Dog Days

It's been nearly a year since we lost our beautiful boy - Sundance. That's nearly impossible for me to comprehend. I still miss him every day. But not long after he was gone, the sharp edges of grief were dulled, ever so slightly, by another dog.

This is Finn, the day I brought him home from his third shelter in his short life - just 8 months old (though the shelter mislead me a bit, assuring me he was older), scary-skinny, and bright as a button. It was all good for the first couple of days. And then, I guess, he started to feel more at home.

After his second night, and my third pair of shoes, he had to be crated. He's still crated. He'll chew anything not nailed down. Including Pip and Rue, the cats.

There was definitely a period of adjustment for those two.

There have been rocky moments. Rue, who crazy-loved Sunny, wants to love Finn. Desperately. And Pip wants to be his buddy. But it's really hard to take kindly to someone who spends most of his time making sure your head fits in his mouth. I completely believe Finn thinks the cats are simply odd-looking little dogs and he just wants to play with them the way he plays with his peeps at the dog park. After nearly a year, however, there has been no blood let and, as far as I can tell, the cats still haven't used their claws on him. So, although I spend a lot of time picking up stuff they knock over and yelling, "What in the fresh hell is wrong with you people?!," we're all good.

At the dog park, Finn is a bit of a celebrity. When we arrive, we hear choruses of "Finn!" It's sort of like when Norm entered the bar on Cheers. Then Finn makes his rounds... to every single human in the park. He's well-loved, is my boy. He does have himself a good time - every time - and comes home, more often than not, sporting a Pigpen-like cloud of dust, dirt, and just plain muck. And if it's rained recently?

I once had someone ask if he was a chocolate lab. I looked at her like she was nuts and replied, "Um, he's black." She looked at him again and exclaimed, "Oh my god, that's mud!" 

Yeah. We frequent the dog wash regularly.

He's been a handful since Day One. Truly. And because I was still grieving for Sunny and probably shouldn't have gotten another dog right away, it's taken me a little while to fall in love with him. Though I think he's quite smart sometimes, he's a colossal idiot at others (most others). But he's also the friendliest, happiest dog I've ever had. He hasn't yet met a person or mutt he doesn't love with his whole heart, and that makes it easier to love him, even when he's chewed your new pair of running shoes. 

And he's a handsome fellow, too... 

Who has had some very cute moments... 

Even if he's a little dumb... 

Now, at 18 months old, he's still puppy. But he's a big puppy. No longer scary-skinny (and a frequent diner at the Cat Food Buffet), he's 80lbs of black fur that winds up on everything I own. He has absolutely NO concept of his own size and he thinks he's a lapdog... 

He's a big goofball, who makes me laugh (and shake my head... and holler)... 

He's definitely part of the family... 

And I really do think that he's going to be a good dog. Someday. 

Until that day? I'll just keep loving him. And pushing him off the couch. And extricating the cats' heads from his mouth...