The Story of Finnegan (yes, there are links to photos too)

Part IV? V? For those of you seeking photographs of the gorgous Finnegan, please see the links in the fourth full paragraph.

Apparently, I am way too lazy to figure out what part of the story I am on. After surviving a cross country trip with PSYCHOS (the dysfunctional cats), Finnegan arrived safe and sound in our new home. Within one month of arriving, I began the pursuit of an overpriced degree in another city in another state. Sadly, because I could not bring Finnegan with me, he stayed at our permanent home with his daddy and cats. It was hard to not have this big goofball around to play with and cuddle. For as long as I can remember, I've lived in the company of four legged creatures. And to have nine or ten months without the critters basically sucked.

So I decided the next year to find an apartment where Finny could be one of my roommates. As my second year roommate and I looked for apartments, we learned that most landlords had a list of dogs, such as pit bulls, rottweilers, and similar "aggressive" breeds that were not allowed. Obviously, Finny did not fit in that category; however, I wondered if they understood just how big he was. I would emphasize how big he was, really really big. Not retriever big or Rottweiler big. BIG. HUGE. I worried that we would arrive and the landlord would exclaim:

"You said big but I had no idea that you meant llama sized needs a horse trailer to transport eats ten pounds of food a day big. No way is this quote-unquote dog living here"

Fortunately, that did not happen and Finny is the BEST educated Irish Wolfhound ever. He can rattle off the elements of a contract better than any canine I know. Well, not really but he also went to school. Because my overpriced education kept me incredibly busy, I learned from a friend about a doggy daycare facility where I could drop him off and he would be entertained all day long by dogs of all sizes. AND, he would be kept so busy running, playing, barking, and doing whatever a posse of dogs do so that for the next day, he would have little energy and would sleep to recover for his next day of school. My friend recommended K-9 Kamp, which was located nearby and was run by a very good looking guy, according to my friends. I wouldn't know, I'm married.

Once I learned about this option, I called and made an appointment for an interview with the owner. Essentially, I had to fill out paperwork about Finnegan's disposition. Then, he had to interact with another dog to see if he showed any form of aggression. Aggression and Finnegan do not go in the same sentence. He's a mama's boy. If I dog attacked him, I would probably have to do the fighting. Even if the dog was chihuahua. Of course, Finny passed with flying colors and I signed him up for two days a week. Let me just say, that was the best money I spent my entire three years in spendy grad school. He loved it. Loved it. Loved it. And loved it. Here's the money shot. God he's cute. Yikes poor little dog.

Besides going to school and learning more than I did, he was (and is) the BEST travel companion ever. I drive a 1997 Subaru Outback and we purchased that vehicle specifically so Finny could have enough room. Of course because that's what animal people do. Every other weekend, Finny and I would make a five hundred mile round trip drive home to visit my husband and the cats. And to do fifty loads laundry because my husband, who incidentally has a Ph.D. in chemistry, suddenly had no idea how to do laundry. In order to give Finnegan ample space to sleep, because that was what he did most of the drive, I put the seats down all the way. My laundry basket, bag of clothes to wear, and giant bag full of books and my laptop were crammed in the very far back of the car so that Finny could have enough space to stretch out. And why is Finny a good passenger? Because riding in a car put him sound asleep. Occasionally, he would wake up, put his head between the front seats to make sure we were not lost, and then go back to sleep. He never puked, whined, or barked. Once or twice he might have let one rip but that can be forgiven and windows were put in cars for a reason. And let me tell you, people never ever stare when you pull a llama sized dog out of a car at a rest area. No never.

So Finnegan and I both got ourselves an education (his probably more worthwhile than mine); however, I can say that he does not have a student loan, I mean a diploma, to show for it. So there.

The Story of Finnegan - Part !#%@??

Yes, I did that deliberately. This post might (might? hell it will) involve strong language. Anyone who has moved across country with a menagerie of critters will understand.

In July 2002, we packed up our house in Salt Lake City to return east so my husband could begin his academic career and I could start law school. At the time, we had one car, a Subaru Outback, and a plan. My husband would drive the rental truck stuffed to the brim with all of our crap and I would drive the car stuffed with all of the critters. Certainly, this was not ideal but we really had no other choice. The idea was that the seats would be folded down and a large enclosure such as this would hold the three cats and Finnegan could stretch out in the back.

I should have known this trip was going to be a disaster when Mr. Stinny, who was freaked out by the fact that all the furniture was gone, peed on our down comforter the night before we left. After washing the blanket the best I could, I had a restless night of sleep and woke up sad with the realization that I was leaving a city and people who I had grown to love. Not just sad, sobbing sad and tired. A great combination for what lay ahead for me.

Because cats do not generally enjoy car travel, I obtained some kitty sedatives from our veterinarian for the trip. I gave all three of the cats (we did not adopt Shrimpycat until 2 years later) their drug about a half hour before our departure time. Still teary, I put a drowsy Mr. Stinny in the carrier. Next, I grabbed Donald who at this point was pissed. Of course, because I was teary, I did not fully comprehend the extent of Donald's pissiness.

Let me just give you a brief background of Donald: he's crazy. And he has opposable thumbs. And he becomes a psychopath when given sedatives. In other words, he has the opposite reaction.

I grabbed Donald and put him in the carrier with sweet blind Mr. Stinny and all HELL broke loose. Donald started screaming and hissing. Before I had a chance to react, he grabbed Mr. Stinny with his big paws and held him as a hostage. Poor Mr. Stinny was too stoned to react so I tried to defend him. Every time I reached into the carrier Donald would swat at me. In turn, I would swat back in an effort to focus his attention on me rather than Mr. Stinny.

Did I mention I was parked on the street? Where people were walking by? And staring?

Donald was hissing and screaming and so was I. Finally, I wrangled Mr. Stinny out of Donald's clutches and ran him inside. At this point, I realized Donald would be riding in the privacy of his own carrier. Every time I tried to grab Donald with a towel, he would scream and hiss and swat and try to bite. In return, I started shouting:

"FINE! YOU WANT TO STAY IN SALT LAKE CITY? YOU F*CKING WANT TO STAY HERE! FINE!"

No, I was not rational but this screaming fit was through a steady stream of tears, now a result of my complete and utter frustration with the situation. After trying different approaches, I finally grabbed Donald, pulled him out of the carrier, and put him in his own private carrier.

But wait there's more! I did not get him out of the carrier before he took a nice bite out of my hand. Not just a little nip, I nice big juicy chomp that I swear to God bled until the Wyoming border. After this pleasant encounter with one of my cats, we got the other two stoned cats in the carrier and Finnegan in the back seat. Donald rode with my husband in the front of the truck while I applied pressure to my new gushing wound on our way out of the city. By this point, I was seriously contemplating taking one of those kitty tranquilizers.

We did not make it far. At the first rest area, we stopped to repack the back of the truck because it was weighted too heavily on one side and the rear tire was smoking. Safe. After a half hour, we set off again into Wyoming and through its rolling hills. Did I mention the rolling hills? That caused the truck to overheat? And resulted in my husband rolling down the windows and blasting the heat? Obviously, this did not work well for Donald and he began to pant. Again we stopped and transferred Donald from the truck to the back of my air conditioned car next to Finnegan.

Both critters had plenty of room and yet, Donald did not agree. Any time Finnegan would shift his weight, Donald would lunge to the front of the carrier and scream and hiss at Finnegan. After an hour of shift, HISS! SCREAM! CRASH!, Finnegan had glued himself to a small portion of the back and as far away as possible from the furry little psychopath.

So yet again, we stopped and moved Donald into the front seat next to me. The unexplained screaming and hissing finally slowed down to a grumble but any time I changed the radio station or flipped over a cassette, he screamed and hissed to make sure I hadn't forgotten about the terror that is Donald. After this pleasant experience with sedatives, Donald did not receive any more ever again never ever ever. EVER! Later on when I told my veterinarian about this experience, she mentioned something about him having impulse control issues. Um, yeah.

He did remain my front seat companion and was rather pleasant the rest of the trip.

Mr. Stinny, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He was petrified. Frozen with fear. I worried that Mr. Stinny would have a cardiac arrest from all the stress. I learned how to lift myself up enough and tilt the rear view mirror just in the right position so I could keep a mama's watchful eye on him. If I couldn't get a good view of him or I thought he was too still, I fashioned a patented poking device out of three or four straws that I would use to poke him to make sure he was still alive. Sure enough, he would make a little "Meh" noise and that would satisfy me for the next hour. This went on for the next three days.

Our trip took us through Boulder, Colorado to visit friends and then off to lovely Junction City, Kansas. Because we were traveling with a small zoo, we decided it would be best to find a motel with exterior rooms. Folks find it odd to see a small llama walking through their lobby for some reason. Don't ask me why. My husband, being the frugal person that he is, found a motel that had exterior rooms and was cheap!! Very cheap!

We found our room with such amenities as a bed and working toilet and settled the cats in with their litter box. By the way, even if you offer a litter box in the carrier during a long drive, cats, or at least my cats, will hold it until they are on solid ground. Then, I took Finnegan for a walk around the motel. As we were walking, we ran into the maintenance man and friend who were drunk off their asses and making a lovely meal of hot dogs on a hibachi. They must have been on their second case of beer because one of them slurred:

"I love dogs!"

"Me too!" the friend said.

"What kind of...of (pause) dog is that?"

"He's an Irish Wolfhound" I said while trying to hurry Finnegan along. Well the sound of a friendly voice and grilled hot dogs stopped Finnegan right in his tracks.

"I love dogs!"

"Me too!" the friend said, again.

"Boy, he's a big one. I had German Shepards growing up. They're big"

"That's nice" I replied, using my full body weight to pull Finnegan from these two characters.

"I'm the maintenance man," one of the men said while pausing for a gulp of beer, "So if you need anything just let us know. You want a beer or hot dog?"

Aside from being the maintenance man, he was also the motel cook and bartender! How luxurious!

"Um no, thanks anyway. Have a good night," I said as I finally convinced Finny to keep moving.

I swear as a I walked away I heard: "I love dogs" "Me too!"

The rest of our trip was uneventful. Donald did not misbehave again, with the small exception of peeing in his carrier when we stopped at the rest stop. Mr. Stinny survived and forgave me for putting him in the carrier with Evil Donald and poking him with a straw for three days . Finnegan tolerated the trip and enjoyed all of the attention he received at the rest areas. He was, as usual, a good boy and an excellent travel companion.

As you might have noticed, I did not mention Lilliputian because she was the star of the trip. She comforted Mr. Stinny and only made her loud meezer noises when I said her name in the car, which was nice at hour 17 of our third night of driving when I started hallucinating. So I will leave this exhausting story with a picture of the Queen Siamese:

The Story of Finnegan

Part Trois

I felt a little French was necessary for Finnegan's other lady friend, Sophie. And don't worry Meggie, Finny loves you too. He is just an attention whore. Many apologies all around for any other lady friends we are forgetting.

Once Finnegan made it past the awkward puppy stage and I made it beyond the neurotic nut job stage, Finny grew into a handsome dog. He became a tall muscular boy with spurts of crazed energy. Alas, he developed and carefully crafted the crazed puppy routine. This routine could be dangerous for several reasons. First, our back yard was small and he had a tendency to run into things. Second, if he failed to pay attention to his surroundings AND TO HIS PEOPLE HELLO I'M RIGHT HERE!, he would collide with whatever unfortunate person got in his way. Fortunately, it did not happen too often.

Because he became more exuberant and playful, I decided that I needed to find an outlet for this new found energy. After talking to some folks, I found out there was an off-leash dog park fairly close to our house. Initially, I felt uncomfortable with letting him run around in public without me attached to his climbing rope leash. And then I remembered, he was the quintessential Velcro dog who rarely wanted to leave my side. So then I began to wonder if he would even enjoy the experience of the dog park because he might be too chicken to interact with the other dogs. Well, he wasn't chicken and if I called him, he would run FULL SPEED WATCH OUT SH*T! back to his loving mama. Both of us made lovely friends at the park, every type of dog from a Chinese Crested around whom Finnegan would gingerly walk to the most well-behaved Staffordshire Terrier one could possibly meet.

The dog park became my regular social event in the evening. Because my husband worked late, I would run home, change into something more comfortable (and no, a negligee is not what I mean), and have Finny hop into the car to head to the dog park. Everyone talked with one another and the dogs would race furiously after each other. Finnegan would join in the chase but because of his vision problems (I classify being nearly blind as a vision problem), he was usually at the end of the pack. Despite trailing behind, he had the time of his life every day he went there. I must say that going to the dog park was truly one of my favorite ways to unwind after a long day and I really miss it. I know Finnegan, being the social butterfly he is, misses it too.

Besides playing, Finny can also win contests. He's not fancy and he can't do obstacle courses or super special advanced obedience competitions but dammit, he can win prizes based on his size. Every year, Best Friends Animal Sanctuary or their local counterpart has a fundraising event called Strut Your Mutt. Basically, hundreds of dogs would walk around Sugarhouse Park and dogs and their humans would find sponsors to raise money for the sanctuary. Usually, we went with friends and enjoyed seeing all the interesting breeds. Finnegan says he liked the butt sniffing best.

Besides strutting, the event held competitions for Longest Tongue, Waggiest Tail, and of course, Biggest Lap Dog. Finnegan could probably win all three of those competitions but his specialty was Biggest Lap Dog. Unfortunately, the competition was rigged his first year and he did not win. We believe steroids might have been involved with the winner. Just speculating! Finnegan did return in 2002 to defeat the competition as Biggest Lap Dog. He won something probably involving treats or food. It was a momentous event at that time in his life and he demanded to have an entourage follow him around at all times. The best we could come up with was the three cats, Donald, Lilly, and Mr. Stinny, and once in a while me. After getting past the glamour and excitement of being a champion, Finny returned to earth and went back to what he does best, relaxing, eating, and romping in the dog park.

The Story of Finnegan

Part Two - I apologize, I would have written sooner but you know, I procrastinate.

Finnegan seemed like a typical puppy. Goofy, awkward, and the size of a Shetland pony. At the time we adopted Finnegan, let's just put it that it was not the most emotionally stable point in my life. I decided to stop working for a little while and I was trying to cope with the "crazy within my head". In case you are wondering, I am fine now. Finnegan can receive credit for helping me through this rough time. Walking, feeding, cleaning up after, and playing with a puppy can be great (and cheap! limited time only!) therapy.

Like I said, Finny was a pretty typical puppy. He ate, pooped, played, and napped. He liked to bound around the back yard with my neighbors' dog, acting goofy. One of his "goofy" behaviors included running full speed into the fence. At first I thought, okay, he's a puppy, they tend to be klutzy. Of course, my only other experience with another puppy involved Harris. His puppy behavior involved burying all of his favorite toys and barking at everything. And sleeping. A lot. Did I mention the barking? I did recall that Harris never ran full force into a fixed structure. Maybe this was just something Finnegan enjoyed. Who doesn't love hitting one's head?

Besides using his head as a ramming block, his eyes did not appear quite right. My husband does pretty funny imitation of it. Imagine Stevie Wonder's head bobbing but with his eyes shifting back and forth as if he has something to hide. For some reason, Steven Buscemi comes to mind. This shifty eye syndrome is technically called nystagmus and results when YOUR IRISH WOLFHOUND, WHO IS A SIGHT HOUND, CANNOT SEE VERY WELL. YOU KNOW, A BLIND SIGHT HOUND. THE KEY WORD IN THIS SENTENCE: SIGHT.

Once we realized something was not quite right, I brought him to the veterinarian for whom I used to work. He is one of my favorite veterinarians. Imagine a 60 something rugged cowboy with a shearling lined jean jacket and cowboy hat. Sort of like the Marlboro man but well, Mormon. The vet did a thorough examination of Finny's eyes and broke it to me:

Angeerah, the boy's optic nerves are not full developed. They are much smaller than they are supposed to be. I think you ought to see a veterinary opthamologist.

I have to admit that I was upset. Not just about the fact my dear Finnegan could not see very well but OH MY GOD I am going to bring my dog to a veterinary opthamologist. We made the appointment with a wonderful specialist and Finnegan had the whole examination on his eyes. She could not say definitely if his sight would worsen but she did say dogs could do just fine without their sight. Ah, yeah, I know! I have a blind cat.

So there you have it, I have a sight impaired sight hound. Cool right? I guess. He has gotten better at avoiding large obstacles like brick houses but he occasionally will run into a tree. I think his skull is extra reinforced because he recovers pretty well from these bang ups.

Enough with his disabilities, what about his abilities? Hold on I'm thinking... Just kidding. We took Finnegan to puppy pre-school and obedience classes as soon as he was old enough. Although he was not the top in his class, he did a good job. Especially with "heal" because he loved to be attached right to my side anyway. If possible, he would ride around in a snugly attached to my chest. Even now. As you can imagine, he is not so good with stay because that means HE MUST BE TWENTY FIVE FEET AWAY FROM ME FOR A WHOLE THIRTY SECONDS! Can you say co-dependent?

Finny graduated from both programs with gold stars and flying colors and only a few mishaps. I suppose I wouldn't call them mishaps, maybe just some quirky behavior. Part of puppy preschool was teaching the puppies to interact with one another without ripping each other's heads off. Finnegan, despite being the youngest pup, was the largest puppy. Shocking, I know. There was a Great Dane who was a week older but still smaller than Finny. Perhaps I had sheltered my dear puppy, I don't know, but when it came time to free play, where did Finny go? Out in the middle of the floor, getting rough and tumble with his buddies? Nope. He hid behind our chairs cowering like the boob he was. We tried to encourage him to play and he wanted nothing to do with it because of course, he would have to be more than three feet away from us and that was just unacceptable. This behavior lasted a few weeks and eventually he got the nerve to go out and play. Ever since, he has been the life of the dog park.

On a side note, I must say he was not as silly as the Borzoi litter who would come to his class. Because the school taught advanced obedience or something like that, there were mirrors all around like a dance studio. That's just what I need, watching my dog poop in the middle of the floor from three different angles! Okay, the Borzois were hysterical! When it came to free play, they did not just hang out with their mom or join the other puppies. They would immediately head to the front of the room where they could stare at their gorgeous reflections in the mirror. They would angle their heads, looking side to side, probably thinking, yeah, these bitches have nothin' on me. I think Finnegan agreed because he would often follow the Borzois around the classroom. Poor guy, he had no chance with those uptown bitches.

So it is what it is. Finnegan is a blind sight hound who loves the ladies and his mama. Who could ask for more?

To be continued...

The Story of Finnegan

From Finnegan's Mommy who loves him very very much:

As y'all (I went to grad school in South Carolina for one year so I can say "y'all" once in a while) know, today is Finnegan's birthday. Or at least I think it is.... I decided that I should write about how Finny became part of my husband and my life and about his interesting life. It involves Romance! Violence! Torrid Affairs! Fine, maybe it does not but I think he has a pretty great and interesting life. So here it goes, this will be Part I of the Finnegan Story.

In 2000, my husband and I lived in Salt Lake City. He worked as a post-doctoral researcher at the University and I was a veterinary technician. The head technician had a wonderful Irish Wolfhound named Tibet. Because the head tech traveled 90 miles one way to work - crazy! - she brought Tibet with her. It did not take me long to fall in love with this wonderful creature and I dreamed about one day being owned by a Wolfie. As a researcher, my husband worked long hours and because of this, I decided that I needed another four legged companion. Just so you know, we already lived under the rule of three demanding cats. I kept telling my husband that I needed a dog for company, exercise, etc. He worked sooooo much and it would be sooooo nice to have a dog. More specifically, it would be excellent to have an Irish Wolfhound. My husband knew Tibet and understood what a fantastic and amazing breed the Irish Wolfhound was. And of course, being that wolfies are not terribly popular, Tibet was the only Irish Wolfhound we knew at the time. We knew wolfhounds were big but thought big meant 32 inches tall at the shoulder and 105 pounds like Tibet. Little did we know, despite researching the breed, how truly HUGE they can become.

After calling around and asking for references, we found a breeder. She had a litter of eight puppies with only two remaining. I picked a red puppy who was quite adorable. She told us that the puppy would be ready to go in August and we started making plans and obtaining all the necessary toys, beds, bowls, food and enclosures for our soon-to-be new wolfie. At the time because we were, um, poor, we drove a stylish Oldsmobile Delta '88 with no air conditioning. We realized that it would not be nice to pick up a new puppy in the Utah desert without air conditioning so we actually rented a car for this very special occasion. Aren't we the best dog parents? Ever? Yes, I thought so.

Finnegan's breeder and I arranged to meet at a half-way point. Actually, it was more like a three quarter point for us but whatever. And oh yeah, I forgot, did we mind picking up TWO Irish Wolfhound puppies? Because the new parents lived in Reno and it's 150 degrees outside, airlines won't let folks ship animals. You think? Shipping an animal under the plane might not be a good idea? Good job airliners for once! So of course we agreed to pick up Finnegan and his sister.

The big day came and it was sweltering hot. My husband drove and I looked out the window, trying to imagine what he would look like at this point. After four hours, we arrived at our destination like nervous new parents. Would he love us? Would we love him? Would we do something wrong as new dog parents and leave him scarred for life? The answers are probably: yes, yes, maybe?

We walked up to her vehicle and she opened the door. When one thinks of a puppy, one envisions a small little fussy cuddwee baby who you can easily scoop up with one hand. A little itsy bitsy baby who makes cooing puppy noises and toddles around. Right? Oh hell no.

THUD! What the? Two large, goofy, and perhaps, if this is possible, beautifully homely puppies came out of the van. Oh. My. God. I thought we were getting young puppies? Like only ten weeks old? You know, um, puppies? What are these? Certainly they could not be puppies or at least baby puppies. But yes, the breeder assured us, they were puppies. We looked at them and looked at the extra large carrier.

Can we fit both of these, um, puppies in the carrier? Actually, we could and after saying our good byes, collecting our paperwork, and handing over a check, Finnegan and his sister were loaded back into the carrier and back to his new home. Both of them road very well in the car. Only a few times did the whimper or whine but mostly they slept. Sleeping soon became one of Finnegan's most favorite past times. Yes, he takes after his mother.

We arrived home and brought them out back where they sniffed, stretched, and romped around. Although they each weighed about 25 pounds, they were definitely awkward silly puppies. And they loved each other. After a busy evening of getting to know them, we tucked them into their bed within the carrier and smooched them good night. They slept literally, like babies, completely tuckered out from their long long tour. We did not hear a peep out of them all night. Wow! we thought, we have the perfect puppy. He sleeps through the night! He is sweet and cuddly and lovey! We scored big time!

The next morning, we brought them out, fed them, and watched as the two acted like little goofballs. In the afternoon, Finnegan's sister's new parents arrived to pick her up. She was a sweet little girl and we were sad to see her go. When I mentioned to my husband about having two sweet little wolfies, he looked at me like I was more nuts than he already new I was. Finnegan seemed a little sad and confused when his sister left so we took him outside and played with him, smooched him, and spoiled him rotten. Again, we tried to tire him out so he would again sleep through the night all tucked into his cozy carrier.

Yeah right. We got in bed and after a few minutes we heard a quiet little whimper. Okay, this is not surprising. He is alone in a new environment. He'll calm himself down. Again we heard, whimper...whimper... WHIMPER....WHIMPERWHIMPERWHIMPER...COME DOWN NOW AND GET ME!!! Of course, being the sucker I am, I ran down the stairs and comforted my little baby boy. I cooed and cuddled and he seemed to calm down. Again, up the stairs I went and all was silent until again: whimper...whimper...WHIMPER....WHIMPERWHIMPERWHIMPER. My husband and I agreed that we should not leave him down there scared and alone, and yes, there was no way we could sleep through that. So, I brought him into our bedroom with his bed and shut the door.

Satisfied, he fell fast asleep. And that is how Finnegan started his life with us.

To be continued...