So Many Angels

Last week, when I read that the infamous Schoep crossed the Rainbow Bridge, I began to weep and I could not stop. I ran across the beautiful photo of John's dearest friend resting on his chest as the two coasted in the water; an act described to help ease the aches in Schoep's senior joints. While it was only a snapshot of their life together; I was moved by their bond and have the two of them to thank for a few good months with my Lug in our own home. Finn had been getting acupuncture and chiropractic care to keep him in tip top shape but I had never thought of laser therapy until reading about Schoep and John. And, the article came at the right time because I was spending a lot of time snuggled up with Finn, crying because I could feel him giving up after he refused a couple walks. And, my Lug adored his walks. But, after we started laser therapy, he bounded up the stairs again like a puppy.

Like so many other animal lovers who have silently cheered on Schoep and John from afar; I mourned for John's tremendous loss because I could barely function the days following Finn's passing. Getting out of bed was sometimes too difficult and I would find myself wandering around my neighborhood, freezing, with Finn's leash and collar in my pocket.

My family and friends never asked me what they could do to help me; they just showed up and cooked me dinner or let me sleep in their guestroom with their own dogs. I received a call from the crematory letting me know that Finn's ashes were ready and while I had planned to wait for my mom's arrival to make the drive to Hinsdale; I felt a deep need to have my Lug at home, with me, where he belongs. So, I drove out to the suburbs and even with a GPS system got myself turned around somehow. I found this lovely little street filled with antique shops; I opened the door to one, thinking that maybe, just maybe they might have an urn that would be fitting for my Finn. It had to be perfect but I was terrified to speak, as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and did not recognize the lost soul who looked back at me.

A large, white-haired gentleman sat behind the counter and kindly asked me if he could help me. My head hung low and my shoulders were hunched over as I tried to tell him that I was looking for something special to hold onto what I still had with me of my soulmate dog. The man walked around the counter and picked up a beautiful dark grey, speckled urn with a gold ring painted around the lid and I asked him how much it was. The human angel standing in front of me placed the urn in a bag and held my hand as he said "God bless you" and I could barely walk out of the store I was so touched and the tears poured down my cheeks.

I think the hardest thing about losing our amazing dogs is that when we cry; they never try to fix it, they never grip our arm and try to stop the tears. They just listen, sometimes lick our hands or walk next to us until their bodies are too frail to do so. Then, we sit with their heads in our laps and stroke their fur to thank them for all the years they have been by our side.

Finn, Goldie, Sadie, Sonny, Sammy, Dink, Fannie, Guinness, Opie, Sherman, Chyna, Lexi, Reggie, Albert and all the other incredible dogs out there who have forever changes the lives of their people; please welcome Schoep with open paws. Take good care of him, he was a very special dog. And, Gavin and I hope that the people John loves most will be by his side and others give him the privacy he needs to tend to his heart.

Spittin' Pretty

Finn had this passionate, jubilant dance that could be sparked by anything from me giving him a bone; the sound of my keys in the door; "W.A.L.K"; even trips to the vet caused Finn's tail to wildly spin and his paws to flip flap in all directions. What prompted his very distinct "I'm not amused" face was the trick "rollover". My Lug did it because there was food involved and Finn never passed up a treat, even nasty grocery store biscuits that my neighbors dolled out for his tap dance routines. Early in my career, we were asked to show off my Lug's tricks for another trainer's class as a way to get the students excited about what their dogs would learn. I was so honored and was nervously rattling off "weave", "show me your belly", "crawl" and others to Janice, a trainer that I was in awe of, when she asked me if he actually liked performing all of the goofy behaviors I had taught him. Well, his eyebrows always shifted up and down as he huffed before slowly rolling over, a second sigh at the end for punctuation when he was lying on his barrel belly again. That moment shaped who I have become as a trainer, it had not dawned on me that because Finn could "rollover", did not mean he had to, it was just a trick. And, because I let go of "rollover", my Lug was a smashing success on stage.

Gavin, on the other hand, will roll onto his back for almost anything. Wriggling and worming, he loves to display his tuxedo and flick his paws up and down when dogs are pouncing on top of him. Lil' Big Head prefers to lay the same way whenever he is chewing on a bone. I swear the first few times I watched him, I was sure the antler was going to puncture his throat but he keeps a sturdy grip on his toys; much like the oomph he uses to hold onto all the trees he climbs. When Gavin gets bored of gnawing; he throws his trinket into the air, pauses for a second then pounces on it. It is quite endearing to watch Lil' Big Head entertain himself.

We started Trick Class this week and Gavin was so excited to learn a few new skills that we had not yet started on our own. His "rollover" at home has been a work in progress but Lil' Big Head was quite the comedian in class as he rolled around like a tootsie roll over and over while the instructor was demonstrating the trick with another dog. He was so proud of himself, giant pittie smile that prompted the song "Feed me Seamore" to play in my head, sweet little guy looked just like a venus fly trap.

Gavin may delight in sharing his jewels with the world but I am ecstatic that he has figured out that fetch is more fun than darting after a ball, spinning in circles while holding the prize in his mouth then accidentally dropping it, only to spring into the air before snatching his toy up again. Now, I able to stand in way so familiar to me and watch Lil' Big Head tear past me with the precision and speed of a gazelle. I get the biggest kick of pretending to toss it one direction then throwing it the other way. I can hear and feel Gavin's paws hit the ground he runs so fast; his ears and tail flipping into the air. When he returns the ball to me, all grace disappears. Lil' Big Head runs a bit sideways, sometimes crashing into the wall, then charges full speed ahead towards me. He has never blasted into me but often when he tries to stop it's a mish mash of paws, tail, teeth and ball. If there was a string anyway near his head, I could market him as a drunken tinker toy. I have yet to see anyone pass us without stopping and laughing at how much fun Gavin is having and how ridiculous he is.

When Finn was young, we were in the backyard playing his favorite game; fetch came naturally to my Lug. I never taught him to carry toys in his mouth, Finn was instinctively obsessed with tearing after tennis balls. He too lacked grace but, in both directions and as my Lug frequently slid, like a baseball player, into home plate to catch his toy; Finn then bounded into the air to bring it back to me for more, more, more. He noticed a new, different tennis ball in the neighbor's yard behind us; though it looked exactly the same to me.  My Lug was absurdly clumsy; often running into lampposts or parking meters but with the precision of a cheetah capturing it's prey; Finn was up and over the fence without even grazing the wire or rails. Once the ball was in his mouth, he looked at me, dumbfounded about how he was going to get back over to me. If I knew then what I know now, I would have bounced our ball around a bit. If it motivated him to get over one side of the fence, it sure couldn't hurt to get him back home. I called him, jumped up and down the best I could but he

just stood there, neon yellow toy poking out from his spirited grin; tail oafishly wagging. So, I raced around the block and though it was likely a three minute jog, I worried that someone would snatch him by the time I got there or he would run away. But, as I approached what looked like the house I have always dreamed about, big and buttery yellow ranch-style home with white shutters and the most beautiful wrap around porch; Finn was laying there, waiting patiently, smiling and tail speeding up with every step I took towards him. I shook my head and said "dude, let's go home". And , my Lug pushed himself up with his front paws and ambled down the steps, ball in his mouth and dopey look on his face; happy to go home.

Periodically, I have to take a beat when I open the front door, and there's no Finn to welcome me home and tell me about his afternoon. Gavin is still in his crate while I am away; his restraint to not eat my blankets and rugs still requires me to be close by. I had gone kayaking with some friends last week and was bone tired as I opened the door; but that perfect exhaustion from being full by the company and activities of my day when I heard a rustling in the house. I had left the lights off and when I opened the door, felt a cold nose hit my hand. I screamed and I heard poor Gavin scramble and jump back. Lil' Big Head then wiggled into to me, danced around my legs and squirmed to make sure I knew he happy to see me and pumped to hear about my day. Confused, I went to see his crate, door wide open. The only thing I could conclude was that I didn't latch it. Lil' Big Head had such a blast letting himself out of his house that my couch was exactly how I left it. And, it made me think that he may soon be ready to have full reign of the house when I am gone.

Chuckles, Snorts and Guffaws

I spent my July 4th driving 400 miles through long stretches of corn fields; Gavin's chin resting on my shoulder or his whole body draped over the console, head weighing heavy on my right arm. When the music was playing loudly, I could feel his sing song snorts against my skin or catch a glimpse of him raising his head to the heavenly sun and soft breeze coming in the sunroof; just enough for me to not fret about a rock hitting him in the eye then relax like Finn always did during road trips. I had plans to attend a cookout at my dad's house as soon as I got into town and I was hem hawing about bringing Gavin with me. Seriously, everyone loves Gavin and he returns the fondness by making them laugh when he rubs his penis on anything he can or squishes into any new friend's shin for a chest massage. But, the torrential downpours that sporadically graced my hometown with drenched grass meant I might be sitting alone in the garage with Lil' Big Head or giving him "leave it" practice way beyond his skill level with my dad's three giant cats. I deduce that being around felines would not be fun for me by the intensity Gavin scales trees and yips when he glimpses a fluffy squirrel tail. So, I left him with my mom and Jim.

While I relaxed with my nephew on the bench seat dangling from two trees; Isaac's legs now long enough to share the work of pushing us into the air, Gavin laid on the porch on the other side of town. My mom just gushes over how easily and quietly he settles himself.  Finn was this giant presence that you felt just by walking into the room but Gavin tries so hard to blend in. He is sometimes so quiet, I look for him at home and he's just sitting there, staring at me. I worry less these days about him eating my shoes and blankets. Lil' Big Head was enjoying the summer breeze with his grandparents when the sight of a giant, white, statuesque dog proved more exciting than Gavin could bear. He elatedly jumped towards their neighbor dog, Casper and knocked the screen out of it's frame with his rock-hard watermelon head. Fortunately, my mom is very handy and forgiving.

As Isaac and I pushed our feet into the ground, flying higher and higher; he asked me if I still miss Finn. And, with glassy eyes, I told him I did miss Finn very much. But, his six-year old curiosity continued; he asked me if I still love Finn. Another "yes" as I caught my sister trying to look away from what she knew was going to start flowing down my cheeks. Then, with a searching and intent look on Isaac's face, he asked me "But, do you love Gavin?" I couldn't fight my emotions any longer and simply nodded my head as I squeezed his shoulders and gave him a big kiss on the forehead. As an adult, I am starting to understand how it is possible to do both; love Gavin and still miss Finn. I can only imagine how difficult it is for a child, who never loved my Lug's slobbery kisses, to grasp.

And, Isaac and I did with Gavin what we always did with Finn; walked our favorite dog and did yoga while two soulful eyes watched us. Well, I do yoga and any time there is a balancing pose on one leg; Isaac grabs onto me for support as I wobble and hope I do not crash on top of the little guy. Gavin, Isaac and I were enjoying a much faster walk than we used to relish with Finn when we ran into two Yorkies. Gavin shimmied back and forth as he pounced then backed away from the tiny dogs. As he got tangled in the leash, he realized how cool the guy at the other end of his fellow terriers must be as he sprung into the air, repeatedly, like a pogo stick. Isaac burst out laughing so hard that he was gripping his stomach and bending over; I will never forget his adorable giggles over Gavin pretending not to hear me say "settle" as he sprang into the air, over and over again. And, when Gavin and I spent the afternoon with my grandmother; she chuckled with the same beautiful sincerity at sleeping Lil' Big Head. His noggin' propped up on a statue and his butt was hanging off the brick garden fence, despite the huge yard filled with soft grass. I often joke that Gavin could nap on top of sandpaper covering coal.

After my babysitting duties for Isaac had concluded; we had a surprise party for my stepfather, Jim, to honor and cheer him on for a speedy recovery from the tumor recently removed from his brain. And, despite the swiftness that their daily life has changed; I am in awe of both him and my mom's spirit and love continuing to shine. Not to steal Jim's spotlight, but Gavin was quite showstopper at the celebration. As we stood in line for food, Jim's co-workers and my extended family kept circling back to pet Gavin, one visit was not enough for anyone.

When my sister's boyfriend found out Gavin was coming to the party, he asked if their dog Loki could join. If you ever met Loki; you would know why my nose is still burning from the soda that squirted from my nostrils at the mention of Loki in a party house with 40+ people. Every time Beth sends me a picture of Loki with the garden fence wrapped around his neck or a snapshot of what was once her phone; I remind her how terrible Finn was as a puppy. Beth laughs and shakes her head in disbelief arguing with me that Finn was the best dog in the world. I concur. But, as a puppy, Finn was hell on wheels; I did not sit down the first three years of his life. Joe's eyes grew to the size of saucers and he asked Beth, "You don't remember Finn getting stuck behind the credenza chasing the cat? What about the time Finn annihilated  all of Titus's (their other dog) toys within seconds of getting to the house and then he charged upstairs and proceeded to eat a hole in the mattress? Did you forget when he climbed the ladder to our pool and jumped in on top of liner, at Christmas?" No matter how mischievous Finn was a puppy, I always loved him and was able to chuckle when he pulled his pranks, even when it meant replacing furniture. It makes me so happy to see Beth and Joe do the same; even when all 120 pounds of Loki came barreling at me, happily throwing me against the wall and tattooing my leg with black and blue marks after he shoved his slobbery snout up my dress.

Gavin and I were hanging out at Kate's last weekend and while the three pups played; she and I relaxed on

her new outdoor couch, nestled in a spot that you can feel the sun but be protected from rain if you needed it. I threatened her that I might just move back in because I dream of sitting on a porch with a cup of coffee early in the morning surrounded by a menagerie of rescued dogs. I am sure Gavin has the same dream every single night. Kate told me she was thinking of Finn when she was wrestling the pieces and parts during assembly and how much she knew he would have loved lounging out there. She almost stopped herself because she said she did not want to seem dark and while a couple tears welled up in my eyes, it was because I was touched, not sad. It gives me so much joy to hear Isaac, Kate and anyone else who has shared time with Finn talk about him. My friend Jenny constantly asks me how Finn is doing then guiltily shushes herself. Not sure how I missed that Gavin's name rhymes with Finn, completely unintentional but hearing a dear friend say my Lug's name out loud is like hearing my own.

There was a time a few months ago that I worried so much that I would forget Finn and I have come to realize that is impossible. Finn is always a part of me and I am forever changed because of my big, amazing Lug. Missing him and thinking about him does not make me love Gavin any less and somehow, someway my heart is strong enough to do both. I watch my mom and Jim as they navigate their new life with a (hopefully) temporary wheelchair and the appreciation they share for one another is so beautiful. Love personified. Or dogified, whichever you prefer; I am a big fan of both.

Freedom

Last Friday, I was given the gift of time and I chose to share my riches with Gavin; as I often did with Finn. I drove out to Beck Lake with a giant black noggin' riding parallel to mine the entire trip, radiant eyes intently watching the road ahead. Lil' Big Head truly looks like my co-pilot. The beauty of the 26-acre dog park is that he can stampede through tall grass, uninhibited by a leash or my time constraints. Gavin's glorious smile while other dogs roll him over and over and over on the ground brings me so much delight. He springs into the air and dares them to keep up as he charges in and out of weeds and who knows what else in the stagnant water. Gavin is truly a happy little dog, with so much love to give. When he is not imitating a speed demon; he wants to snuggle up to the closest human, often curled up into a tight ball or belly up.

I relish in the openness of the meadowland. Watching Gavin make new friends and disappear into the lush trees, that have somehow mastered the art of being grounded and souring into the sky at the same time is peaceful. To me, that is one of the most amazing joys of living with a dog. Finn and Gavin have reminded me to smile, run, romp and play when I needed it. And, like my Lug, the amazing bond has started to form with Lil' Big Head. I have witnessed his heart blossoming as I watch the familiar googly eyed glance he gives me, and only me. I try my best to return the devotion.

In 2009, I had a few days off of work during the Fourth of July holiday. Both Finn and I were itching for some city independence. We had taken our first vacation in a couple years the previous Fall and I knew neither of us could wait another few months to traverse bluffs and waves, together. Being a business owner took a lot of my time. So for the first two years, Finn was content with long walks through the neighborhood; the hostesses at Frasca loved him so much, they came outside without coats on, even on frigid nights to hand deliver him a biscuit and steal a smooch or two. Poor Lug never understand why the nice people did not open their doors in the morning. My soul always twinged a bit when I saw his crestfallen face; wanting and staring at the door handle long before the wine bar opened for the day.

When Finn needed more than a simple stroll; we trained or played games in a quiet cul-de-sac, horsed around the boat yard outside my office with his squeaky toys or swam together late at night, after my classes. If my evil boss (me) was nice enough to schedule a whole day off back then, I always spent it taking Finn to the beach or out to Starved Rock. I knew the chances of finding a place to stay over the holiday, years ago, that allowed dogs was not likely but I tried anyway. A quick internet search led me to choose Saugatuck and the first place I called said they were dog friendly and I took the one spot they had left; all I had to do was get us to Michigan.

One of the rules at the motel was that Finn was not allowed to be alone in the room. That was fine by me, I wanted to spend time hiking with my Lug and sitting on a beach, while tossing tennis balls into the water for him. We hit the state park and the mesmerizing quiet and the abundant turf allowed us both to breath. Finn and I both thrived on fresh air, a soft breeze and the intoxicating allure of losing track of time. When we arrived on the first day, we simply walked. Fortunately, the weather was mild enough that even with Finn's thick fur coat, the canopy of trees kept both of us cool as we trekked over branches; my Lug scurrying off on occasion to scope out a bird or squirrel. Every section of the lake we discovered said "no dogs allowed". Finn kept looking at me with his big, lustful, caramel eyes as the glistening water taunted him. He would forget about it when we found another path to hike. But, that night, as the sun was setting and the air grew almost chilly; Finn smelled it. I huffed and puffed as I followed him down one sand dune and up another; Finn's excitement squeals growing heartier by the second. And, there we were. On the beach, with no one around and no signs to tell us we were not allowed to be there.

Finn stood, impatiently waiting for me to toss the ball for him. And, as the pink and purple sky grew darker;
my Lug ran back to me, dropped his ball then ran with wild abandon back into the crisp, clear-blue lake. He was such an impulsive dude. Finn's favorite tennis ball was falling apart after a few weeks of slobbery snatches and stolen chomps. When it became wet, it started to sink to the bottom of the lake. I saw his head go down and his butt in the air; I swear that dog would have drowned himself trying to get to it if I had not gone to get him. Fortunately, I always have a second tennis ball attached to my leash because he needed and deserved a very long game of fetch in the water that night. We spent our remaining days on that beach.

After Gavin and I spent our afternoon free of parkways and streets he has to "sit" next to before crossing; I took the little guy to get a bath. I love taking him to Beck Lake but once one dog discovers the amazingness that is rolling in dead fish, they all follow. It was such a beautiful day and neither of us were ready to go home so Gavin and I went at Gompers Park. While I ate lunch, he snuffled under the bench. I was sitting there with my sweet dog, enjoying the sound of the birds, cotton candy colored flowers and the occasional walker or bicyclist who genuinely smiled, made eye contact and offered a cheery "hello!" As I nourished myself with calm; a deep, chocolate brown butterfly kept circling Gavin and I. It fluttered in front of me then landed on the back of the seat next to me, sneaking closer with every flap of it's delicate wings. When I reached my hand out, I noticed the wings were tipped in a glorious caramel color, just like Finn's eyes. It danced away. The butterfly came back and was spinning in the air with another beautiful creature who shared the exact same coloring. It was breathtaking in a way that allows me to hold on to Finn; without losing sight of what is right in front of me, Gavin and my tomorrows. The serenity was interrupted when Sam, the yellow lab came barreling up. He and Gavin just love each other and his mom remembered me too, fondly. And, when I watch them wrestle or I meet another amazing Lab; I start to believe that when I am ready to bring home a second dog, he or she might just share the same physical attributes as my Lug.

Love Thy Neighbor

Tomorrow is not promised for any of us. Every morning, I wake up thankful for the sun and a snoring dog who takes his sweet time getting himself to the door. I could easily hurry Gavin out of bed and down the stairs but I find his sweet hums, slow start and contortionist moves as he slithers off the bed endearing. I get to prepare for my sessions and get through some emails before entering the world. Occasionally, I do have to hoist the monkey to our destination as I remember my dad often doing with my youngest sister, Beth, after a long day at the zoo or a water park. Limp, sleepy, trusting little body thrown over his shoulder; only moving along because she had to.

Finn was very much a routine kinda guy. Every morning we walked past my dear neighbor Dennis who was on his porch reading his newspaper in front of what I guessed to be six or more dogs in the house by insane barking pouring out of his windows. He would wave and say "Morning Brandi" and I would hold my coffee cup up and mumble the same thing back to him. I still struggle to fight back tears when I run into someone I may not even remember crossing paths with before who asks, "where's your other dog?" Then I wonder if the guy sitting outside the convenience store has ever said hello to me and perhaps I dismissed him? Or worse, used my standby "no bite". I lived in a neighborhood with a lot of drunk people coming home from the Cubs game for years. For our safety, sometimes I would say "no bite" to Finn in a VERY serious voice. My big lug would look adoringly into my eyes and smile, giant tongue dripping from the side of his slobbery lip; because I said something, anything to him. That was our relationship. Finn had no clue what "no bite" meant nor would he ever bite a soul but it gave me comfort in the late hours when our condo living still required us to walk down a dark street for him to do what he needed to do to get a restful night's sleep. My chocolate nugget was really good at sawing logs too.

I have yet to have a need to use that phrase with Gavin and, I am not sure the tadpole would convince anyone to stay away from us as he jiggles back and forth like Jell-O, no matter who is passing us: children, the People Gas employees making ruckus on my street or an elderly neighbor. We are still working hard on Gavin listening to "settle" when he is really distracted and excited, everyday he does better. I have been blessed to have many neighbors I love and cherish. I was once lucky enough to have the apartment above mine open at the exact same time one of my bestest friends in the whole world, Pam, happened to be in the market to move.

We had a backyard that was locked so Finn was able to go out for business meetings without me hovering over him. One night I was in the kitchen and it was so cold outside; I let my lug into the backyard and
while I waited, he lifted his leg on the fence and raced back up the stairs. It was so frigid, Finn had no desire to be away from the warmth more than a minute or two. But, as I grabbed for the door handle, I saw he had a bird in his mouth and it was wriggling around. I was sure by the time I touched it, the poor thing would be squealing in pain. Then, what would I do? I could not stand to see an animal hurting, and I felt even worse that my sweet dog did that to another living creature. I called Pam who sent her roommate's boyfriend down to my place. She wanted as little to do with touching an injured animal as I did. So, I curled up into a ball in my living room until Chris gave me the thumbs up that the world was rosy and pink again. I sometimes recall that gal and laugh, I have opened my eyes quite a bit since then.

My hands were covering my face but I could see Chris standing in my dining room shaking his head through the fingers that pressed into my forehead. Finn was still outside, even Chris did not even have the stomach to see, oh, I just knew it was bad. Continuing to laugh, Chris guided me to the back door where Finn stood; tail swinging like a propeller. But, the bird was still in his mouth. Chris told me to look really close. And, when I did, I almost fell over laughing. What I THOUGHT was a bird's tail was the fingers of a glove. Poor lug did not know what we were making such a big deal about, but he was happy as ever, bright eyes looking back at me, waiting for us to let him back in the apartment.

This week, Gavin and I were out for a walk and he was looking up at me like a rock star. I figured out the best game ever for him on walks, though I am sure my veterinarian will be sending me a nasty gram soon. I saw an off-leash dog coming towards us. She was big, klunkhead that I have never seen before and ran right into the street, it all happened so quickly all I could do was hope the dog was friendly as she rushed Gavin and he fell over laughing. I had not realized it but I was in front of Dennis and Lois's house and within a flash, Dennis was next to Gavin and I to make sure no one was hurt. I had just stood in his yard over the weekend chatting with his lovely wife, Lois who told me all about her new granddaughter and stood a few feet away as she rested on her walker. She could see that Gavin wanted so badly to say hello to her he might knock her over in sheer excitement.

Dennis tried to wrangle the dog to take her back to where she belonged but her collar was loose and she kept pulling out of it. Finn and I had taken home a few escape artists over the years but Gavin's leash skills are not in a place I could maneuver two jumping beans at the same time. I held Gavin by his harness and gave Dennis our leash and he used the handle to make a knot so he could guide the puppy home.

 I have mentioned Finn's fan club before, the teenagers who screamed his name from blocks away and ran through all his tricks with him. I realized one icy, winter morning why they were brought into my life as three of them stood shaking Finn's paw with bare, red, chapped hands. I have spent a lot of time searching for the right gloves and hats to keep me warm out on dog walks and with clients so I offered them all my extras with a note in the bag for their mothers. Now Gavin has a fan club. We were walking to Gompers Park and six kids raced off their front porch to give Lil' Big Head hugs and hot dogs. They were impressed with his "bang bang" trick but I knew they would really love his "get it" trick. They asked me to have Gavin scale the tree over and over, my little monkey can jump ten feet into the air, he's quite the spectacle. I finally had to tell them he was tired and every attempt Gavin and I made to continue our walk, another one of the children wanted to hug him. Gavin just leaned into them while every two-legged squirt uttered, "oh, you are so cute, I love you" and made me promise to walk Mr. McLoveMuffin past their house again very soon.

The above photo of Finn was taken by the amazing and unbelievably kind, Rhonda Holcomb.

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.

Mirror, Mirror

Above all else, do not lose your desire to walk.-Soren Kierkegaard

To say that my walks with Gavin have been arduous is the understatement of the decade. I was a lot younger the last time I was developing a relationship with a young, upbeat, cheeky dog AND I did not know any better when Finn was pulling so hard to get to the park that my knees burned with every step I took trying to keep up with him. He was so boisterous as a puppy. I once took him outside as a youngster during a rain storm with the intention of picking up his steaming pile of dung AFTER I took him back in the house. I knew if I tried to balance all 80 pounds of him, an umbrella and a bag of poop while wearing high heels; I would surely sprain an ankle or end up with feces all over my kicky Banana Republic slicker. As I was reeling Finn into the house, despite his desire to say hello to a very dedicated runner, I started to utter, "I swear I'm going..." when she yelled at me to pick up after my dog. I probably would have barked the same thing to someone I saw walking away from crap; she did not know I really did go back outside to perform my civic doodie.

This weekend, angels sang and the clouds parted when not only could I bend over for the obligatory sanitation chore without worry that the stinky mess might end up flying into my face but Gavin actually took treats outside, it was a true miracle. I swear I thought I heard the confident sound of violin strings as Lil' Big Head gently nibbled a hot dog, that I have been dutifully carrying for just that occasion. And, we had that moment you have when you have lived with a dog for a very short time and something clicks. Of course he hears "I love you" all day long and we have been having a blast together but understanding each other seems less of a daunting task than it was just a week ago; I can see we are becoming more of a team. Oh, the light!

We walked and walked with our new-found outside adoration for each other. Gavin just had to say hello to every single person, dog, squirrel we passed; still squirming and leaping to make everyone laugh. As we strolled, I was beaming and feeling grateful that I was not panting or rubbing my aching back and he was happy too. We ran into a giant yellow Lab named Sam. I asked the requisite question, "does he like other dogs?" Sam's mom gave me what I assume is the same look I give when folks pose the same query to me, a whale-eyed, head bobbing up and down so fast and with such enthusiasm it might just fly off into the warm, breezy air. So, I allowed Gavin to say hello and he propelled himself at the big, buttery lug. Sam jovially pounced back onto to my little monkey, tail spinning with delight as he stood over an amused, wriggling Gavin.

So, as the boys took turns laughing and hip checking the other, I chatted with Sam's mom who told me he was a year old. I started talking about Finn. She was so darling as she genuinely and sympathetically apologized for my loss. But, I did not just say "thank you" and continue talking about the two goobers playing right at our feet. My mouth just kept moving and the verbal diarhhea continued. I shared that I said goodbye to him at the very park we were standing and with every cringe she tried to hide from me, I could not stop myself. She was polite and said she hopes to see us again as she scurried away.

Around Christmas time, I was walking Finn through Horner Park and because Chicago is very much a transplant city; it was eerily peaceful. We had spent a whole hour traipsing up the hill and along the river without me gritting my teeth and telling someone to "Please get your dog on a leash. I don't care if he's friendly, mine has been attacked multiple times. He's old and just wants to walk and sniff", voice growing more scratchy with every word. As we approached the corner of Montrose and California, the puppy zoomies struck my cherished senior, Finn. He had not been off-leash at the park for some time, his hearing was fading. A couple times, I went to look for him because it was rare he was not within five feet of me only to find him standing at the bottom of the stairs; expecting me to come back down from Kate's kitchen. I was careful not to startle him or hurt his dignity. Then, Finn's head whipped abruptly towards me, grey eyebrows fluttering to let me know he was so surprised and happy to see me.

But, that day, at the park he was squealing, jumping up and down and play bowing like he was a young stallion again; and he never had not one, but two anterior cruciate ligament surgeries. I looked ahead of us and there was this round bellied, VERY lively, tan and white pitbull puppy dragging his cheerful-looking parents through the park. It had been many, many years since Finn was so excited about another random dog on the street. They went in a completely different direction than we did and seemed so enamored with their fur baby that I do not think they even saw us but I treasured those moments of spontaneous senior sass.

Last week, I met a new client with a beautiful, spunky chocolate and an unbelievably sweet, sassy, senior black Labrador. Of course, I had an instant crush on both of them and tried laborously not regurgitate my crud at her. It is difficult when someone else is talking about their aging animal not to mention the goodbye I recently whispered to my best four-legged companion but I appreciate that is the last thing I wanted to hear when I was out and about with Finn. So many times over the past couple of years; I saw pity in people's eyes because Finn was old, even though he was happy and bouncing along next to me. Or, they would ask how old he was, followed by "how long do they live?" Facing the day without our senior fur buddies is not something we want thrown at us, it is there all the time. Old and sad do not always coincide so the next time I meet a senior dog, I'll leave my comments to, "what a sweetie".