Thanks and Giving

Last year at this time, I was nestled in between my nephew and the arm of my mom's sofa. Finn was sound asleep at my feet next to the twinkling Christmas tree. Gavin was named Cappucino and was likely spooning his brother, in a cage, on a cold, concrete floor. Isaac and I were drawing a picture together; he would outline a silhouette then I would scribble a jewel tone into an ornament. As the picture took shape, I noticed the scene looked just like the first Christmas Finn and I visited Ohio. The previous day, my brother Matt and I had been reminiscing and laughing about my Lug's Clark Griswold-like entrance to my childhood home. Isaac giggled when he told me he heard the whole story and held his hand over his mouth while he snickered about how naughty Finn was as a puppy.

This year, I am grateful for so many things, including my marvelous luck to have saved a diamond of a dog from a potentially terrible fate and challenges that allow me to grow and test my strength. This week has been a bit of a doozie in our house; Gavin is none the wiser because he's been living it up at daycare while I frantically called electricians, turned off circuit breakers and notified my neighbors that we had some electrical issues that caused my dryer and dishwasher to stop working and the coffee maker to catch on fire. Lil' Big Head and I are safe now, and the burden of replacing two not-so-cheap appliances seems miniscule when I think of the alternate story lines that could have unfolded.

So, today, I offer my thanks to my amazing mom who offered her help and support while I was panicking and to my family of friends in Chicago that I will be sharing my Thanksgiving meal this evening. But, I am also more aware than I was a week ago that I can never, ever be too grateful for my health, safety and the warmth of a snoring puppy.

The Woman in the Mirror

"If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and then make a change." Michael Jackson

Thankfully, the depraved demon spirit that possessed Lil' Big Head for the past couple of weeks has been cast out. Even when Gavin is absurdly disobedient and elfin; it's because he wants so badly to play, all the time. Hapless Lil' Big Head convulses, trying with all his puppy self control, to not nose dive onto the rug and sink a tooth into one of the sisal knots. And, who am I to squash his friskiness? I regularly fight to control my laughter; and am constantly re-evaluating how to teach Lil' Big Head and other dogs the house rules without taking away their personality or vigor.

Every time I turn up the temperature on my thermostat, Gavin's walks become shorter and his shivering becomes more prominent the instant we step outside. Becoming a cold weather wimp has been a seamless transition for me and I am sure I can concoct fun ways to keep Gavin entertained this winter. But, I thought I should find a new form of exercise so I do not bust out of my pants before eating season even begins. My friend Nora suggested online workouts through Fitness Blender and I found my salvation. Gavin is perplexed by all my hopping and lunging around the house; much to his confusion, without squeaky balls. One morning I was perusing through the hundreds of FREE workout videos and I stumbled upon viewer comments and man, they were downright mean. I know this may sound a little Pollyanna of me, but if I dislike the video, I stop watching it and move on with my life. I could not understand why so many folks slandered this couple who have spent their money, time and expertise to help others, for FREE.

Later that night, I saw the same anonymous cruelty on Facebook. A woman's dog had been shot twice with arrows and it was so sad to see her crying and holding onto her injured boy. I started thumbing through the photos to make sure the dog was okay and to see if the woman could afford the surgeries her baby had to endure. Again, among dozens of comments that seemed to be directed towards a guy who said he did not like dogs, NOT ONE expressed interest in the dog's current health status or how the woman was doing. This is why I unplug to recharge my batteries.

A few years ago, I was in need of a break from all the inner chaos that can develop from battling traffic throughout the day and trying to keep up with emails. So, Finn and I went to Asheville, North Carolina to go hiking for a week. My Lug was no longer a young stallion so my plan was to traverse the mountain for two hours at a time then take Finn back to our cabin and rest. It turns out that I was the one who needed the longest naps as Finn bobbed and tapped from the door to my bed not long after lunch, holding his manly pink, mint-scented, rubber ball.

At the time, it was his security blanket; my Lug carried that ball with him everywhere he went. Finn could walk for hours while chomping and slobbering, rarely skipping a beat while he explored the countryside with me. One afternoon, I stopped to take a photo and Finn looked down the side of the mountain, the ball must have slipped out of his mouth as it rolled down wet leaves and stopped about six feet below us. Not much ever troubled Finn, but losing his ball was devastating. Every time we hiked after that, my Lug stopped and stood, crestfallen; and I had to call him away to follow me. I could have replaced forlorn Finn's prized toy but as we both sucked in as much fresh air as possible; I started thinking about what kind of damage that ball could do to the environment. What if an animal ate the toy and choked? What if the foreign matter had an adverse effect on the vegetation and killed indigenous plants on that side of the mountain? I decided Finn and I needed to recover his ball.

When we went back to the the cabin to rest, I thought I could create a makeshift pulley out of two leashes so I went to the store, tested out my new contraption on my Lug and we hit the road to recover his ball. I wrapped my left leg around a tree and held onto one leash wrapped around Finn's chest with my left hand, and gripped the other loop securing his tummy with my right fist as his eyes lit up. My Lug was so excited to retrieve his toy and shimmied down the mountain while I held on to make sure he did not slide on the wet leaves or get his paw caught in a hidden hole. Finn was elated and I waited to share this adventure with my mother AFTER we were back home safe and sound.

I often think about how Finn and I were such a team, always up for an adventure and a challenge; and I will never know if anything bad would have occurred by us leaving the ball on the mountain. But, I can look at myself in the mirror and know I did my best to prevent a deer from ingesting a ball that could cause suffering and injury.

The other night I was walking into the drugstore and I was in a hurry but I saw an elderly man, who was
severely hunched over, limping and prodding through the parking lot with his walker. My eyes welled up because the hatred I had recently read was heavy on in my mind. The first thing that ran through my head was a wish that no one has or will ever taunt this gentleman for being frail and slow. Another night, I might have quickly glanced up from an email as I tried to respectfully pass him but I walked behind him, very aware of our shared presence. When the man's thin hand shook as he reached for a basket; I asked if he needed any help but by watching his body language, he either did not hear me or he did not want my help. And, if I learned anything at all from my independent Papaw or my freethinking Finn; both who would rather topple over than to let their dignity slip away, I try not to interfere without being given permission. I hoped I would see him again as I slowly walked through the aisles, looking for my staple items. The elderly man walked towards me and I smiled and said hello and he repeated it back to me. That was it, the end of my interaction with a stranger who I secretly sent peace and light.

I am humble enough to know that my actions have a minuscule impact on the world. But when I crawl into bed tonight, I hope the person who just peered back at me from my bathroom mirror chose to make eye contact and either pull a dollar out of my wallet for the man standing at the expressway exit or at least tell him I'm sorry for not having any cash. Or, instead of typing "people suck" when I read about another dog who was treated terribly by a human, that I make a small donation to an organization that supports people who love their pets but can't afford the care they would like to provide or I simply wave a "thank you" hand to someone who allows me to merge into traffic.

In keeping the Michael Jackson theme, Gavin and I are working on a new trick, "Moonwalk" which was inspired by a lovely client's daughter. I have not quite mastered holding a video camera and training but it "feels real good" to spread the creativity of a child. And, Gavin recently passed the exam for us to start volunteering with Safe Humane's Ambassador program, Lil' Big Head is ready to spread love with the world.

IT'S Back!

El Diablo, Booger, Turd Devil, Dirtbag and a nickname I stole from one of my clients, Punk. The label changes, but the gremlin "BLEH! BLEH! BLUP! BLEH BLEH BLEH!" and charging so fast from one side of the room to the other his feet slip around on the hardwood floor like Gavin is both possessed and on fire has been a daily occurrence. This has been Lil Big Head's awesome response to the command "sit" and usually includes him batting me with his paw, nipping the air then laying down staring at me with his "how bout no?" look on his face.

Without fail, the instant I turn off my electric toothbrush; I hear rapid pitter patter into my bedroom. Gavin knows that unless I tell him "you are going to see your friends today" that it means he has enjoy a peanut butter stuffed toy in his crate for a bit. Cue the violins for poor Lil' Big Head. And, everyday, I find him laying with his frog legs extended towards the door, facing away from me and head ducked as low as he can possibly make it while he looks eerily over his shoulder. Lil' Big Head thinks I can't see him. But, when I catch a glimpse of his giant peepers in the mirror, he tries to look again doing his best to be invisible and hoping that just this once I will let him stay on the bed. I tell him a second time "go to your house" and Gavin slithers front paws first and drags his back end behind him. I am certain that rubbing his junk on my blanket is punctuation for his message. Lil' Big Head always shuffles through the living room, past the office door and into his house where he sighs then begrudgingly eats his Kong.

I actually find Gavin's daily attempts to stay snuggled in my room adorable and if the goober did not fly past his antler, dogwood stick, dumb bell and bone to eat my blankets; I would let him sleep wherever he darn well chose to when I was not home. But Lil' Big Head has been an absolute terror this past week and I am glad Finn helped me learn over the years to laugh off some of his embarrassing mischief.

The Finn I remember had a warm glowing halo above his head and always gazed at me with a lifetime of love in his eyes. But, memories can be very selective and when I watch Gavin knock over a 4-year old child with his wiggle butt; I remember getting schooled by my brother Matt when he returned to the living room to find puppy Finn laying on the couch, with bread crumbs hanging off his lips and ketchup and mustard smothered all over his big ol' snout. My ungraceful Lug managed to scale the entertainment center with such stealth, the plate was in the exact spot Matt had left it and every knick-knack on the shelves were in their proper position.

Finn was elated when he was a good boy and he was just as haughty and happy when someone furrowed their brow at him. Gavin on the other hand, has mastered the guilty look. The evening that Lil' Big butt-checked a little boy; he kept turning back to me for treats (which is a new and super cool development) but he got so excited that he truly lost control of his back end. And, as the kid kept shaking his finger at me saying, "You should teach your dog to lay down" over and over again; Gavin slunk behind me with his tender "I'm sorry" face. The tiny human was so salty; I felt obligated to prove to him that Gavin is pretty dang good flopping onto his belly so I told Lil' Big Head to "settle". Irony is not lost on me.

What I have grown to understand and perhaps it is age, experience or just surviving what I thought I might
not, Finn's loss; is that I care less about proving myself to the world than I did when Finn and I were in the same stage of our relationship. My Lug never barked AT me, except when I was unbelievably stressed out. When Finn was a pup; I gave him a bone every time he barked so my mean, upstairs landlady would not yell at us. Once we started training, I realized what a whoopsy that was and when I stopped being so keyed up about every little thing; I realized Finn was telling me to settle down, I was stressing HIM out. The first time I called out "meatballs" and Finn kept wandering through the park, sniffing grass; I knew he was losing his hearing and Finn had to be on leash for the rest of our walks. Young me might have worried who saw my dog not listen and be compelled to explain it away every time I saw someone who knew he had a stellar recall. But, my image became less important than keeping my Lug safe and treasuring our strolls and his vibrant spirit.

On Saturday afternoon, Gavin was into EVERYTHING. Every single time I turned my back, Lil' Big Head was racing through house and digging paper towel rolls from the recycling bin. And when I let him back out of his crate, he squawked and gnarred then threw himself onto my bed where he thrashed and again, tried to maul the same blanket he wraps himself up in on chilly days. I was more excited than usual for his play date with Grace and Bailey. Unfortunately, El Diablo grew bored of stampeding past Kate and I with his girlfriend; and stealing Grace's stick. Gavin decided that he could have the most fun by hump, hump, humping Grace. I would pull him off and as I held him in a settle position, he kept thrusting the air with pure crazy in his eyes then race right back to mount Grace. Head or tail, Gavin did not care. It was exhausting to keep grabbing him and Gavin took great pride in making Kate laugh every time he shoved his winky onto poor Grace's head while Bailey proceeded to jump on her back end. Sweet Grace just stood there and looking right and left, waiting for us to save her. Fortunately, when I brought my terrible puppy home he slept like a baby but was back at his punky ways again the next morning, bouncing from dog bed to couch and shoving his butt into the air while he growled and rolled around like a cockroach. Thanks goodness I had a long day and was already planning on him going to daycare. Now, if you will excuse me, IT is sleeping and I'd like to savor the moment.

Tribute to My Boys

My dearest Finn,

I did not sit down for three years. And, I watched you treat children as human bowling pins while you had the time of your life barreling over squeals and giggles. Because of you, I learned how to be patient and listen; and sometimes behavior is not "good" or "bad" but a message, a channel to open my eyes. You inspired me to find the person I was meant to be. I thank you, my Lug, my everything for helping me see that if I gave a little, what I would receive in return was so much more than I could ever have imagined, even in my most beautiful dreams. And, your dog kisses had magical powers to mend my broken heart, many times.

You made me laugh and approach the world with a lighter step when all I wanted to do was dig my heels in the ground and fight for what I thought was right. When you refused to let age and crappy genes deter you from being the brave soul, independent spirit and happy-go-lucky dog you always were; my compassion blossomed deeper than I thought possible. You taught me that happiness is not something to seek outside myself but it is always in my heart; I just had to be quiet long enough to experience it.

Your insatiable appetite for life gave me the strength to get up when I fell down. No care, worry or stress in the world seemed as troublesome after a long walk with you. And, I now understand that if I stopped trying so hard to figure out the right time; all I had to do was look into your eyes, the truth was in front of me all along. Most of all, the love I will always feel when I see you standing in front of me, looking up with pure adoration; is ever present, and it is still with me everyday; even if I can't rub your silky, floppy ears. My faith has been restored in magic and blessings as I strive to more closely connect with my spiritual side and trust that there is so much beauty my human heart can not understand, yet.

To my sweet pea Gavin,

I am learning that staying inside while snuggling on the couch together when it's wet and dreary outside is a
lovely way to to spend an afternoon; and your snore-warble-hum is a very tranquil lullaby. I watch you wiggle and jiggle with even more enthusiasm than normal whenever a large man with a hood or a pregnant woman pass us on the street; I know that you loved someone else and were loved once too. We are both figuring out that the world is not that scary when standing next to a friend who opens their arms for a warm hug.

I do not dare think of a day when you will not be with me because the thousands of joyful moments I know you will inevitably bring to my life squashed any consideration I gave to placing a padlock around my heart. I can give you an amazing life with as much fun as your heart desires and deserves while you become a part of; not necessarily my whole world. My relationship with you and the awesome dog that you are are quite different from my angel Lug. But, you and I know how many times a day I whisper "I love you" and you repeat it back with your deep, soulful eyes. I watch you and am inspired as you leap into the air, willing to give everyone your love. Sometimes you fall but you always bounce right back up, so excited and ready to again give your affection. I can see we will learn a lot from each other, darling Lil' Big Head.

Paul's Passing

It was 2003, and like so many other grown-up firsts in my life; Finn was my trusty companion, happy to accompany me into a new apartment, just the two of us, finally. Technically, my Lug was a roommate but keeping him company was never work. And, he didn't complain about how grimy I was from from helping hoist boxes into our big kid pad. We both bounded out the door, eager to explore our new neighborhood when I spotted a petite man leaning against the fence, smoking a cigarette. His saucy smile took up most of his face as he said, "Grrrrrrlllllll, are you my new neighbor?" With a little wiggle of his shoulders and a whole lot of sass; I learned his name was Paul, he had a Pit Bull named Harper and we were going to get along just fine as he crouched down, squealed Finn's name repeatedly and let my Lug smooch him forehead to chin.

Because of Paul, and our other neighbor Brett, that beat-up, crappy apartment became my home for seven years and the man who stood standing in his white tank top and faded blue jean uniform will always be on my short list of amazing people who have brought nothing but joy to my life. Being the nice neighbor that he was, Paul agreed that before he came into the yard with Harper, he would yell out "HELLO!" and I would do the same. Finn's unbelievable uneasiness around other dogs was heightened at that time and I didn't want to put my Lug or Harper in a stressful situation. But, as time went on, Paul and I decided that we were both willing to put in the work to make sure our boys were content around each other so we could freely come and go in the yard. Harper was my first Pit Bull love, he was and still is one of the easiest dogs to get along with. He and Finn spent years hanging out together, taking turns lifting their legs on the same spot, over and over again.

Paul used to make dinner every Sunday night for everyone in the building. He absolutely thrived on making
people happy and my Lug's nose used to twinkle with delight every time I came home from taco night, the smell of frying beef never swirled in my kitchen. I used to tease Paul when he ordered tater tots at lunch or when I opened his cabinets to find eight types of marshmallow filled cereals. But I was always a teensy bit jealous he could eat like a teenager and still have a waistline closer to Scarlett O'Hara's than mine. Paul gave me the security and feeling of family that I missed so much when I moved to Chicago; I knew I could call him any hour of the day and did so many times. Paul would show up at the door with a toolbox in hand or a pair of rubber gloves and a package of frankfurters when I had to take my Lug's temperature in a place I never wanted to go, twice, post-surgery. Paul was honest, when I needed to hear the truth and managed to be there for so many people in this world. He was always telling me stories of yet another friend sleeping on his couch or a new foster dog because someone, anyone uttered the word "help". When Finn had a vestibular attack a few years ago, Paul was at my house 20 minutes after I called him to help me make sure my dizzy Lug could get up and down the stairs upon our return from the emergency room.

I hope I was there for Paul as much as he was there for me. A couple years ago, Paul and I were living much further apart; I was dating a guy I really liked and Paul was dating a guy who really liked him. Both our businesses were growing. He cancelled lunch plans one week then I cancelled coffee the next week.Then a year went by and another.

I had thought about calling Paul a hundred times when I passed through his neighborhood but became sidetracked when my phone rang. I kept meaning to tell him that I wrote about he and Harper; mostly as an excuse to say hi and see how they both were doing. Oh, I just know Paul would have loved Lil' Big Head. Now I never can talk to my dear friend, who I lost touch with, because he passed away last week. Shocked, shaken and regretful, I started looking through his Facebook page and learned that Paul went into the hospital the same day Finn passed away. All of this I keep telling myself as I try to find peace in my heart and grasp never being able to see Paul smile, hear his crazy stories or hug my kind, generous, funny, beautiful friend again.

Paul, if you are up there, please know how sorry I am that I didn't know you were sick and that I was not there for you. There will always be a very special place in my heart for you and your friendship. I am so terribly sorry that we lost touch. I am so fortunate to have shared your light and your love for as many years as I did and I truly hope you rest in peace. Finn and Bentley, please show him the ropes.

Disheveled Duos

Lil' Big Head absolutely loves our agility class. We are a team, tackling obstacles together. I don't care much for competition, which is why I assume I have never excelled in sports. But I love the way Stacey and Janice make the experience about each duo and what the dog CAN do; it makes me so happy to see Lil' Big Head's giant smile when he charges out of the tunnel, he always seems so proud of himself. There is never pressure to perform at a certain level and Gavin has been a stellar study, but more importantly the class is strengthening our bond.

Before class, my mushy little monkey dog was shaking so much from the cold; I was grateful that I taught him to have one favorite spot for business trips. Lil' Big Head has no fur. He wanted to get back inside; under a warm blanket, pronto. I bundled Gavin in one of my jackets for the drive because I could not recall where I had stored the hipster hoodie I bought for him when I was in Oregon over Memorial Day weekend. Lil' Big Head ran through the drills like we had been teammates for years, sometimes it's hard to believe he has only been with me for seven months because he seems so content and cheerful to be by my side.

We were practicing the dog walk and Gavin began running too fast and fell off onto the floor. Unlucky little guy tumbled right onto the spot where a metal gate separate the space between class and daycare. For the first time, I heard Lil' Big Head yelp. And, Gavin sat there, next to the equipment, looking up at me with his big, sad doe eyes. I ran over to comfort him and he leaned into me while I stroked his chest. We all wanted to see if he was ok, so I stepped away from him a tiny bit to see if he would stand and put weight on his leg; Gavin limped as he tried to walk. Luckily, Lil' Big Head shook it off and was moving just fine within a couple of seconds.

The last time I heard my Lug make that godawful sound that tore my soul up inside was the summer of 2011. Finn had a lump on his belly that I lovingly called his nubbin'. My Lug could have been covered head to toe in skin tags, lumps and bumps; I did not care as long as I knew he was not hurting nor were they a sign of something worse. But, because the benign mass was hanging off the lowest point of my Lug's barrel chest and it was growing so fast, one of my favorite veterinarians advised me to have it removed. I hated subjecting my senior dog to anesthesia but we had been carefully monitoring Finn's nubbin; and we knew it would soon become troublesome for him to walk. And, the thought of waiting another year; doing the surgery on an even older Finn helped me decide to move forward at her suggestion. Before I scheduled the appointment, Dr. Berman, who is also a brilliant surgeon, introduced me to the veterinary technician who would be by her side, Finn's side, during the procedure. Seeing this women's face and knowing she cared enough to meet me gave me more comfort but I was a wreck thinking about the upcoming procedure.

When I dropped Finn off at the vet that morning, no breakfast in his stomach which he did not understand or approve as he kept running into the kitchen, then onto his bed with an indignant look; I stared at the sheet of paper every veterinary hospital gives you when you drop your pet off at 8am and started bawling. I knew who the audience was, it was me 11 years prior. I read the words, "if your dog is scheduled for surgery later in the day, be thankful. It means your dog is the youngest and the healthiest". I understood the worries of being a new pet parent to a puppy that was being neutered, and how hard it was to wait all day but my Lug's surgery was scheduled for 9am, did that mean he was the oldest and unhealthiest? The Office Manager had left me a message the day prior that they were out of my business cards but I completely forgot to pass them along as I raced out of there, wearing sunglasses on a dreary day to hide my bulging eyes.

One of the many reasons I love positive training is once Gavin fell off the dog walk; no one, including me, was interested in getting him back on again, we just wanted to re-build his confidence. We had an awesome rest of class, Lil' Big Head's ears flopping in the wind of his own excitement because he chose to continue running through the course. Then, as we were leaving class, the poor dog's dumb mom did not see him hesitate. CRUUUUDDDDDDD! Because, for a second time, in one day, Gavin yelped. Lil' Big Head had paused at the exit and I didn't see it until it was too late and the door caught his tail. Pitiful, considerate, contemplative Lil' Big Head looked at me with the same sad expression he had given me less than an hour prior, but that time it was because of my clumsiness. Thank goodness I had the time to sit in the waiting area and feed Gavin lots of cheese so he has good associations again with the space, and Janice let us get back on the dog walk, one of us on each side of him so he was sure to safely walk up and down the incline. When we got home, all Gavin wanted to do was snuggle and I rubbed his white tuxedo as he fell asleep.

Those few seconds I waited to see if Gavin had stubbed his leg or if it was something serious were awful. There was nothing I could do but wait. And, the hour and a half I waited to hear that Finn was awake was excruciating. Ring, ring, ring. I saw that it was Dr. Berman's hospital and when I answered, it was her. She has the best sing song voice and told me that her "big man" had came through the surgery amazingly well and they confirmed that the lump was completely benign. When I picked Finn up, he was wrapped in a bandage the veterinary technician told me was to relieve the pressure and prevent fluid from creeping into the space where the lump used to be; I was allowed to remove it within a couple of days.

What I thought was an ace bandage turned out to be a giant bandaid and when I went to slowly peel it off Finn's abdomen, my Lug yelped and ran into the bathroom. Poor guy stood, wagging his tail, not wanting to move. I sat on the floor with him for a few minutes so he knew I understood and he smothered my face with his awesome slobbery kisses. I pulled the olive oil off the shelf, a bag of cotton balls out of the drawer and called Finn to his bed. Once I realized just how much oil it was going to take to grease up my Lug, I searched for the coconut oil so he would not smell like salad dressing. And, for two hours I coated teeny tiny areas of adhesive over and over again with oily cotton balls so the band-aid glided right off Finn's fur with ease and not a lick of pain. Finn took turns giving me kisses and slurping on his bone. Cream cheese specs on my nose and the smell of the tropics permeating my living room will always remind me of Finn. And, I hope I don't have to hear Lil' Big Head yelp again for a very, very long time.

Bumps in the Night

My body instinctively shot straight into the air, I thought my heart was going to thrash out of my chest. Gavin remained undisturbed in dreamland as he rolled over, hummed and murmured. Lil' Big Head only moved because he was nestled in the crook of my knees when I jumped. The crash that woke me was so intense and I was terrified as I tentatively opened the hideous gold-plated doorknob to my bedroom.

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

weekend and dropped a ceramic lid on the floor. I stopped myself on the way to the broom because I was curious; and when I looked around the corner, Gavin continued to lay on his back, warbling. He was completely passed out. Glad to know Lil' Big Head feels safe in my house.

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.