the parkway with a big gash above his eye. In the seconds it took for me to drag my aching body across the street, I envisioned the worst but scooped my sweet dog up into the car that had just hit him. To this day, my stomach turns with disgust at how badly I had let Finn down. But, my scrappy Lug forgave me the second his eyes met mine and I held him so tightly while the nice guy gave me his cell phone and drove us to the veterinarian. Finn walked into the waiting room like he was strolling into a party; tail wagging happily side to side and jumping to kiss the first technician he approached, standing there, waiting for us.

I firmly believe that science has yet to prove the complexity of dog emotions. In the midst of massive chaos in the world; I questioned my own safety but was so in awe of Finn's strength, mercy and courage. I promised him I would never betray his trust again and he rewarded me by showing me everyday what pure happiness truly looked like.

Before my vacation, Gavin and I were making lovely strides in his leash walking and I fully acknowledge it has been a lot of work for both of us. While we separately enjoyed our own version of a holiday; Gavin needed a refresher after more than a week of nothing but rough and tumble play with his canine pals. The very reason I moved to my neighborhood; trees, and lots of them, has cursed me. Trees mean squirrels and Gavin is so crazy overstimulated at the sight of even one bushy grey tail; he can not help his puppy monkey self. I have pep talks in my own head, trying so hard to convince myself that it is not age nor my lack in strength but Lil' Big Head's short, muscley body that has made leash training physically more difficult for me than the 1000's of other dogs I have trained. I will keep telling myself that.

So, Gavin and I revisited some of the basics we started back in the spring and to help his frustration level, Lil' Big Head is allowed to chase squirrels up the trees again, at Gompers Park only. It helps me use four-letter words on our walks, like "ouch", much, much less. Despite the blemish in our outside progress, Gavin and I seem to have developed a deeper appreciation for each other and I did not anticipate that. Lil' Big Head seems much more eager to listen and he is certainly more content when we are home alone. Our first night back, I think Lil' Big Head was snoring before he even laid down and I know my eyes were shut the instant I opened my bedroom door. I woke up the next morning to Gavin's dear face, head on the pillow next to mine like he had been in my home for years. I tell him all the time what a sweet puppy he is; I am so fortunate to have lived with and still share my home with lovely, nice dogs who would never attack or bite, despite the atrocious things humans have done to them.

To this day, weeks before 9/11; I wince when I actually put something on my calendar that day and I hope that never changes. I hope I never look at it as just another day, in my own little world. I recall a substitute veterinarian who made a snarky comment about the little wart on Finn's forehead and laughed as she said it would prevent him from ever being a model. I grew more and more sensitive about Finn with time but to me, he was more dazzling with each old man bump, lump and skin tag; once I knew that's all they were. Our relationship grew to one that no longer needed words, we had our own language no one else spoke or understood. My Lug was so adoring, through bad hair days and ill-informed decisions. And, I hope, Gavin will forgive my foibles as I will do his. We are off for a walk, wish us luck. When I stop today and look at up the trees, I will remember and honor all of the people I cried for 12 years ago.

The photo of Finn is courtesy of Robyn Rachel.