Living Left Handed - Part 1

 

She slipped on ice and broke her right wrist. Being right-handed this posed an entire series of never before considered problems.

The day after the ER visit she bent over to put on Finn’s leash and collar and nearly blacked out from the pain. She stayed bent over, sniffling as tears filled her eyes, trying to breathe, trying to stay calm. Finnegan looked at her.

“Human Woman, are you broken?” he whispered.

She nodded, grasping her splinted arm, determined not to panic in front of him. She knew his anxiety would shoot sky high if she didn’t get a grip on herself.

“Ok, it’s ok.” She panted. “I’ll figure it out. Give me a sec.”

His eyes softened. And then he did something he had never done in his 8 years. He bent his head and carefully picked the leash up in his mouth. He carried it to the front door and turned to look at her.

In a muffled voice he said, “Don’t worry, Mom. I got this.”

She hiccupped on tears. He’d never called her that before. Her heart, deflated by panic and pain, suddenly filled with determination. She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath and reached for the leash again.

“Let’s get this one together, boo bear.” She whispered.

He gently pushed his head between her shins, patiently waiting the full seven minutes it took for her to get his collar buckled on and the leash attached. She no longer wondered why the left hand had been created. Clearly the universe knew she would need it someday. Even if it reacted like an amoeba to the simplest of commands. It waved when she told it to grab a spoon, it flailed when she asked it to hold her toothbrush, and when shown a pen for the first time in its life it played dead.

It balked at the leash and collar but she calmly talked it through each step and waited, time and time again, when it freaked out and dropped everything with the cry of "I can't! I'm not supposed to do hard labor! I'm just here to look pretty!" Eventually, the task was finished and her left hand, giddy with new found capability, tried to high five her right hand. But that turned out not to be such a good idea. 

She smiled as she straightened. With all of her accomplishments, this one felt the best. She could handle this setback. She could take her little buddy outside to potty. She might not be able to use a fork or write with a pen or button her pants left handed without lying down, but she could Walk. Her. Dog.

“You’re gonna rock the poop bag.” Finn teased.

Oh crap. She’d forgotten about that. She opened the door and they stepped out into winter.

“Watch the ice, Human Woman.”

“You’re so not funny, Finn.”

As they walked around the corner, their laughter crackled in the frozen air, warming it. They were going to get through this, one poop bag at a time. She mentally added up just how many poop bags that would take. And then she decided to stop using math for the next ten weeks.

Yes. That was a much better plan.

The Value of Love

“Human Woman, what are you doing?” Finn asked, nose tipped up, scenting the air.

“Making a candle,” she answered

“What is that smell? Fruity.”

“It’s Smitten Kitten. And yes, it’s fruity. Valentine’s Day is coming up and this is always a popular fragrance.”

“What’s Valentine’s Day?”

“It’s the day we show our love for the special people in our lives.”

He stopped sniffing the air and sat down, hind legs sticking out in typical corgi fashion. His eyes bored into hers, liquid chocolate in their intensity.

“A single day? For celebrating love?”

“Yes,” she smiled down at him, knowing there was more to that question.

“Interesting.”

“How so?” she poured the hot wax into the container and glanced at him again as she set the pot aside.

“Dogs celebrate love every single day, not just one single day. Why do humans limit themselves?”

She looked at him, he looked back at her. “You’re right, Finnie. We should be excited about love every single day. We should give roses and chocolate and…”

“Cookies,” he interjected. “Cookies are always a good way to show your love. And belly rubs.”

“Yes. Cookies and belly rubs every single day.”

“Damn straight, Human Woman. Dogs don’t put love up on a pedestal. We live love. We lap it up like water and treats. It’s part of our daily diet. Why do humans separate it out from their daily lives? Why don’t they just live it even if it’s not romantic love? Why don’t you celebrate all types of love?”

So many questions! She plunked down on the floor in front of him, “Want a belly rub?”

“See how easy that was?” he wet-nosed her outstretched hand before rolling over onto his back.

As she sat there, thinking about it, she wondered why it was always romantic love that got the party, the attention, the spotlight. Why not all types of love? Finn’s hind leg thumped softly on the linoleum. She grinned.

He’s right, she thought, if we could make each other this happy every single day, just by showing a little love, we wouldn’t need to be told we were special on just one single day. We would simply live love, breathe it in as automatically as we breathe air. It would be part and parcel of our lives, no matter what kind of love or where it came from.

 And then she understood what Valentine’s Day could never teach, that the special attention, the excitement, and the pretty treats are great, but the consistent heart, during all of the ups and downs of life, is greater.

"Hey Finn," she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Want a cookie?"

"I love you, too, Human Woman. I love you, too."

 

 

Corgi-Speak, Upright Do

And now for the interpretative part of the show:

If you find yourself among a group of excited corgi owners, it's handy to be able to translate what the hell they are saying. So here's Finnegan's short list of some common terms used in Corgi-Speak.

Corgum: A pack of corgis. If you find yourself amid a corgum, be certain you do not have a peanut butter cookie anywhere upon your person. They will take you down and lick you. At which point you will require a rain poncho.

Corgi-Nation: A wild, wonderful pack of corgi owners devoted to all aspects of this breed.

Derp: The Derp is the googly facial expression corgis get when they are completely relaxed and happy. It includes the sideways lolling tongue, shiny, crazy, I-don't need-caffeine googly eyes, and a wide smile. It has been spotted on an upside down corgi from time to time. Snap a photo. This is also referred to as "derping" and "derpy".

Drummies: From the side, a corgi's hind legs resemble turkey drumsticks, hence "Drummies". (Because corgi owners must amuse-ify a word before they will commit it to corgi-speak.)

Fluffy: This is one hirsute corgi. A corgi so fluffy that an entire fall lineup of sweaters could be knitted from a single shedding. Plus, it's very pretty. Corgi owners love to see a stumpy fluffy sashaying down the avenue like she owns it.

Floofeh Pants: A corgi with an especially fluffy butt. The rest of him may not qualify as "Fluffy" so his cute butt gets its own designation. Also referred to as "Fluffeh", because it's just more fun to say it this way.

Frap: Frequent Random Acts of Play. When used as a verb one says "Finnegan is frapping in circles around the kitchen." If your corgi is frapping, you must either join in regardless of the stares of concerned citizens, or you must run for the hills. There are no other options.

Mind-Meld: The corgi mind-meld is a stare so persistent, so insistent, so laser-beam focused that it puts german shepherds to shame. Really. You will do what the corgi wants. No questions asked. (There is some wild speculation that George Lucas might have used the corgi mind-meld as the inspiration for the Jedi Mind Trick. But we haven't been able to confirm this. It would be cool, though.)

Momo: Corgi owners in Japan have been heard referring to their corgi's plump little bottoms as "momo" because of their resemblance to peaches. Finnegan gives great momo. See photo below.

Nubbin: The widget of a tail on many corgis. See photo above. One difference between a Cardigan corgi and a Pembroke corgi is that Cardigans have a tail and Pembrokes often do not because it was docked or they were born without one. More corgi owners are now opting to leave the tails intact, which we think is a wonderful idea. Confused? Think of it in clothing terms: a Cardigan has a sleeve (tail) and a Pembroke is sleeveless (nubbin tail).

Upright: A human. Corgis keep uprights as pets. Uprights are taught useful tricks such as giving the corgi treats, chesties (chest scratches to make their hind leg thump super fast), and belly rubs. Uprights are responsible for making certain that corgis get the choicest spot on the bed and that they are tucked in each night. Uprights are required to engage in random games of Monster, where they must chase the corgi throughout their home for no apparent reason. Corgis also like to practice their mad herding skills upon their Uprights. Nothing is more fun than pushing an Upright into a wall when she is carrying a hot cup of coffee. Uprights are required to drive the corgi places so he can get his window sniffs. They must walk the corgi in beautiful meadows so he can hunt for organic snacks like kitty poo and allow him to roll in dead, smelly things. And Uprights are under strict orders to never, ever allow the vet to use a thermometer.

Finnegan and his Upright hope you have enjoyed this brief lesson in Corgi-Speak. Go forth and frap freely! And someone call George Lucas and ask him about that whole Jedi Mind Trick thingy, would ya? Finnegan thinks it would up his cool quotient. Well, he also has a thing for Wookies, but we won't get into that here.

Time and The Chew Bone

For three days running she watched Finnegan covet a new chew bone. Trotting around behind her, carrying it everywhere she went, he dropped it each time she sat down and snatched it back up each time she stood. She was always off to fetch another file folder or pad of paper or pen or her mind.
"Why don't you just gnaw at it?" she finally asked.
"I'm waiting."
"Waiting?"
"For you."
She hunkered down in front of him.
"Sorry kiddo, I'm not following you. What do I have to do with you chewing a bone?"
"I like to wait until you settle in with a good book. Then I know you aren't going anywhere for awhile. So I can dig in and just hang out with you. You've got your book, I've got my bone, and we're just living in the moment."
"You wait days for me to be able to stop and pick up a book so that you can enjoy your treat?"
"I can wait. We corgis are always patient when it comes to getting what we want."
She leaned over and gave the side of his face a soft caress. Time, it would seem, had an entirely different meaning for him than it did for her. Finnegan's clock was expansive; he had room to breathe and ponder, to sit within the tick-tock, tick-tock of the moment, knowing that his patience would bring him something meaningful.
She pondered time as a physical entity clothed in moving air, sunrise to sunset, past-present-future, tick-tock! And there it was, the realization that the seconds filling up her life shouldn't be overlooked as if they were only important in terms of minutes or hours. No. Each second was a breath, a blink, a smile. Each second actually comprised whole parts of her being, as it did his.
Patience had never failed to bring great gifts into her life before, so why had she forgotten that of late? The big brown eyes were pinned to her, expectant, shining, happy. And patient, always patient. He looked at her like she was his biggest gift. And then she understood. She was.
"My little Buddha Boy." She whispered.
"Oh! Siddhartha loved corgis! Did I ever tell you about the time...hey, hey where are you going?"
"To get a book."

In Which We Celebrate National Dog Day (sort of).

"It's National Dog Day, Finnegan."
"It should be National Corgi Day."
"Not much for diversity, are you?"
"Other dogs are ok. But we're special. Corgis are descended from wolves!"
"Um. I think all dogs are descendants of wolves."
He gave her The Look of Offense and retreated to the far side of the room where he curled up on his special blanket.
"Mean human. Penelope knows we're special. Ask her!" he grumbled.
She grinned. Oh, the ego of the corgi. She chuckled and let him sulk, knowing that the very second she rustled the bag of peanut butter cookies all would be forgiven. In the meantime, a poem:

General wolf rules for life by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D. from "Women Who Run With the Wolves".

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Which Finnegan Begins Dating

Finnegan met an older woman. A blonde with a cute wiggle and a fluffy butt. Penelope, the fairest corgi of them all. Oh dear. Young corgi love. There was a great deal of mutual waggling and sniffing and play bows and then the embarrassing moment when his human had to pull him off the little darling.
"You mustn't do that. You just met!"
"We're dogs. Courtship takes three minutes. After that we're pretty comfortable."
"Well, I'm not!"
"Aw, come on. Look at her! She's adorable!"
"Yes. Adorable. But you need to treat her like a lady."
"Dogs are different, just so you understand."
"I do understand. But is it too much to ask that you display some manners? I'd like to remain on speaking terms with her human. Being polite is important."
He cocked his head and regarded her with serious eyes. Her request wasn't outrageous. Silly, yes, but not outrageous. These human creatures had some odd rules, dancing anxiously around topics that corgis just simply met head on. Interesting.
"Ok. I shall treat the fair Penelope as my muse. Hey, do we have any volumes of Shakespeare lying around? He was a kid with a flair for pretty words. I could use some good quotes."
She blinked. And then she held her breath. How the heck did he know about Shakespeare?
"You don't want to know," he laughingly woofed over his shoulder, reading her mind again. "You don't want to know!"
Finnegan loped away from her, back to where Penelope was sniffing rabbit droppings among a patch of wild yellow daisies. Clearly, Shakespeare was another topic for another day. She went back and sat down at the picnic table. She made friendly conversation with Penelope's father while observing her boy romping about in the sun with his new girlfriend. And in that moment she had an inkling of how every mom feels the moment her son experiences that first serious crush. Oh. My. God. It was going to be a long summer.

Own Your Joy.

Molly left on a Tuesday morning, sitting on the front seat of a big yellow Ryder moving van. It felt as if the sunshine was momentarily sucked out of the day. Finnegan noticed the dejected tilt of his human's head. Trotting over he pushed his muzzle between her shins, pressing hard against her with his shoulders.
"Human Woman," he whispered. "Tell me what you learned."
"Oh, Finnie," she sighed, reaching an index finger down to his right ear, curling it around the velvety edge the way he liked. "So very much. She wasn't even my dog! But she charged into my heart and knocked me over with her joy."
"And?" He pushed a little harder, wanting her to speak the lesson out loud.
"She taught me to own my joy."
"Yes? Do you get it now?"
He backed up, giving her his full attention. He knew her love for Molly, the little gold and white corgi she had been walking for a friend, had never detracted from her love for him. Molly simply arrived to hammer home the lesson he had been trying to teach his human all year long. Her hands shook as she petted him. Her eyes filled with the shine of tears but something more, the shine of certainty. She nodded and scritched at his white ruff. He wiggled into her fingers, loving the feel of it. They both chuckled. Then she told him what he wanted to hear.
"Molly showed me her best. Every. Single. Second. She lived her joy because she owned it. When I was with her, it was the most incredible, kinetic energy between us. She truly lived in the moment. And being in the moment with Molly felt like sunshine. It dawned on me that I had that same sunshine in me. But I cover it up. To protect it from unhappy people in my life. And that was my 'Get'. The moment I understood it's time to own my joy out loud. Time to start walking away from snipers, the way Molly turns her back on unfriendly dogs and just keeps going. So each day I ask myself, 'What would Molly do?' and I know the answer at once!"
"Own your joy!" Finnegan woofed.
She nodded and her smile lit up his world. "Exactly. Be a Molly. Fluff your tail."
"Well...um," he glanced over his shoulder at his nub. "If you have one."
"Each of us has a tail, Finnie, it just takes some of us a little longer to wag it."
He sat and smiled up at her. Finally, she understood what corgis already know. You are you. Get out there and get going. Walk forward. Hold your head up and fluff your tail or your nub or your ass. If someone takes a swipe at you, just keep walking. Because there's a Molly right around the next corner, wanting to meet you, greet you, play with you, and share your sunshine.

Playing to Be You.

It was grey and cold for a Saturday in May. The temperature had not yet hit 50 and she was bundled up in a sweatshirt, light jacket and her winter gloves. Finnegan loved the cooler air and was trotting briskly along, nose tilted up to catch all the best sniffs. As they wandered over to his favorite stand of juniper trees, two young women jogged past, huffing and red-cheeked. One of them laughed, "I am so fat! I can feel my hips bouncing!" The other woman gasped, "I am soooo jonesing for a cheeseburger! Can we go get lunch after this torture?" "Oh, hell yes! I think we are due a reward for all this agony!" Came the breathless reply.

They jogged out of hearing. 

Finnegan, finished up his business, kicked the grass behind him and muttered, "Why do you humans always do that?"
"Do what? Jog?"

"No. Tell yourselves, 'I'm fat' or 'I'm stupid' or....well, all of those negative messages."

"Well. I suppose because we think it's true."

Finn tugged hard on the leash, pulling her off the curb and back onto the road.

"Is it? Do you think you're a fat person?"

She took a deep breath. It suddenly struck her that she was about to say yes. She would gain a few pounds and feel horribly uncomfortable. Then lose them. But in hindsight, four pounds here and there were nothing compared to the extra pounds those women were struggling to lose. And yet, she didn't look at them and think they were 'fat'. They were just women. So why would she consider herself fat?

"Your rules are so strange," Finnegan woofed at her. "Human women always talk about how 'fat' they are, even when they look like they could actually use a good sandwich."

"You're right. It's ingrained in our society. We learn to buy into the message."
"Regardless of whether you really are fat?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Do you think you're stupid?"

"No. Other people do."

They both chuckled. But then he got quiet again, sniffing some long, tumbled grass and a dead blackberry bush.

"Dogs don't think like that."

"Ok. So how do dogs think?"

"We don't. We live. We eat. We sleep. We play. We have sex. And we never, ever, ever care about the size of our hips. Or yours. Because we're just happy to be alive. I mean, we looooove to eat, but we love all those other activities just as much. Dogs don't waste time doing icky stuff. If those women enjoyed jogging, they wouldn't be thinking about their hips or cheeseburgers. They would simply be feeling good."

"Are you a philosopher today?" She teased.

"No. I think they could have made a happier choice than..."

"Jogging?"

"Yes. I bet if they were line dancing they would be playing like puppies! It's Dog-Think. Do what makes you feel happy and you'll keep coming back for more. Play whenever you can."
"It's not that simple, Finnegan."

He stared up at her in a way that made her feel foolish. Uh oh. Here came the corgi smack-down.

"Everything is simple, Human Woman. Every choice you make is simple when you choose what makes you happy. Being You starts between your ears. C'mon, lets run after those women! I feel like making them smile!"

He darted forward, pulling her feet into motion, and pretty soon they were running zig zags downhill, his tongue lolling, his little legs eating up the earth. They were moving so fast she felt like she was flying along behind him, so she stuck her arms out and pretended to be an airplane, "Zoooooom!" She laughed out loud. He barked. The day suddenly got much, much brighter.

Weird But True.

They were enjoying their nightly jaunt. As they passed a row of porches, a door opened and a woman popped out. She reached her hands down to Finnegan and he wiggled happily over to her, submitting eagerly to her scratches and kisses and baby talk.
And then she stopped and the two of them locked gazes and she murmured, "Uh huh, hmmm, oh,". Then she gave his long back a final calming stroke, straightened and looked at Finn's Human.
"He has so very much to teach you about the world. But you don't know it yet. You will, though. You will."
"I try to listen."
"Try harder."
Finnegan looked up, grinning.
"Yes, Human Woman. Try harder," he teased.
"And he would like some more of those peanut butter cookies you make," the other woman continued. "What shape do you make them in?"
"Uh...round. I use a drinking glass. I don't have a cookie cutter."
The woman looked back down at Finnegan and once again, something unusual passed between them.
"Round is good," she announced. "Nice to see you again."
And she stepped back inside of her apartment. Gone. Just like that. 
Finnegan pulled on his leash.
"Home, Human Woman. Home to my round cookies!"
Weird, she thought, following behind, that was weird. And entirely true.

Woof You. Found You.

"Finnegan, I met the poet Daniel Ladinsky."
"Did he speak to you in rhyming couplets?"
"No. But he told me to learn my birthday poem."
Finnegan sat, stubby hind legs sticking straight out as Corgi legs do in a sit. He regarded her with all seriousness. She waited, almost knowing what he was about to ask. And he did.
"What the hell is a birthday poem and do I have one?"
"It is a poem published under the calendar day of one's birth. He published a book with a poem for each day. And yes, you do have one."
"Good. I hate being ignored. Why did he tell you to learn yours?"
"Because it has a message in it that I would find useful."
Finnegan stared. Humans were so silly, putting pencils to scraps of paper and writing words down. They should just know that they were like dogs, and dogs were born with poetry already filling them up to their noses. Beauty and truth residing in every scratch, every sniff, every gallumping run of joy across the beach. Each dog a written celebration of life. Why didn't humans know the same was true for them? For all living creatures? Curious.
"What's the line in my birthday poem that best describes me?" he asked.
She smiled and opened the book, smoothing the page. She read a moment, for it was a long poem, but then she laughed and shook her head in disbelief.
"Perfect," she murmured.
"So read me perfect."

"Love creates a home wherever it is. Love is really never in want. True love is always in a state of found."

Finnegan smiled his Corgi smile. That was him exactly. True love found. He stood and wiggled his round bottom. He trotted forward and pushed his handsome head between her shins, huffing a sigh of contentment.
"Woof you," his voice was muffled against her jeans. But she heard him. Oh, how she heard him.
She reached down, scratched his white ruff and felt the world steady beneath her feet. How had she gotten so lucky to have this little guy come into her heart?
"Because you knew me as soon as you saw me. You knew I was your home," he woofed, looking up at her with happy eyes.
"Woof you too," she whispered, "woof you big time, baby."

Feeling Wiggly.

"Wanting to be other than where you are - who cursed you like that? Break that spell." - quote from A Year With Hafiz.

"Human woman, what are you thinking about?"
"Well, something unexpected happened today."
"What?"
"A new friend told me that she hated her cushy job and envied me the career path I have chosen."
"Wouldn't most humans secretly love to be envied?"
She smiled down at her pup. His honesty made for the best possible conversations.
"Yes. I think there would be some people who would like to be envied. It would make them feel justified and, frankly, a little important."
"But you didn't have that reaction?"
"No. I thought I should...but instead I just wanted to give her a hug and tell her that I would help her escape those golden handcuffs and go after her dream life."
Finnegan sat at her feet. "But you didn't tell her that, did you?"
"No. I hesitated. I won't make a promise I cannot keep."
"Good. A promise not kept is just as bad as an outright lie. Well, to a dog anyway."
"And to a human." 
Sighing, she reached into her pocket and found a piece of peanut butter cookie. She gave it to Finnegan, smiling as she watched happiness make him wiggly. Why couldn't all people be wiggly? She wondered. And how could she help her friend be brave enough to stop dreaming and start doing? There were so many people with talent and enthusiasm who found themselves in great paying jobs. But the jobs were paying for lives they didn't actually want to be living. No wiggling. No happiness. Just jobs that felt like jail cells, padded with dollar signs. And here she was at rock bottom, and another human, living comfortably, envied her for the pieces of the ladder she was hammering together. A ladder she was going to use to climb into the life she was determined to live. It was an unexpected moment, seeing herself through the lens of someone else's perspective. She had never considered that the view might be so positive. It was a gift she knew she would carry about with her for a very long time. Maybe forever. It was a gift she knew that someday, she would be able to share with another. 
"You're smiling, " Finnegan observed, hoping for  another cookie.
"Yes. I'm feeling wiggly."

Finding Hidden Sunshine.

More rain. Cotton candy clouds spilling down the mountainsides for days kept bringing a pervasive, wet chill into the world. Finnegan was decidedly displeased. Walking in the rain was not to his liking. Neither, he discovered, was walking during a snowfall. Snow, he informed his Human Woman, was still rain, no matter if Mother Nature tried to dress it up in soft, white, fluffy camouflage. Snow melted in his eyes and on his head leaving wet spots, ergo, it was rain.
But a Corgi has gotta pee when a Corgi has gotta pee, so rain and snow cannot matter when the "business" end of things gets urgent. What did matter was the location of the bush nearest the front door. THAT mattered.
"When will the sun come out to play?" he asked plaintively, staring through the slats of the patio railing after their wet morning jaunt.
"Soon, little Olympian, soon. It went on vacation for the holidays, but it should be home sometime this week. The weatherman said so."
"Where does the sun go for vacation?" his limpid coffee eyes gazed up at her.
"Tahiti," she said decisively.
"Ta-hee-tee. Maybe we should go there with the sun next time it takes a vacation." Finnegan sounded wistful.
"That's a very good idea. Here's another one: let's get inside out of this chill and I'll make you some bacon. A warm little treat, sort of like sunshine for your tummy."
He scampered through the open door, chortling with happiness. "Sunshine for my tummy? You're so silly, Human Woman! Baconbaconbacon...."
The refrain continued until much later when, after some yummy bacon, he nestled down in his Scooby Doo bed with his soft fleece blanket and prepared for his 11am nap. He looked up at her quickly before dipping his nose down into the blanket.
"Thank you for the sunshine," his eyes glowed with happiness.
She smiled. The soggy outside world faded to nothing. Her boy, warm and sturdy in his little nest, his tummy full of bacon, had brought the sun inside with his contentment.

Zoom away the Itches!

It was a rainy December afternoon and Finnegan was feeling itchy. She watched him rolling about on the carpet trying to scratch his back before she sat down on the floor next to him. She was holding something pink  in her hand.
"Hold still," she whispered.
He did, but the look in his eyes was wary. He hated being brushed. Inevitably his hair got pulled and it sent painful tingles along the sensitive nerves in his back and down his sore hips. But as she began running the pink rubbery brush up and down his back in gentle circles, he could not contain his squirms of delight. My goodness this felt so goooooooood!
"Ohmygodohmygoohmygod!" He whined happily. "What is that? Don't stop!"
She laughed. "It's called a Zoom Groom. Kong makes it. Isn't it wonderful? It's the best dog brush I have ever found! Look at all this fur it's picking up from just your back! I could knit an entire sweater with this! It's getting rid of your shedding and you won't feel so itchy when you try to sleep tonight."
She flicked large clumps of black fur into the wastebasket and then went back to her circular scrubbing. Finnegan's tongue kept flicking out as he wiggled in joy beneath her ministrations. His hip dysplasia usually made any type of grooming somewhat painful, but this brush was made of a pliant rubber and the prongs did not snag or pull in his thick coat. And they scratched his itches in all the right places! Oh happy Corgi day! He loved the Zoom Groom.
"I hope it rains all day, Human Woman, all day!"

Typing a Life into Existence.

Rebuilding a life when you are halfway through it takes time. But when one is racing against the countdown of Life's Clock, time is the one thing that seems to be in short supply.
Finnegan lay on his bed, nose resting atop his paws, and considered the sight of his human at her computer. She typed as if her life depended upon it. She typed as if trying to corral every good idea in the universe onto a single page of paper. It would be a list of viable ideas, that she could print off and carry about in her back pocket to pull out and review on days when the panic of losing all hope began to take over.
He wanted to tell her that she was doing an amazing job. But he knew she would not believe him. Not yet. He wanted to thank her for keeping his food dish full, his water dish sparkling clean, for walking him 3 times a day and giving him belly rubs. But he knew she would shush him and tell him that was love and love takes no effort. It's as innate as breathing.
This very human business of rebuilding a life from the scrap heap of her previous one would be the miracle to end all miracles once she had managed it. She had explained that it was now about "earning a living" by doing what she loved. It was also about the practicalities of keeping a roof over their heads and being able to feel safe on cold winter nights. And she said something else that made him pay attention. She said it was about rebuilding to a point where she could then give back to someone else. And to someone else's dog, too. That made him wag his stubby tail.
He wondered about a life that did not rely upon "earning a living", as she called it.  What would a life without money entail? Would it be difficult to live off the land like a wolf? He could drink river water and roll in smelly stuff all day long. He could run with a pack of friends. Together they could sit and soak up long, lazy rays of the sun on summer afternoons and howl at the full moon on winter nights. He could hunt wild rabbits; And eat them if they would stand still long enough to be pounced upon. Hmmm. But he would not have his big, plush bed with its fleecy blanket. And frosty mornings might not be pleasant with his bad hips and no Human Woman to fuss over him and make him comfy. And of course, there would be a serious lack of Pupperoni. He did not think that wolves got to eat Pupperoni or peanut butter biscuits or yam and eggs. And they certainly did not get hugs. Oh. He would miss hugs almost as much as little treats!
"Keep typing, Human Woman, keep typing. We need to buy some Pupperoni!" He whispered.
She did not turn, she did not speak, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. She continued typing their life into existence.

All I want for Christmas.

Dearest Santyclaws,

All I want for Christmas is bacon. I do not want bacon-flavored chew toys. I do not want bacon-scented snacks. I do not want bacon-scented sweaters. I do not want a bacon-scented plush bed. I do not want bacon look-a-like tofu dog biscuits.
I just want real bacon. A year's supply. Thank you.
And maybe rethink my offer to ride herd on those 8 tiny reindeer of yours during the rest of the year. I'm out of a job and they've got a bit of attitude. Especially the guy with the red nose. And, frankly, they're all getting kind of chubby. Let me chase them around the pasture for an hour! All that exercise will increase their flying times!
Could you ask the elves to get more creative with pet presents this year? The neighbor's cat has asked if catnip could be put in something more interesting than a felt mouse. Maybe a felt possum or rope chicken. Something that she could really get into batting around the kitchen floor. (Personally, I think she has anger issues.)
But let's get back to the bacon. That's very, very important, Santyclaws. Please don't forget the bacon. And bring some for my buddy Sammy, too. He hasn't been naughty at all this year. He hasn't even contemperlated (sp?) being naughty. I was only naughty that one time I tried to eat the UPS man but I didn't get him so that doesn't actually count, does it? (Mommy does not think it counts.)
I will believe in your forever and ever if you bring the bacon!

Your most adorablest and favoritest Corgi in the entire world,

Finnegan James.

Big ears hear even the smallest words.

They were sitting at the top of a hill, soaking up late autumn sunshine and the scent of pine on the breeze. Finn's large, tulip-shaped ears were flicked forward. He was listening intently to something down below and miles away. She leaned over and draped her arm about his chubby little self. He gave her a quick glance before turning his attention back to his particular fascination.

"What do you hear?" She whispered.

"Other dogs. You can hear them if you just pay attention."

She sat up straight and waited. Sure enough, on the next flush of chilly air she could hear a faint barking and then over to her left another series of barks. 

"Oh. They're talking to one another?"

"Of course. Did you think we dogs just randomly bark up and down the valley for no reason?"

"Well it never occurred to me that dogs, living so far apart, were actually conversing! That's wonderful! What are they saying?"

Finn huffed and turned to face her. Humans were so silly. She could understand him perfectly and yet it never crossed her mind that she could easily understand other dogs. Why? Because she loved only him? Did love make all humans so deaf? They only really heard the words of those they cared about most?

"One of them is saying he just had a great fence run. He scared the mail carrier. The other one congratulated him and is now talking about the new bone her owner gave her on Thanksgiving."

"Oh. That's it?"

Finn grinned as only a Corgi can. "You were expecting philosophy perhaps?"

She nudged him and they both laughed. But secretly, yes, she had hoped for some tiny bit of unexpected wisdom. She scratched him between his ears. He leaned into it and made a little gurgling noise of contentment. Hmm.That little bit of contact between skin and fur, that bit of canine warmth and human touch, made her realize that it wasn't always the content of the conversation that was important. Maybe it was the need to keep connections alive. Knowing that someone, next door or down the road, wants to acknowledge your presence in this big world, was comforting. Perhaps talking about the mundane bits of daily life could be just as important as those one-on-one conversations that delve far deeper.

Maybe listening with big ears wasn't always about what the other dog was saying. Maybe it was about letting the other dog know that she is being heard. 

The possibility of velvet leashes.

"Did you know that Henry VIII of England had velvet leashes for his dogs?"
"Yes, Finnegan. I did know that."
"Impressive. But did you know that mine was a beautiful emerald green?"
Slight pause. Surprised eyebrows. "Pardon?"
"Katherine picked it out for me. She said it went beautifully with my coloring."
"Katherine. As in Queen Katherine?"
"Well the scullery maid wasn't in charge of picking out colors for each dog's leash," Finnegan huffed. The very idea!
"Oh. Certainly. NOT the scullery maid who also happened to be called Katherine."
"Human Woman, you are laughing at me again. I am telling you the truth!"
"You somehow managed to swim in the first Olympics in Greece and then Zip! You were living in 16th-century England at the end of a velvet leash in Henry VIII's household. Um. I really need to check the ingredients on your bag of kibble."
"I'm telling the truth."
Oh, the finely pointed nose sticking in the air was tempting. She kissed it. Finnegan wiggled in happiness.
"Someday, Human, someday you'll see."
"I don't think it's possible for me to time-travel, Finn."
Astonishment popped his big coffee-dark eyes. She really believed that? How nonsensical! Why, he had big plans for his history-loving-writer-woman. BIG PLANS.
"You might, " He advised her, "Seriously reconsider your archaic belief system."
"Finn. You might seriously reconsider whether you want a walk."
"I'm just sayin'," He murmured as he trotted off to fetch his 21st-century plain black cotton leash.
Crazy Corgi, she thought, reaching for her sneakers. Such a dreamer. Her fingers paused between the loops of her laces. Since when had she ever thought dreaming was silly? Hmm. Since never. Funny, she hadn't had any memorable dreams of late. Maybe it was time to allow them back in. Maybe her belief system was a bit rusty. It couldn't hurt to play along with the Corgi. Maybe he really did have the ability to show her something as fabulous as an emerald velvet leash at the end of Henry VIII's big hand. That would certainly be something. Well, she told herself, it never hurts to stay open to possibility. Finnegan made a soft noise from the doorway. He was ready. There was no time left. They needed to be going.

This particular moment.

They were standing in the center of a bamboo forest. It was an overcast day. The light filtering from the wide open top was muted. It broke apart against the towering fat stalks, shading their bark from lime-yellow to  deeper grey-green. Beneath their feet the dead leaves had accumulated in a soft, whisper-dry carpet of beige. It was intense in here. So quiet. So still. She could hear her pulse. She sat, cross-legged, and Finn climbed into her lap and licked her chin. Nothing moved but the cool, river-scented air and Finn's big ears. Twitch, flicker, twitch. Always on guard that one.
It came to her that perhaps this was what it felt like to meditate successfully. To be in a place of such enclosed silence that the loudest sound would be your own heartbeat...or your thoughts. She closed her eyes and lifted her Finn damp chin and let the breeze waffle through her eyelashes and kiss her on the lips and cheeks. She shoved her scrambling, shouting thoughts out of her mind and shut the door behind them. They knocked. But she turned her back. The knocking grew muffled as the sound of bamboo leaves rustled into her ears, louder than her thoughts, louder than the breeze, louder than the dust motes falling pit-a-pit-a-pit onto the leafy floor. The weight of the warm Corgi anchored her. He was unusually un-restless. Her hand patted his long back.
"Do you like it?" Finn whispered.
"Very much, " She breathed.
"Thought you might. We can come back everyday."
"Good."
To have him pull her off the beaten track into this little sanctuary created by sun and wind and earth and seed was a blessing. It was always a wonder to her that when Man stayed out of it, Nature strode in and let loose her magnificence.
"How did you know this was here?" She asked.
"Oh. The butterflies were singing about it this morning when we were out picking the last of the blackberries."
"Of course. The butterflies." She smiled down at him.
"Do you know what I like best about this place, Human?"
"Tell me."
"This is the only time you and I will live in this particular moment. The only time. And it pulls you into it and holds you hard...and you actually stop and feel the entire moment. How often does that get to happen?"
She was perturbed. He was right. She rarely had time to stop and actually be in the moment of what was happening, as opposed to remembering it later. How startling the difference. She needed to keep this close. She needed to remember this. She needed to come back and sit among the bamboo with Finnegan until Being became second-nature.
"Is this what it's like to be a dog?" She whispered.
"Always. We don't waste a minute thinking about tomorrow. We're too busy feeling today."
So they sat awhile longer, enjoying the silence and the togetherness and the sounds of the bamboo forest growing all around them. And then it began to spill fat, chilly raindrops and they made a giggling dash for the car. But for the rest of the day she was suspended in a comfortable, happy bubble of Now. Finnegan, knowing he had accomplished yet another task on his list of Very Important Things, spent the afternoon engaging in some very serious in-the-moment napping.

Do what you do best.

Twilight. The sun had set in streaks of apricot. A cool breeze had come to life and was whispering among the meadow grasses and Black-Eyed Susans. Finnegan was walking his human, looking for the perfect spot to, well, you know, do his business. But as he trotted along an embankment where his favorite patch of Baby's Breath grew and the fuzzy Bumbles liked to roam for pollen, his ears pitched forward at a softer than soft sound. He stopped short. His human froze and whispered, "What is it?"
He gave her a smile over his shoulder before pointing his nose to the edge of the embankment.
"Look down there."
She  tiptoed forward and peeked over into the dark ravine where she could hear water rippling over stones below. And then she saw it. A blink. And then another. A fresh burst of cricket chorus rose into the air and suddenly the world was lit up with dozens of tiny green sparks; the way her hands swooshing through the waters of the Gulf of Mexico could stir up phosphorescence at night.
"Oh!"
"Yes. Marvelous aren't they?"
She looked down at him, and he was thrilled to see her eyes filled with wonder.
"Fireflies! Finnie, I haven't seen fireflies since I was a tiny person! I forgot how lovely it is to watch them."
"They want you to watch them. Didn't you know? The night is their stage. They keep hoping at least one human will stop and watch and understand."
"Understand what?"
"That this is what matters most. Allowing yourself to do what you do best. Stop chasing things that don't really matter. Just do what you do best. You don't see fireflies trying to be birds. Or butterflies. Or Peacocks. They're fireflies. It's simple. They do what they do best. And they create beauty for the rest of us to enjoy."
"We humans are pretty crazy, huh?"
"You don't need to tell me that. But you do make awfully swell snacks."
They watched the lights dancing and flickering, at one point she swore they did an impression of  The Wave. After a bit, Finnegan tugged on the leash. He really needed to go. So they ambled along to a place where prying fireflies could not see and point and giggle. He took care of his business. Then she took care of his business. And then they wandered home in a swirl of cricket song and bright lights and breezes. And she thought how right the little Corgi was. Do what you do best and you'll be more spectacular than when you try to do something that doesn't fit. Wanting to be a peacock doesn't make you a more impressive firefly.

Some goodbyes are good.

His human had been strangely quiet all day. At one point she had sat down on the floor and put her head atop her knees and made that soft crying noise he hated. He clambered up onto her shins and nudged his face into hers, licking that awful salty stuff off her face.
"Oh! Finnie! It's OK. Really! It's Ok!" She protested.
"You're leaking water! It's a disaster!We could all drown!"
"She burst out laughing and snuggled his anxious face between her hands and held it still. Her wet eyes were smiling into his.
"Finnie. I am crying because our home is no longer ours. And I'm sad and happy at the same time. I couldn't make it a home for us anymore so now, maybe someone else can make it a proper home. And you are here and we are safe. Who knows what will happen next?" She nuzzled his wet nose. "It's an ad-ven-ture." She whispered.
He wiggled his stubby tail and barked with relief. He LOVED adventures!
"Do we get to wear pith helmets and pants with lots of pockets for treats?" He asked.
"Absolutely."
"Well then. Let's get going!"
"Maybe we should just start with a walk and some Pupperoni? I'll look into the pith helmets tomorrow."
He smiled up at her. She looked better when her face was dry and smiling. What a relief!
"Human person," he said thoughtfully, "I just want you to know that you are my only home."
She bit her lower lip and then sat back down and gathered him into her lap in such a fierce hug he squeaked.
"Thank goodness for you!" She whispered into his big ears. "Thank goodness for the love of my little Olympian!"
"The love of your awesome, wondrous, amazing, stupendous Olympian!" He barked playfully, giving the side of her face a big wet one.
Magic. He would show her all of it! Then she wouldn't mind so much, not having that particular house anymore. With him leading the way she was going to have so much fun living in the world she would feel at home no matter where they journeyed together. She would learn what all Corgis were born knowing: the person you love is your home, not four walls, a soft bed and a food dish. Possessions are not a home. A home is where your heart resides. And when someone loves you unconditionally, your heart needs no other shelter.