Humor Me...Just Take The Stick.

Monday is a collaborated sigh of dread for the regularly shifted working class of America. For me, it's more of my lazy day unless unpredictable work calls me in for duty. And unless stated otherwise, a friend (Imaginary. I can embellish the life of popularity that I don't actually want and will never have) coming over would be just as chaotic to me as getting pelted in the face with an agitated beehive. It's just not wanted and, more often than not, tends to imbalance the rest of the day.

And while Monday seemed to decide that laziness was overrated and something (anything, really) needed to happen, nothing eventful with Finn happened until Tuesday. Early Monday was fairly normal. I slept away the morning in order to greet the afternoon with restful eyes (my sleeping schedule is whack cause of work, so no judgy). Aside from traveling a fair distance for the sake to save money and shopping for food with the rude masses, grocery shopping went the way it always does for me: painfully slow while, ironically, trying to make it pass fast. By the time we (I and my mother) were able to narrowly escape, the sun was gone. Finn was in the vehicle the whole time, so after a little super-vised romping around the yard once we got home, he was back inside and signaling for bed with the drooping of his eyes. We take him with us in the vehicles a lot and while he visibly enjoys it, it also wears on him.

Tuesday passed much the same way Monday did except for no grocery shopping. Instead we went to Target, haha. Deciding to give Finn a break, I left him at home in the crate. We wouldn't be gone long and I rarely leave him in there aside from at night. And I knew he would be happy to play outside once again when I arrived home.

We ended up making it back around the same time my dad comes home from work.

To feed you a bit of insight on this, my dad has been teasing Finn about going outside pretty much any chance he gets. Because Finn likes to go outside so much (as any dog does) my dad says "Finn...you want to go outside?"

This phrase is wielded by him for two reasons. One: Finn's come a long way, but he's still scared of my dad. This makes the question that much more appealing because he can test Finn to see if he will answer to him the way he does to me (tail wagging followed by his certain approach). Two: Finn knows his name and the word "outside". Outside means play, happiness and bathroom breaks. Therefore it gets him excited and ready for play. Or in my dads case, terrified yet looking at me to concede and take him outside like dad said anyway.

So when Finn came in to the living room and curled up in his safe spot it was no surprise that my dad took to it as if on cue.

"Hi Finn" he said, pausing with a sly smile aimed at me before "You want to go outside?"

I laughed, got up and grabbed the tools of the trade. Dangling the harness and leash from my fingers, I held them out and said "You better start putting your money where your mouth is. Take him outside, hunh"

To my surprise and amusement, my dad asked if I really wanted him to and seemed genuinely excited to do so. When I told him I did because I thought it might help Finn warm up to him more, my dad was happy to oblige.

I had learned a few months back that once I had begun walking Finn, he quickly became a leech on my hip. And when I had my mother having to walk him when I was at work, he eased up to her too. He had already made it as far as following my dad in to a room with him, so he seemed ready enough to walk with him too.

When we first got outside, Finn did this number:

Pup was brave enough to walk with and be led by Grampy, but he couldn't get too far from me without this pitiful gaze sent back every now and again. Seemingly going to be a hopeless walk as he continued to stop, look at me, walk and repeat, my dad and I chuckled, but kept walking him to see if he would find any means of comfort. And he did. As time went on and my dad walked him around his usual route along the yard, Finn eased up, lifted his paw as he listened to the birds and tried giving chase (a new quirk he's revealed) as well as any dog can on a 5ft leash.

He did this for the rest of the walk, struggling to drag the Gramps along with him so that he could effectively (in his mind) catch the birds. That once careful step and constant glance back at mom was forsaken for diverted attention, bathroom breaks and bird calls. Making for a happy doggy and a happy Grampy.

The next day, Gramps was the first to volunteer his services for dog-walking. I hadn't even thought about it yet seeing as I had already taken Finn out once before. Since all I had to do was walk with them though, I didn't turn down the offer. 

It went much the same with Finn being scared and timid at first before lapsing in to full-blown insane bird-chaser mode. 

And while Finn is still scared of Grampy in the house more than he is of him outside, I hold high hopes that the walking is going to pay-off in the long run (pun intended).

While one mile-stone is now in the process of being tackled, another arose alongside it. Or rather, I put it there. 

After being effectively petrified from taking Finn off the leash due to horror stories of new adoptees that got lost or killed, I had pretty much resolved to keep Finn on his leash for at least a year (yeah, I know *eye roll*). I must have had what my mom would call a "wild-hair up my butt" because today (January 09, 2013), I daringly enough took him off his leash.

He did extremely well and I will be attempting this more often than not. I don't really want to explain what he did more than I want to show you. I took videos of his first time off the leash (since moving in with me). It was a big mile-stone for the both of us, so I thought it would be best documented rather than recalled.

And since blogger has such a hard time uploading a video through my internet, I have uploaded them to youtube for your viewing pleasure: http://www.youtube.com/user/ndisoftheking?feature=mhee

Also, the video: "Humor Me. Just take the stick." only makes sense on audio, if not just scaring you about the level of my insanity.

Oh! Before I forget to mention this (cause I know I will), I received my replacement gloves the other day! Unfortunately, the widowed glove expired a short while after its spouse. And while I might normally embellish it, saying that it died of heartache; it did not. Finn decided perishing the exact same way, with the exact same markings as its partner was a death befitting enough in itself. 

Let see how long I can keep these mittens away from Finn's mouth, yeah?

Watering The Linoleum Floors

Finn's first Christmas and New Years with the Russell's has come and gone with little to no occurrence aside for decking the halls with a fresh slew of urine.

Fortunately enough, I was able to be home on Christmas Day, a pleasant surprise as my work usually withholds my presence for Holiday service.

Unfortunately for Finn, that meant someone else was able to be there as well. The man who harbors the epitome of all his deepest, darkest fears was to be there on Christmas (and no, I am not talking about Santa). Keith, the broski, was able to celebrate with us and tried making the best out of Finn's fear of him.

For one, he waited until I took Finn outside to do his business before he even attempted petting him. And he also waited until Finn was secure by my side, helping him feel safer. Keith then calmly approached him and pet Finn lightly on the head (he's ruffled him a lot more before, which you'd think is more terrifying). When he stepped away, Finn did too, more-so from a puddle of yellow than from Keith.

I was upset, but mostly for Finn rather than myself. Yeah, I didn't love the idea of cleaning up pee on Christmas Day, but, really, it could have been worse. I could have been at work. Finn, on the other hand, has been making such great progress and up until now hadn't let the bodily functions loose whilst Keith has been around. It was more disheartening between him and Keith than anything else. 

In attempt to divert the little worrier's attention, I quickly patted Finn on the head and reassured him that he was okay, which my mother helped with too, before I set out to cleaning the mess.

My mothers been pretty much my anchor my entire life. With Finn she keeps me just as grounded as she has with anything else. It helps when she tells me that it's going to be okay and that Finn is going to take a lot of time to heal. Because I have to take time to remember that his scars run deep and he's recovering from old wounds.

In the end, Christmas was more of a nightmare that would never end rather than a holiday soon to begin for Finn. The remainder of the time, he either hid or paced incessantly searching for a safer spot than the one that was near Keith.

For Finns first New Years with the Russell Family, I can't really say much. I heard from my mother that he made a few small advances like following my dad to the back room, but other than that I wasn't given a lot of detail because for this holiday: I was at work.

Now, New Years is more of a sarcastically belted "whoop-dee-diddly-doo-da" holiday for me. Wine (or really any form of alcohol) makes me sick with a couple of wimp sips; and the overall contagion of drunk happiness in the air is blocked out by my intoxication rejecting immune system that I developed four years ago when I found out what 'working holidays' really consisted of.

The only thing that made me genuinely happy was finishing the artwork I had been promising Jason (my manager) and giving it to him. I was really proud of how it turned out, even it being zombie-themed which I don't personally care for, myself. 

Anyway, when I woke up with a horrendously obnoxious migraine on New Years Day, knowing that it wasn't from alcohol of any sort, I immediately went to venting my post-work frustrations (because we all have them) on my mother, causing the migraine to worsen before I grew an ounce of a brain and took some happy pills. As I finally shook off the pain and that nagging angry Nelly that comes with it, I took Finn outside for a while and then invited him back to my room with me where he slept on my bed, while I just rested.

Most of the day went lazily like this, until near evening time an unknown and still misunderstood bond in the making between Finn and Artemis threw me for a loop.

To start this story out for mutually making sense, one of the gifts my brother got me for Christmas was a dinosaur pillow pet. I appreciated every single one of the gifts he got me, but I didn't see me getting any real use out of a pillow pet. It's not that the plush isn't cute in its own odd way or even that you can't get any practical use out of it as a lounging pillow. The problem lies more with me. 

I'm a stuffed animal obsessed by nature with zero willpower, so I have to force myself to choose wisely when it comes to plushy toys (not that I always do) for the sake of limited space. There's no more availability in my room, therefore the next stop for a toy would be a tote in the basement or attic. And I'm that oddball goof that, as a child, had to give each plush a turn to sleep in my bed for the sake of not making them jealous. Well, those feelings live on in me as an adult, just in different perspectives.

The way I see it? Either I or someone close to me had bought the precious plush out of love for me, so confining it to a lifetime of cold sleep in a tote in the basement is a fate far worse than death unless the damned toy looks like death itself or isn't up to my standards of cuteness (that's right. I'm shallow). Even now the only plush toys I have in my room are held in high standings despite being buried beneath mountains of clothes.

It was with regret that Dino's standings were not as high as my art plush wolf: Lyall, two choco-cats and a 'Little Brother' plush imitated from the Disney movie: Mulan (yes. I'm that mature).

So I knew he was to be confined in a tote downstairs...until my cat, Artemis, took an immediate liking to it. Now when I throw Dino on the ground: Artemis follows. On top of the couch: yup, still follows. Luckily for Dino his confinement has been postponed henceforth. Or at least until Artemis gets bored with it.

Which might be soon.

As routine dictates, I toss the pillow pet on the ground every now and again so that Artemis can have his comfort plush on the floor within ease of access (but really because I took up the space on the couch). And thus far it's never brought him and Finn any closer together.

Yet for some reason when I tossed it upon the floor New Years night, both Artemis and Finn jumped out of their skins and took to hiding. The weird part? They hid in the same spot behind the computer chair. It took them a few tense moments of harrowed fright to cast a few wary glances from pillow to each other. Within the small interaction, both cat and dog seemed to exchange a few nods before Artemis went in for an approach while Finn coward in the background (I jokingly call Finn my cat and Artemis my dog because of their personalities like this). With a few sniffs, slight jumps (and not because my foot "accidentally" kicked it or anything) and a pawing, Artemis looked at me and then Finn, who decided it was okay to venture out and inspect it himself.

These are one of Finns braver moments and, beyond the hysterical laughter, I was genuinely proud of him. Artemis gave me a bit of a go-around too after willingly helping Finn out. Still, maybe it was all in my head and there was no real exchanges between the two. I'm an artist and a writer, after all.

My imagination runs away with me only all of the time. I act out scenes that don't exist, I make conversation with a cat that doesn't talk, I make conversation between me and a dog who also doesn't talk. I've since long established and learned to accept that society's brand of normal is not what I am and others will criticize me for it. So be it.

I am me, just as Finn is he.