Highly Offensive To Smeller Devices

It's not planned. I didn't have ultra amazing foresight when I decided to create another blog entry. Because that would make sense, and God knows I rarely ever do.

No, this entry was influenced less by inspiration and creativity than a sleepless night full of evil intent for not only the slight sliver i call my sanity, but for my shmeller.

Yes, my shmeller. That lovely device that allows you to experience harmonious fragrances as well as tastes. It's that same device that is being abused with nauseating vapors radiating from the dark side of my child's anatomy.

It's that time.

When my brother stays over for the weekend for the shorter commute to work, stirring up all sorts of unearthed anxieties within the Finnster. As a result: Finn has vomited four times in the past two days and is now left with an immensely thick, unmeasurable amount of gas.

I had thought to myself earlier when my brother and I arrived late from work, as per the usual with events, that something smelled off to me. Perhaps my feet were smelling unusually rank tonight or Keith, who had just gotten out of a shower, somehow completely skipped the hygiene part of the cleaning process and came out smelling like the raw side of a donkey. Okay, both very likely, but I knew this foul odor. In the recent months it has been both an unfortunate occurrence and an unwelcome guest.

Which is why when I finally recognized the noxious fumes, I said to no one in particular " I smell Finn fart."

In return Keith asked me what i had muttered, as he had been playing on his iPhone and hadn't quite caught the statement. So I repeated myself causing an impromptu snort and a "You're crazy."

Said the boy with no nose.

Still, no nose convinced me and I easily shrugged it off. Until a little while before I decided to entail all these incredible details here, when I entered my room for sleep...

...and promptly hit a wall. Of stink.

Sure, I grabbed some spray, masked the smell a bit only to morph it in to a wonderful fragrance they don't sell on shelves, but everyone knows all too well: poop flowers.

I also went out of my way to inspect the crate thoroughly, just to make sure Finn hadn't accidentally dropped one when he hit that last baritone note. Luckily, all was clear. Well...except for the air.

Which leaves me where I'm at now: Full of poop-flower up my shmeller and blogging for the sake of fresh air.

Ah, he's a casual gasser most of the time. Finn's awesome like that. He doesn't care who's watching or listening, he just lets em rip.

But when he's a nervous gasser....

...world: be afraid.

And fittingly as I end this entry, the furry cuteness lets another bomb loose.

Be there no end in sight?

Progress requires change. And change has its enemies

[My writing is crude because I wrote this in a bit of a jiff-ay...You've been warned]

It's been an interesting 3-4 weeks that I've been absent. Classically, I might start off apologizing for it, but I've never been classeh and that's classeh ladeh material. I will say, though, 3 weeks of absence is a lot of information to cover. So I'll do my best to make it short, sweet and, at the least, entertaining. (You'll know if I'm failing because I'll discretely divert your attention spans with a cute Finn photo "aaaw, puppy <3")

After 3 weeks of "treat-induced-training", it's safe to say that: Finn has been effectively brainwashed. Not brainwashed in the way that entices him to listen to every singular command that I or anybody else offers either. More like, my dad's hand dips down beside his chair and up goes Finn's ears in classic seesaw action. And when my dad ends up pulling up the remote, or something in equal or lesser value to a dog with a crack-craving for food, Finn's ears go down, then back up as he remains patiently hopeful that my dad might be playing an innocent, but nonetheless cruel prank on him. In the end it turns out to only be cruel. Nothing else.

Still, because of all the help from dog-treats, Finn has been able to associate my father with good things rather than bad. So now instead of being the big scary monster hoarding treats, he's the big scary guy who is kind enough to give out treats. I, personally, think this new found social status is a step up, in any case. 

Also, while I'm not well aware of how far Finn's training went with Emily (she did a lot for the lil guy, I'm just not aware of all the specifics), I've been able to train him (mildly at best) to "sit" and "stay". Plus the "shake" concept before he hops out of the tub is starting to take hold in his tightly wound brain lobes. Not all is without it's imperfections though. He shakes in the bath tub well enough, but still does a little dance all over the bathroom walls when I give him the okay to come out. And when I go to my (and his) room, he tries desperately to shove his head pass my side so that he may run to the crate for cover. But I'm too bad assery for that. That's right. I said bad assery.....

CUTE DOGGY PICSHA INTERVENTION!!

(Aaaw, puppy! <3)

It takes a little prodding with "no" and "stay" for him to understand that at that time he isn't allowed to hide in the crate or my room. The only reason he listens is for fear of facing his mother's wrath (a stern tone basically...so fierce). Eventually though he does listen. And the time it takes for him to grasp all these commands and concepts are getting shorter and shorter. 

Finn also enjoys the routine when I wake up. Typically when I'm off work, I'll take him out of the crate and encourage him on to my bed, serving only in creating a ticking time bomb of pure pent up energy. I feel bad because there's only so much energy I can knock out of him outside as our limits remain tethered to a harness and leash. So rather than try to motivate him enough to where his small attention span has no other option except to focus on me, I try to play with him on my bed. He's comfortable there, he's open and I just know it's something I will likely come to regret later on down the road, so why not?! I can always hate myself later, wondering why the heck I ever decided to do something so thoughtless....and then I can look at this blog...read my reasoning's...and promptly agree with myself like I'm some wizardy genius who just figured out that the "Harry Potter" spell is actually called "Expecto Patronum" and act like I haven't been calling it "Jiggly Patronus" this entire time. 

Other than that he's a vivacious ball of energy when it's just him and me or him, me and my mom. He whines a lot because of the inability to use up all that energy (or when I pay attention, god forbid, to Artemis), but the leash is still in place with just the right amount of concern. While my steps and noises don't scare him anymore outside, there are still many things that do. 

We've had rabbits run from their cubby holes because of Finn's wondering nose and the sharp darting of the animal doesn't faze him one bit. But the minute a car passes by, he stops and stares no matter what he's in the middle of (and I do mean, no matter what). Passing vehicles while he's taking care of business aren't really my concern though. He's developed enough of an attachment to me to where I don't believe he would stray far even if he happened to get spooked. Unless it's people that spook him. It doesn't matter how near or far those people may be, Finn's terrified the minute he hears voices. Well, adult voices, I should say. I hear children squealing up the road and expect Finn to jump: nothing. I hear soft voices of people talking across the road: instant terror.

Judging his training thus far on a scale, the heftier side would be his people skills or lack there of. This is also the side I've had the hardest time working on. I'm not opposed to exposing him to people, but I don't have a big field to work with. I can pretty much count the people I know or associate closely with on one hand (and even then, it's rare I see these people, if at all). Then there's co-workers. I love showing Finn to my co-workers, but it's not the controlled or comfortable environment I'd like him to be in. As expected, he freaks out and I'm not sure if that's making much progress or creating an even wider gap between him and strangers. I guess only time will tell whether I'm helping or scarring the dear child further. 

I thought about dragging his cute little buns to Petco, now that I've been able to follow-up on his flea treatments. And then I start thinking to myself about other responsibilities with Finn, like how I still need to set up that vet appointment...

**     ***     **

(Aaaw, puppy! <3)

In the long run, it could be a lot worse. I have a lot of things to be thankful for in this little fuzzard alone. Artemis is my soul-cat, nothing and no one can replace that, but Finn's starting to make his own special place amongst this family and (at the expense of sounding cheesy enough to cover a human-sized cracker) my heart. 

He's a genuine bugger with a heart of gold that takes some seriously sweet photo's when he's carefree enough to play with me. This is the Finn I want everyone see:

I can dream...for him, since most of his dreams cause sleep-induced running and mewling sounds.

There's so many more incidences I can remember thinking throughout the 3 weeks "I need to put this little occurrence in my blog" and then I snort at myself and think "dork". After that: I forget. So while I'm sure there was more to relay that I will beat myself upside the head for not posting, I'll try to update quicker this next time around. Because, let's face it, my memory is as fuzzy (if not fuzzier) than an old grammaw's. And when the holiday's come around: it all becomes one giant mass of unidentifiable blurry blob-ness.

As a last note, I've also found that Finn really enjoys when I squish his face around or squeeze it. He will wait for me to hold out my hand and then plop his chin in my palm, awaiting the massaging squish of his droopy lips and twitchy eyebrows. So I leave you with what Katie has enlightened me is the: Meat Face.

Respect It.

The Patience Games

Karma is the universal dynamic of 'do unto others as you would do unto yourself' because if one sows goodness, one will reap goodness; if one sows evil, one will reap evil. Another universal dynamic is: Dogs don't understand these dynamics nor does it apply to them.

So when I treat Finn with love and get miscellaneous items torn up in return: I try not to take it personally. Instead I sit there and hope that Karma will trip him up a little. Nothing evil and certainly nothing too drastic. Like when he goes to eat another one of my mittens: it gives him indigestion. And because Finn has such a sensitive stomach: it actually does give him indigestion. That's when I learn Karma for him, ends up being a medicine I also have to swallow. Because, right there, in front of me is the product of Karma in yellow spew on my carpet...that I have to clean. Which leads me to the conclusion that the properties of 'Karma' does not apply to dogs.

This became apparent to me over the weekend when I ended up in the hospital due to dehydration. And I was guzzling water the days before this happened, so it was appreciated, but unnecessary to have each of my co-workers tell me: "You need to drink more water". Although the rebel in me would disagree with the appreciation ("don't tell me what ta do").

After I got out of the hospital, I was feeling pretty good. The nurses pumped me with fluids and I wasn't feeling too bad. No urge to pass out, no dizziness. I took Finn out of his crate (forgetfully leaving my bedroom door open) and settled down for the rest of the night that was already gone from my hours in the hospital. Of course, I had to wonder what kind of side-effect dehydration would have on a body considering I had never had it previously. So I guess it makes sense that stupid curiosity would blister in to full-blown pain through a migraine and nausea. And because I was preoccupied with profuse amounts of suffering and I hadn't checked on Finn in less than two minutes I deserved the chaos upon which I entered when I went to my room to lay down. 

On my bed was Finn who was all too happy with his accomplishments, his tail wagging with confidence and ears perked in exuberance. Just below him, was the chowed remains of my murdered mitten, it's partner condemned to a widowed life. 

There really wasn't much I could do by then besides clean up the missing pieces of torn mint and black yarn. Until I noticed Finn bend down to chew on something else that was fabric: Artemis's pumpkin hat. Sure, Artemis was jumping for joy at the prospect of the torn up hat (as I reminded my son that I still had the frilly neck piece), but I was able to stop the shredding wars before it exponentially became worse. 

All this led to Finn's re-crating so he could cool down for a bit. 

Maybe it's just me, but I've noticed a pattern here. When I get sick or have a bad day, Finn gets some metaphysical message to behave horribly. From where: I don't know. I'm certain I don't want to know either.

(legs are actual size)xD

One way or another he tends to rip things up on days that just happen to coincide with negativity. Making it that much harder to keep my patience. And Finn requires a lot of patience.

A lot.

For example, when I tried to teach him how to "shake" inside the bathtub, rather than outside of it. 

Dogs will be dogs. And I'm not opposed to him shaking his wet, little derriere all over the house, but out of respect for my parents and their furniture (which we try to take care of) I thought it'd be best to teach him to shake inside the bath tub before he's allowed to jump out.

I knew it was going to be a challenge because Finn doesn't know the word "shake" or it's meaning. That's still something he is attempting to grasp. But I didn't think the process would take almost two hours. 

I could hear my parent's down the hall, in the living room, wondering why it was taking me so long to simply give Finn a bath. And I'll tell you why. For half an hour, the events went a little something like this:

When I was ready to call it quits, I let him hop out of the tub. He started to shake so I tossed him back in before he could. Then we repeated our previous endeavor for another thirty minutes. I let him hop out again and praised him when he didn't shake. Which made him want to shake and made me toss him back in before he could. Repeat steps 1, 2, 3 and so on so forth for another hour. If we're lucky he'll shake in the tub so I can praise him, let him out and he can start to learn what "shake" is. Obviously, I still have much to repeat and continue trying to teach him. 

Until then, let the Patience Games begin and "May the odds be ever in your favor!"


I copied Em a bit and put her blog on my blog list over there on the right underneath the archive. Check it out she's updated! >:D

Blonde Moments

Finn met three blondes within a weeks period of time. One of those blondes, unfortunately enough, was me. 

After bleaching my hair, I was able to keep the morphing shade of platinum blonde, blonde-yellow, orange, and brass red for about an hour before quickly pulling the reigns on the circus act and re-dying my hair a dark red. I would have made my hair the light brown, if I hadn't ran a test strand and found out the brown would only cover so much. The blonde had too drastic of color variations from the bottom up. It was, as you can see, a difficult transition to take a photo of. In the picture the color looks more like a light orange more than anything else, but, trust me, it wasn't. 

Normally, I'm blessed with the eye of foresight, so, generally speaking, I always have back-up plans in case something fails. And, in my defense, I did have a back-up plan. I just forgot to buy the dye for it. Back-up Plan A: impossible. So I quickly made a Plan B. Seeing as I am, by nature, possessed with amazing stealth, I crept in to my mother's bedroom and took the dark hair dye she had on the sink (as sneaky as I am, I still told her). It ended up not turning out very dark and there are still some visible blonde streaks through the red, but overall I'm happy with it. No more yellow-top.
 
Even though bleaching works for a lot of girls, I'm just not one of them. I thought I could speed up the process of dying my hair a light brown, it turns out that I couldn't. I'll just have to take the patient route and wait until my natural hair color grows back. Until then, say hello to light red hair again.

On to more important matters, Finn met two other blondes this week:

Bailey (skinny, hyper girl on the left) and Cooper (fat, lumpy boy on the right)

Bailey is a sweet, energetic, yellow Labrador mix who can be crazy protective of her owner and then can just as easily flip a switch and drool her love all over your lap. Cooper on the other hand is a lumpy, awesome, ole Lab who could never pass up an opportunity to give a stranger a kiss or, at the very least, show his intent to try in an adorable hop that's far from reaching a foot off the ground. 

Upon entering, Bailey had been crated up for the sake of the house remaining intact being that that little girl is criminally insane. She was adopted by my best friend only a few weeks earlier than, what I call, Finn's 'gotchya' date. The Bay-bay was deemed by her original owners to be "too hyper" and thus was surrendered to the local SPCA. I believe this happened on multiple occasions, but I'm not savvy on the details (rather, my brain isn't up to par). Regardless, Laurel (friend-lady) is working wonders with her. She's already gaining weight and starting to look much healthier than she first was when initially adopted.

When Bailey was released from her temporary confinement, her hair, as expected, was standing on end in 'protect and defend' mode. She met me once when she was first adopted, but it had been a while since then so I was looking to see that she didn't remember me. Still, she showed little interest in me and headed straight for Finn. 

As Finn logic rules, the oncoming threat meant immediate retreat for him, yet he showed very obvious signs of curiosity and decided to hold his ground. Until Bailey barked at him. Maybe she was testing him to see if he'd bite back, I can't say for sure, but the minute he turned from her and tried to hide, Bailey left him alone and began her track of A.D.D. Every now and again, she'd sniff him out, making him only slightly uncomfortably shy, before she was off in la-la land, pacing the house back and forth. 

Cooper on the other hand made Finn's transition easier. He inspected the little guy quietly, touched noses and walked a small distance from Finn's new found safe-spot before looking back as if in askance "are you coming?". A sweet sentiment that Finn never followed. 

Finn is far from a lost cause though. Given time, he became so curious about what 'normal' (I use that word loosely) dogs do that he came bounding in to the room they were in before trotting back out in a flurry when both dogs caught sight of him and stampeded over. 

While the progress made in the house was cute and had me laughing, the best progress was made when they were all outside. Cooper and Bailey are pretty used to playing with one another, but these two are new territory to Finn. He had played with a dog-pal before at his foster home, but these guys were a fresh experience and he was treading carefully. 

At first, he wouldn't budge. Finn had found a companion in a loner tree in the backyard, watching on as Coops-the-poops and the Cray-Bay played. Every now and again I'd attempt to get him pumped for playing, but he would just give me that helpless puppy stare before pulling the leash tighter to get closer to the tree and farther from me. 

Can't say I blamed him, as I was the sole purpose for his distress. 

Fingers slowly became numb from the cold wind, forcing mittens and the re-appearance of shark-hat. In small, feeble tries to have Finn join the fun, the object of Bailey's affections, the tennis ball, was tossed within his reach. The first time, he sniffed it. That's it. The second try, he sniffed it and was attempting to bite it when he stopped halfway through the descent to gaze at me, his eyes full-well asking "Can I? Should I? Mom, what do I do?" as if I had all the answers about being a dog. Not taking that in personal offense, I smiled and encouraged him to get the ball. He half-heartedly bit it and then promptly dropped it, giving up his chance to Cooper who was more than grateful to receive.

In Bailey fashion, she darted straight for Cooper to wrestle the tennis ball back. And thus Finn's curiosity grew, resulting in:

Aw...big step for Stumps...who was then ignored for continuous play between the yellow fellows. Bailey, as always, reigning victorious.

 

(win!)

Meanwhile, my picturesque boy (hair blowing in the wind and all) sat by the tree, burning holes in to the back of my head with pitiful laser gazes consistently sent my way. 

 

In the end, all things considered, I'd say that was one of the most successful days Finn has had as of yet. Upon entering a new house and meeting new dogs, his ears never fell against his head in fear. Even at home, he still has his moments, but this whole time he was too busy watching the 'big kids' play and inadvertently teach him things that seemed foreign.

And what great 'kids' to learn from. Two goof balls filled with lots of love are sure to be life-long friends of Finn's once we are able to acquaint them further. 

Em's story here, in case you still haven't read it:
http://animalsmakeushuman28.blogspot.com/2012/08/adventures-in-fostering-day-1.html

"Beware of the man that does not talk and the dog that does not bark"

Finn is like an idiom. More specifically, the idiom: 'one step forward, two steps back'. Half-pint tends to be an over-achiever by circumstance, not nature or will. So when last Saturday (October, 27th) rolled around, I was more than surprised when he took a jump forward...and then back-tracked a gigantic leap (you'll notice I rarely ever updates on the days things tend to actually happen. My apologies. My slow mind needs time to process occurrences). 

Keith, my sneaky brother (older than me by a year), got me a job four years ago at the same place he works. We have managed car-pulling every weekend when our schedule coincides (car-pulling as in: he drives me to work. I don't drive) because it's an easier commute for him. Our parent's house is closer to our work so he usually spends the weekend with the family before heading to his apartment for another week. And while I love my brother (though he sometimes greatly annoys me as I'm sure I do on his end of the spectrum) Finn...doesn't really care for him on...well...any end of any spectrum. 

I guess it's kind of like a knee-jerk reaction for an accusation when you get an abused animal that you're first picture of the person responsible will probably match the stature of a guy like my dad: Tall, broad and burly. Emily drew the same conclusion due to the way Finn acted around her own father. Yet as the weeks spent with Finn continue to mount, a different picture is being painted in my mind. I'll never know for sure what happened to Finn, it's for the best that I don't, but Finn is warming up so much easier to my tall, broad, and burly dad rather than my tall, thin, and lanky brother. 

Every weekend Keith comes to visit, Finn is thrown in to a dither. He turns in to a scared little boy who has no qualms about wetting himself in favor of safety. Often, he refuses to exit the crate when my brother is over. I end up feeling bad not only for Finn, but for my brother. He's trying his best to be understanding and to get Finn on his good side, but he's only around for the weekends and the hours spent at home for that time is minimal. We've discussed methods to warm Finn up towards Keith, but there's always a hole in the theory or they are just not adequate enough to make a repeat impression. For now, we've just decided to let Finn take to him on his own, in his own way and maybe as he sees him more, he'll loosen up.

Since there's so much seemingly blocking Finn from harmony with Keith, we've left it alone for the most part. We weren't expecting anything coming out of those two, still really aren't. That why I was shocked at what Finn did when Saturday came. As logic and schedules dictate, Keith came home pretty late that night. Finn had been by my side for a couple of hours here and there. More often than not, he was pouting in my room before voicing his distress of my absence which I've quickly learned to ignore. On his usual pacing route from the safe corner in the living room to my room, Finn heard Keith's car pull in to the driveway, immediately stopping him in his tracks. After a few minutes of silence and hesitant waiting, he dipped his head, as per the usual, and headed toward my room in retreat. Finn then paused in his escape, something telling him to turn back around and stand by me. He took his place by my side, slightly shaking on his stumpy little legs, when he saw my brother's silhouette appear in the semi-transparent curtain at the door. 

And he barked. 

Low and behold, the one who I thought would choose to "forever hold his peace" decided to speak.

Emily once told me, she heard his bark while playing with his ol pal Wrigely (I think that's his name. I'll check later). She said it was a cute, funny bark. But this one was none of the sort. In fact, he barked again and it had me worried enough to reach out and calm him down with a "it's okay." He took that as his cue to retreat in to the safe-corner. 

Victorious in his battle with the lock and door handle, Keith stepped inside looking as surprised as I felt.

Sure, it wasn't playful or happy, but it was a bark. Which to me, is still a step forward for the lil guy. In fact, over much duration and debate, I've come to the conclusion he had decided to "protect" me and that's why he barked. And, that is a big step when you get past the fact that the bark was a bit unwarranted. Since then, he hasn't uttered a sound aside from the all-too-often whining when he wants something and knows he won't get it. 

Today (right this moment) we've started warming him up to my father with treats. He has already stared my father down for two minutes, knowing that it was he who had provided him with a bounty of treats, not tricks. Seeing as today is Halloween, his suspicion is understandable. Unlike me, he doesn't find a reason to whore out what is left of his virtue for what might be as little as a green Gobstopper (I'll leave the chocolate whoring to my brother ;D).

In other news, my hair which is unsure of whether it's an auburn or just a dark brown with slightly red tinting, is finally changing! Yeah, less exciting I know. After years of having it different hues of auburn, I'm attempting to change it to a lighter brown. My co-workers have been waiting for about three months for this. I've talked about it long enough, but haven't found the right methods to achieve this color until now. Well...semi-right color. It's going to be a bit more brassy-hued than it should because I won't be able to successfully rid myself of the red, but...enh...close enough. So, in tribute, here's one more glamor shot with my long time color (who knows, I may only lose it for a day if I don't like the color).

 Yeeeaaah....That's hawt. Well, that's about it for tonight. :D Until next time, I bid you adieu with a lovely snapshot of Artemis in costume.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYBODY <3

Em's updated, do her a favor and stop by:
http://animalsmakeushuman28.blogspot.com/2012/10/finished-with-finn.html

Introducing Abnormalities

That guy there, that's Finn. To be more specific that's my dog: Finnegan Rogues (ro-gus) Russell. He's a rusty brown, crazy cocktail of a dog. With stumps for legs, he doesn't tower over many things, but his personality is never one for falling short. 

About 3 weeks ago, I adopted this permanent puppy face from a wonderful foster mom (Emily Hollida) on October, 6, 2012. The heart-warming moment was only overcome by the heart-wrenching struggle for this little guy's savior, who had been able to rescue him not only from a hoarding, suspected abusive situation, but from being euthanized in an animal control facility. Poor guy was basically feral when he fell in to Emily's lap, but she was able to come such a long way with him and get him on his feet for a better outcome in life. And after loving him and working him through so much, she was giving him to me.

This would be my first time adopting an animal, but it isn't my first time stumbling across something with a greater need for love and care than most. This oddball mix that looks oddly like a Dachshund that cross bred with a Retriever or Spaniel (or maybe he's just an alien, I hear they're tiny) would not even dare to eat around me for the first week after his initial pull from his Foster Mom. He barely ventured from the two safe-zones he scoped out during his first night. His first and most private spot: my room. Obviously, because anyone that's seen it will admit it's awesomeness. His second happened to be a secluded corner in the living room. Less awesome, but there's a computer chair blocking about a sliver of his view of people. Awesome.

Amber eyes wide, eyebrows upturned in constant worry and a mouth that opened, but never made a sound had me wondering how long it might take for him to even make a step towards gaining some semblance of dog-hood. But that thought was like wondering how long it would take me, an arguably grown-up 22 year old, to reach her maturity in adult-hood. In short: thinking about it is pointless. I hold reason to believe the aforementioned will never occur. Much to my surprise though, Finn began sticking to me like glue after the first two days. And he hasn't let go since..aside from the occasional break-apart when he forced me to watch from a distance as he retched up a smorgasbord of garishly yellow, semi-digested success. The days he performs such a task have a curious pattern of which I've yet to recognize.

Now...that girl right there, that's me: Jess. I'm about as normal as the dog I've adopted (if you couldn't already tell by the photo). I would actually consider myself to be a lot like the tiny misfit I've relegated in to my home unit. Meaning, I'm pretty quiet and reserved when I first meet people, but if you know me (and after you get to know me), I'm like a child in desperate need of Ritalin. Innocents say I've had way too much sugar. Adults say I've had far too much crack. Often the crack deductions are followed by a "where's the stash?" and "you should share", which is ridiculous because I don't share. 

You would think two abnormalities in one household is enough, but my cat, Artemis and my two goofy parents that I'm devout on 'taking care of' (teasing, pestering, whatever you want to call it) in their old age only augment the insanity involved in such a small enclosed space. I've had many reasons and opportunities to write about the given aberrations that I have been continually blessed with, but haven't decided to put thoughts in to words as I do now.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't fancy writing about my family (blogging, no less). Neither would I consider engrossing upon details about an animal I own. After all, I've owned many. But circumstances with me involved are rarely ever normal. And my new addition, Finn, is no exception. I expect many ups and downs with this boy that was equipped with absolutely no coping mechanisms of any kind. Some humorous, as I've already witnessed, and some...less humorous, as I have also witnessed.

To finish up what I expected to be a quick introduction that turned in to a lofty monologue, I don't regret adopting Finn for one minute. Another basket case has been branded in to the Russell family *creepy grin*.

Welcome home, Finn.  



Curious about Finn's beginning? Check out Em's story here:
http://animalsmakeushuman28.blogspot.com/2012/08/adventures-in-fostering-day-1.html