Welcome Home, Finnegan B.

Well it's been awhile. Fall hasn't quite unfolded as I had planned and though there are lots of reasons for this, Finnegan B. would be the biggest. As I recently wrote to a new friend, I didn't think I'd want another pet after the pain of losing our sweet Smudges, but I also didn't realize how comforting a writing companion Smudges had become in our 17 years together. By mid-summer, I found myself scrolling through dog sites and adding a new item to my to do list: finding another dog. Though last on the list of to-do's, the sooner we found this dog, I thought, the better. Then we'd be bonded and ready for the commencement of a new year. (As a former teacher, September is my January— a time for resolutions, new starts. An exciting time to begin again. I had plans.)

I don't know my dog breeds, but I knew what I was looking for— an adult rescue dog, already trained, small or medium sized, perhaps one who didn't shed as much as Smudges did. I remembered the dog my mother told me about, the dog from her own childhood, a small black dog that she loved but which had to be given away during the depression. In the back of my mind, I was looking for my mother's dog.

Then I came across a picture of a dog from Texas with the same markings as Smudges and thought I might at least call.  Yes, Yes, Yes. Adult. Medium sized. Sweet disposition. CRATE TRAINED. HOUSE TRAINED. I forgot about the shedding and went for it. 

Finnegan B. is nearly 70 pounds and basely out of puppyhood. He is untrained and suffers from severe separation anxiety. I could show pictures of child's art ripped from the door, or broken lamps and ripped curtains. I was too heartbroken to take a picture of the shattered glass candy dish which belonged to my grandmother. I am not crude enough to take other pictures.

We've since bought a crate (for which he is not trained) and hired someone to teach me how to best handle him. The house is back in order: the gnawed wood, sanded; the new lamps replaced with old ones from the basement. But traces of destruction remain— though Finn now walks calmly on a leash, we've not been able to keep him from crushing me with his oversized love.

It's not all bad. Finn does have the sweetest disposition when he is not afraid of being abandoned. On quiet days, when I sit writing, he rests beside me. When I'm in need of a break, he walks beside me.

He is beside me now, and though we walk into a less event-filled autumn than I planned, it is good to have him here.