Upon Tumultuous Waves We Shall Sail

I left out two words in that title. Complete title: "Upon Tumultuous Waves Of Vomit We Shall Sail". Underlined for your convenience ;D

Finn has successfully barfed out enough vomit over the past five months to fill a generously sized bucket. Perhaps not quite a sea of vomit yet. But I hold confidence he'll get there soon enough.

Seriously though, I'm not complaining. If anything has stayed practically constant with this boy: it's his puking. Otherwise, he makes progress at a fairly steady (even if slow) pace.

For this last leave of absence: I'll form an apology. Upcoming holidays, events and, lets face it, work stress, got to me and whenever I would even attempt a posting, I would drop it there soon after. I have three drafts of blog-posts that never made the cut. They now sit idly by on my phone's notepad, ever waiting for a day when they might be called upon for use (not likely). 

A lot has happened since last year that went unmentioned in my last post. I rarely get out of my house now except for doctor visits and work. It's only slightly depressing to me at certain times and has succeeded in making me a jittery wind up doll stricken with stir-craziness on those days that it gets to me. Because of this, I am trying to expand my horizon and get my butt on driving more (despite my absolute hatred for the activity which no one, except me understands. So none of that "just do it" crockery. "I no want my ears and eyes to be plagued by such drivel!" I says dramatically). Also, with the enlisted help of my brother, I'm trying to push myself in to hanging out with people (my age and around there) more often. Generally speaking: I'm not a people person. I'm what you would call an introvert. Being alone has pretty well suited me for my entire life, but then I've always had one or two friends (or Keith, haha) to grab for fun on the side.

That's where Finn comes in.

I honestly didn't think getting a dog would really help me in the long run, even if I desired another animal companion in my life. But then I wouldn't have guessed that I'd become a ridiculous recluse either (well, maybe I did). Finn helps me get out of my own comfort zone, get out of the house and forget about worries while I play with him. It's much needed and appreciated. Earlier on this year though, I was having a difficult time adjusting to the whirlwind that is Finn. He's helped me and, like I said, I appreciate it, but I kept getting more and more discouraged of my own adjusting process rather than his.

While I took a couple of months off here due to events and life, I also took those couple to just allow situating; more for myself rather than for Finn.

With the ever-spiraling vortex that happens to be the dark-hole called my mind, I kept questioning my choice of adopting an animal. In short, I didn't "love" Finn like I do my cat (whom I've had since he was a tyke) and I didn't think it was fair to Finn.

 (see? Lil baby Artemis. Isn't he the cutest?!!)

He never asked me to take him home. In fact, he ran in the opposite direction, which, if you've met me, can you blame him?

Finn doesn't make it difficult anymore in showing everyone how much he loves me, which in turn created an even bigger problem for me because I had enough sense to wonder if I loved him at all.

Sure, he's cute. I've only had everyone that crosses his path dribble on to me the extent of his absolute world-stopping, jaw-dropping, eye-popping cuteness as if I, myself, wasn't aware of this fact "cause you know, i didn't adopt him or anything" (okay, most people just state it, which is fine...but you always get those few). At the end of the day when it came to mind over matter: I still wasn't 'feeling' towards Finn. And that made me 'feel' like a load of muffins. Not good muffins, mind you. More like a turd muffin, to be more precise.

Often I thought about telling him I loved him like I did with Artemis (which came out automatically) just to see if maybe the expression of love would get something working, but then I'd retract the thought because it seemed like I was lying for the sake of making me feel better about myself. This planted an even deeper seed of self-loathing to which I attempted to ignore.

It also didn't assist me any that I continuously thought about how easy it had been for Emily to unconditionally love Finn. I admired her (past tense used, but I still admire her today) greatly for being able to accomplish what was and is such a harrowing feat in my eyes. Her ability to love so selflessly is a wonderful gift that I simultaneously do not possess. Seeing as I'm pretty much the total opposite, I take forever to form attachments to living beings in their entirety. One big mess up and that's pretty much it for me unless you try exceedingly hard to secure a second chance. In a way, I figure I've developed similar habits for animals. When I first received Artemis as a graduation present from my brother (yes, best present ever and I regret ever having this next thought): I didn't truly want him. I wanted him because he was cute (a kitten), helpless (a kitten) and needed a home (did I mention he was also a kitten?), but I wasn't sure I could handle the responsibility or the attachment of someone needing me, let alone a defenseless kitten. As I have done with Finn, despite that I wanted him in my family, I wasn't sure I could care for him or love him fully.

Eventually all these brooding thoughts conspired in destroying my confidence in adopting an animal or having ever owned one.

Until I finally had a talk with my mother.

Now let me just say: I'm so blessed to have her as she is absolutely amazing (despite that I can argue quite vigorously with her) and the only one around to ever listen to my complaints.

And, frankly, I just couldn't take it anymore.

I felt like poop. Royal poop. The Queen and King of all poops. I wasn't treating Finn badly. I still cleaned up his messes, took him outside and genuinely had fun playing with him while we were outside. I would still pet him when he became whiny and curled up next to me for attention. I never once hurt him, I never ignored him for a ridiculous amount of time. I simply just didn't feel like I cared for him in the way I did Artemis; which made me feel horrible.

As usual, my mother brought me back to earth, since I apparently love to float somewhere off in the third dimension.

She made an excellent point with my views. I've had Artemis since he was a baby kitten. Finn: only for a few months and he is essentially a full grown dog as we are not really sure of his age (the estimation was 2 years old, but it's anyone's guess). I've always owned animals as babies that I raised, never attempting to teach adjustments for fears or nervousness. Finn is a new experience and while I was more than willing to give him time, I wasn't giving that same respect to myself. Instead of pushing him to adjust to me quickly, I oppositely, unconsciously, pushed myself to adjust to Finn quicker than I should have. Which, in turn, caused me to take my own giant step backwards.

Perhaps Finn and I were better suited for each other than I previously thought.

In the end, my mother (I don't know what I would do without her) put my mind at ease. I stopped worrying about it so much and just decided to enjoy time with Finn, allowing the feelings to come out on their own time when they were good and ready.

Trust me, this story isn't all depressing! It has a happy ending...as far as this goes, at least.

Recently, I have caught myself telling him "I love you" a lot. Not forcibly, not out of habit, but, perhaps, a little admittedly out of accident. Which, for me, means it's honest feelings because I'm one of those oddballs that if I don't think about something consciously and just say it: I mean what I say (cause consequently I think too much and if I think I should say something to someone, then I shouldn't say it because I don't really mean it). Head spinning yet?

Today, I blurted I loved him a lot out of accident because of his hilarious actions.

My father, having turned the big five-oh today, had his birthday celebrated in a minor fashion like we usually do. Mom and I still had to go out and get his birthday cake and because Artemis was out of cat food, we decided to stop by Petco on the way (sorry Alexis! I would have come by PetSmart if we were out that way, I promise). So naturally, walking in to Petco, I wanted to buy Artemis and Finn everything. We ended up purchasing Finn a new harness for fear of him succeeding in chewing through his other one entirely, a couple of new treats, cat food and a cat toy.

(he looks handsome, yes no?)

As far as the cat toy goes: best money ever spent at Petco. It not only served as entertainment for Artemis as well as, surprisingly, Finn, but mom, dad and I.

 (mouse on a shtick!)

Timid little Finn ended up stepping out of his shell and joining Artemis in play. Artemis wasn't exactly happy to share his toy at first, but he got used to it and eventually they were able to perform a grievously pathetic team of haphazardly working together. I'll give them props for trying, still that's no justification for their atrocious execution to capture and kill the toy.

Flipping the toy back and forth drove Artemis instantaneously in to hunter mode. Then when the toy would (of course, by my direction) land near Finn, Artemis would pause, seemingly contemplating whether he should venture so close to Finn for his new toy. This sudden drop in movement piqued Finn's sense of curiosity and he would attempt to quickly bite at the small mouse, only to just as quickly retract his head as if in fear of being bitten. If I kept the toy still, he'd repeat the process until I forced the toy to twitch, causing Finn to jump away in surprise. Once I began flicking the toy back and forth again, Artemis would take after it.

Occasionally, Artemis would bat at it with his paw whilst Finn was in the vicinity.

They're not the brightest crayons, but they certainly make my world colorful.

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.

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