I can’t believe it but it has been a year since my dear, dear Finn came to live with me. (see previous posts Rescue Dog: Meet Finn (Survivor), Rescue Dog’s Happy Success Story: Finn Thrives, Rescue Dog Finn: A Love Story, Rescue Dog Update: Finn at Home, and Rescue Dog Finn, Living the Good Life). The time has slipped by so quickly and Finn has become a solid part of our lives.
We’ve come through the winter together and I learned that he hates being cold. He doesn’t like rain or snow falling on him. And he LOVES his fires! He waited in anticipation each day as I built them in the wood stove.
Every night Finn comes to bed—something that never fails to warm my heart. He knows which bed is his and where he will find it at the end of the day—next to my bed, on the opposite side from Kelee and Skye. I tuck him in with a blanket that I wrap around him. He hums a kind of purr when I do this and smacks his lips, an expression of pure contentment. He finally knows that he is loved. I see it in his eyes.
He also licks his lips, now, when I feed him, just as I’m about to set his bowl in front of him, paws dancing in anticipation. He’s no longer afraid I might snatch it away from him or scold him for eating, something that seemed to be a part of his past when he first came to me.
He’s grown accustomed to all of our routines, trundling down the stairs every morning to greet the day. And he’s accepted Kelee (see previous post A Three Legged Man of the West) as the number one alpha in the family, not a small thing since Finn is very much an alpha male himself. One of the ways he defers to Kelee is by staying a full shoulder length behind him when he’s going up the stairs. Having only three legs, Kelee’s climb is always slow. But Finn never goes ahead of him. It’s a respect issue and Kelee notices (yesterday I found them sleeping together, heads almost touching).
He relishes all the land that surrounds my home, each morning heading out to survey the canyon and neighboring pastures—thousands of acres opening to him—every dog’s dream. He knows all the holes in the fences, all the breaks in the barbed wire, running his routes through them as though the barriers didn’t exist.
He is a stunningly smart dog, and charming. Everyone who meets Finn is instantly taken with him. He’s just one of those dogs one can’t help but love. And love him I do. When he looks up at me with those bright brown eyes, forehead furrowed, velvet ears lifted, head cocked as if to ask, “What do we get to do NOW?” my heart fills with such warmth and awe. This dog has every reason to be fearful and bitter but, instead, he is full of light and life. The past is gone. He is of this moment. There is food, shelter, love and joy. And he’s not looking back.
Compare the photos of Finn in this post to this video of him from a year ago:
Love to you all,