It has been less time than not that I keep my door shut at night; a bizarre feeling overcomes me still when I actually turn the knob to enter my living room. Despite my attempts to help Finn into my bed or reward him for going to one of his own beds in my room; my Lug preferred sleeping in the living room at night, always in a place he could see me. After we moved into Kate's, Finn slept in the bedroom with me again so I can only deduce he wanted more space to stretch out his old dude limbs. I believe in allowing senior dogs to maneuver in their own ways and pace. Gray faced pups with stiff legs and changing bodies deserve and have more than earned the right to find the comfiest, most relaxing spot to sleep, and walk only when they want. Right now, I am painfully trudging through the book, The Last Walk, a read I was desperate to get my hands on last Fall but it had not yet been released. Some of Pierce's entries make my stomach do somersaults but the science behind human-animal bonds and grieving seems to keep my interest. My heart breaks when she talks about her elderly dog Ody hiding all day; "making" the old dog go for walks then watching him fall over and over again; and the poor senior Vizsla getting stuck under the trampoline and lost, repeatedly. I hope Ody is not as miserable as I interpret her words and with every chapter I ingest; I look up and wonder if Finn knows how I hard I tried to do right by him, especially when he was my merry old man.
As I walked into my living room, still no Gavin behind me to protect me; I saw that a latch had broken in one of my windows. No harm, no glass and no burglar; thankfully. When I crawled back into bed, Lil' Big Head stretched and spun in three circles, like he always does and fell back into a deep sleep as close to me as he could. My adrenaline was still buzzing so I wondered as I tried to fall back to sleep, if Gavin would instinctively protect me if it was necessary.
I have always operated on the assumption that yes, a dog who lives with and loves me everyday would fight along with me if there was a serious threat to either of us. Finn met so many people over the years and wagged his tail or kissed every single one. But, one afternoon, there was a man walking down an alley behind us and the fur on my Lug's back stood straight up as he leaned forward and let off a deep, haunting growl. As the man's footsteps grew further and further away, Finn remained still, his feet in the ground, refusing to walk with me. My Lug never growled at another person again so when Finn finally moved along, I figured that he sensed something in that guy I did not see.
It gave me such peace when just the two of us travelled together that I could rely on my Lug to protect us or scare off someone who heard his deep, hearty bark. Gavin has barked a total of five times since he has been with me and it's a scraggly, weeny kind of bark that provokes pitiful laughter more than fear. After a long drive home from North Carolina, I decided to splurge on a bed and breakfast in downtown Louisville. For some reason, the teeny, tiny woman who rented the place to me, gave me the creeps; and Finn and I were the only guests in the big, breezy house. I slept like a log on the comfiest bed I have ever laid on that night because I always felt so secure with my Lug by my side. I hope my Finn felt the same with me and Gavin will always know I have his back.
But, despite being sweet, smart, fun boy dogs; Gavin and Finn could not be more different. I am a ridiculous klutz and every single time I stubbed my toe on my dresser or broke a coffee cup; I would hear my Lug's paws racing along the hardwood floor as fast as he could. Then I would see his droopy lips, perked ears and sweet, milk-chocolate brown eyes standing over me with his "You okay?" look. Finn could be so serious when he knew he was needed. Once my Lug assured everything was in order, every muscle in his body relaxed as he bounced back to one of his many favorite sleeping spots or whatever was left of a bully stick.
Dear, lovable Gavin very much likes his beauty rest, if he is not playing. I was cleaning the kitchen last
The first three months with Gavin were laborious. I often looked at him, clueless and confused as to what he was thinking or needed. And, I could see by his eyes, he was thinking, "Lady, I don't know what the heck you want either". I was trying too hard to figure out how to keep Finn in my heart and love Gavin the way he deserves, simultaneously. It might just be time together or perhaps I know more now what Lil' Big Head needs; but I feel like he and I are in such an amiable, beautiful place. Gavin still goes to dog camp once a week. He just loves romping with other pooches so much; I want him to have that joy, not just tire him out, which was the original goal. Usually, on camp day, Gavin waits by the door for Steve to come pick him up. But this week, Lil' Big Head kept hopping back onto the couch with me while I responded to client emails. It was very sweet and once he was wearing his collar and leash, he galloped through the doorway with anticipation.
One of the main reasons I chose a place on the third floor was the frequency I saw drunks staring at my first floor bedroom window near Wrigleyville. Every time Finn and I sat, resting, on the stairs together; I reminded myself that I chose my home for the safety of both he and I. And, when regrets creep in, I hold on to the belief that seeing dogs so infrequently in our current neighborhood and spending the majority of our time strolling through parks, on grass rather than the sidewalk; kept my Lug stress-free and kicky as long as it did. When I go to sleep at night now, next to my perfect little lump of a snuggler; I keep my mace handy just in case something does go bump in the night.
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