Chapter 5 Growing Up

Once we got home, we returned to a more or less normal life with our two pets. As they grew up, they developed their own styles and personalities. It had been an ongoing process, but adolescence seemed to accelerate the changes. Unfortunately, many of these changes were for the worse.

As the runt of the litter, Finn had always been timid. He quickly realized though that his doting new parents were quick to lavish attention and slow to punish, so he took on the role of the mischief maker. He started stealing food, jumping up and down to get attention, and using his cute puppy smile to manipulate us. All of that said, he showed some very admirable traits as well. He always maintained a kindly personality-- never nipping and steadfastly refusing to be aggressive with people or other animals. He even deferred to the cat by giving right of way to his dog bed to his smaller companion. The cat merely had to walk up and meow to make Finn vacate the comfy bed for him.

Shake, on the other hand, continued to be reserved. His stand-offishness was combined with a somewhat mean streak, and he was quick to swipe at those who offended his sensibilities or who tried to pick up the cute kitten. His constantly dour look provided a sharp counterpoint to his still kittenish body, British Shorthairs being slow maturing cats that sometimes take nearly five years to achieve their full stature. He occasionally swiped at the dog when he was too slow making way, and that was the only behavior for which he got into serious trouble-- well, scolded in any case.

By now Finn had grown to his full height, although his frame had not quite filled out. He was a bit of a thief and a sneak, but a very gentle soul. So gentle, in fact, that I was never quite certain if he might have been a Buddhist monk in a previous incarnation. A very hyperactive and clownish monk, but a monk none the less.

Nevertheless, Buddhist monk or not, we decided that some training might be invaluable to break some of Finn's less than perfect habits. He had learned how to sit, how to fetch, how to go to the bathroom outside; however, he still did not come when called, used his leash to try to dislocate your arm whenever he saw someone or something interesting on his walk, and never quite understood that sitting on some one's lap was no longer o.k. once he tipped the scales at seventy pounds. We looked around in Merritt for a puppy obedience class, but were not able to find anything.

Eventually, through Nicole's parents, we were able to find a kindly retired lady from Kelowna who was offering classes that looked interesting to us. It was somewhat out of the way for us, but the dream of a well behaved dog that did what we asked was a powerful incentive. After a quick phone call, we were enrolled in her Wednesday classes.

After work Wednesday, we got into the cramped RX-7. Nicole drove, I sat in the passenger seat, and the seventy pound dog crawled into my lap. The hour and a half trip to the empty warehouse that served as a training facility was as comfortable as was relatively possible. We all piled out of the car, stretched our legs in the parking lot, and then headed in for the first day of puppy school.

We were the first to arrive, so went into the school. It was basically an empty warehouse with a wide open dog area. It had several windows, so the room was well lit. We immediately recognized the trainer-- an older lady who was putting a large German Shepherd through his paces in the middle of the room.

Being the first students to arrive, we approached the trainer to ask if there was anything that we needed to be doing with Finn, who was intently watching her and the other dog. As we neared, she sent her dog off with a word. He paced off to the corner and layed down-- acknowledging Finn's presence with only a casual glance. Impressed by this display of control, we suspected that we had chosen the right place.

After making introductions, we talked a little about the class. She told us that she was a retired school teacher who now trained dogs in her spare time. She had gained her experience through years of dog ownership and lessons. When asked about any particular problems that we might be experiencing with Finn, I mentioned that he sometimes sniffed the butts of house guests who passed gas. Nicole's glance let me know that this was not perhaps the kind of question that would be considered appropriate, but I was serious-- it was an embarrassing trait.

The trainer smiled at my problem, but did not give any solid advice immediately. She then explained her training method, which we had asked about previously. Her method was what attracted us most to her class. She told us that it involved: instruction, positive reinforcement, and lots of treats. We knew the best thing for our baby was positive reinforcement, despite his occasional and slight antisocial tendencies. We wanted a dog who listened to us, but who did not fear us.

As we talked, some of the other owners and puppies drifted in. Finn watched with great interest as dogs, both great and small, entered the training area. Amazingly, he controlled himself very well. We followed them into the arena where two rows of chairs faced each other. Each dog was allowed one owner, so Nicole went to the sidelines while Finn and I selected a chair.

As it was time for class to begin, the instructor had us all instruct our dogs to sit before we were to take a seat beside them and sustain the "sit" command. I remember thinking that this should be a nice, easy start to the class-- Finn being an excellent "sitter"-- I gave the command. It was not until this point in the class that I came to realize that the chair that I selected had important ramifications.

"Sit," I instructed.

Finn looked up at me with a big, dopey grin. Then he looked sideways. Then things went sideways.

As it turned out, Finn had noticed that a Sheltie was sitting nicely beside us with her elderly owner. Finn, not realizing that we were in an obedience class, decided that the Sheltie looked like a possible girlfriend prospect. He walked over to sniff the dog, but I pulled him back.

"Sit," I repeated.

Again, he looked at me with his dumb grin. Then his head turned back toward his new friend. Rather than sitting, he pulled the leash taut-- straining to meet this fascinating new acquaintance. The lady smiled benevolently at Finn and I, so I smiled back while trying to restrain him.

At this point, most of the dogs were seated. It being a beginners' class, some others were having difficulty as well. Of course, I only noticed my ill mannered pet. Fortunately, the trainer walked over at this point.

With a smile she asked, "Do you need some assistance?"

"That would be great," I replied.

In a somewhat more authoritarian voice, the trainer repeated my "sit" command. Finn looked up at her, cocked his eyebrow, and grinned. Then he looked sideways at the Sheltie. Then things went sideways.

Our pup decided that it was an opportune time to visit his new girlfriend. Standing and quickly lunging toward her, his front paws went down in the universal "downward facing dog" play bow. With a quickness belied by her somewhat advanced age, the trainer reacted. Bam! Pow!

Finn found himself on his back, with the lady's hands around his throat. A low, feral growl issuing from the back of her throat. The doggy grin melted. Finn was not sure how to react, so he laid on the ground, stock still. The entire class froze for a moment-- not one of us daring to breath, lest Finn have the life throttled out of him.

Finn realized that the teacher was, indeed, serious. He calmed completely, his submission a nearly palpable thing. When the dog's little body was totally still, she let him up. She repeated her initial command, "Sit."

This time, Finn decided that it was wisest to listen to the hostile lady. He immediately sat, looking up at her with big puppy eyes without seeming to even consider looking at his new girlfriend. Deciding to build on her success, she continued by saying, "Watch," while pointing at her nose.

Putting aside the earlier violence inflicted upon his person, Finn obediently sat and watched. Remarkable both because he had never learned the command before, and more so because he graced her with his doggy smile that was usually reserved for people who had done something to make him exceptionally happy. Something like rubbing his tummy or giving him a piece of cheese. Apparently, a dog is far more forgiving than a person.

The rest of the lesson went well. Our rambunctious puppy really enjoyed training, and was always eager when we walked in the door to the dog school. His favorite part of the lessons was always the playing at the end. The chairs and the props were cleared away from the warehouse, while the dogs were allowed to socialize. The rationale for this was that it provided the dogs with, well, socialization. This was Finn's time to play with his first girlfriend-- the aforementioned Sheltie.

Ten weeks later, the course was over. We tried to maintain some of the training, but found that we were inconsistent when there was no regularly scheduled training time. Finn kept some of the important things that he learned, but much of it waned over the years. We practised the two most important "tricks" that Finn learned-- "come" and "stay". When the trainer talked to the class about the importance of training, she pointed out that these two commands could save a dog's life. Much of the learning that Nicole and I did in the course also waned over the course of months and years. Some of the important knowledge stayed with us as well. When it came time to save Finn's life; however, the crucial knowledge was neither "come" nor "stay"

**********

The pets filled their days sleeping, playing, and making nuisances of themselves. Every evening Finn went on his walk with us. His walks were a great way to decompress after a day of dealing with note passing and paper airplanes as a substitute teacher. Much of the time we would walk through Vogt park and down by the river. This walk was great because near dusk we had the path to ourselves for the most part, and the solitude was wonderful.

On occasion though, we would walk down towards town through our neighbourhood. This walk was a little more interactive because in a town like Merritt you were bound to run into acquaintances who wanted to talk. In addition to the people that wanted to talk, quite often there were also many dogs that either got out of their yards or were allowed to run free. Often these dogs that came out to "talk" to Finn. Usually this consisted of some butt sniffing before both parties went their separate ways.

One fall evening Finn and I set out for our usual walk. As we got to the sidewalk, I decided to go right toward the M.S.S. school yard instead of left toward the river walk. It was a little bit cool, so I was wearing my hoodie and gloves. Finn actually had a coat, but it was not cold enough to be bothered with wrestling him to get it on.

Our walk was uneventful for about a block. Fortunately for us, I looked back as we neared the corner of the second block. As I turned my head, I saw a wolf hunched low to the ground walking along the sidewalk. The beast was not ten feet behind us, and her stealthy gait showed me clearly that she was in the process of hunting something. A quick scan of the surroundings confirmed that there was no prey in the area-- other than Finn and I.

The animal crept closer. Putting one foot in front of the other, it stalked us-- not making so much as a low growl. Within a couple of seconds, she was within ten feet. At this point, I realized that my intervention was necessary, if an attack was to be avoided. I looked at the other animal, and realized that it was one of the wolf-dog hybrids that are relatively common in Merritt. I realized that I had seen her before, lying on the front steps of the little house that Finn and I were now standing in front of. She was particularly large for her breed and I could not see anything other than canine malevolence in her expression. Gazing quickly about the sidewalk for a rock or a stick, I realized that there were no weapons within easy reach.

"Get out of here," I growled while waving my hands in an attempt to ward the beast off.

My protestations were to no avail. In fact, she gave no indication of even seeing me as she bounded toward Finn. Finn, for his part, was held in place beside me by his leash. He had no ability to run, and my experience with him ensured me that he had no ability to fight.

Both dogs went down in a heap. Finn yelped, rolled onto his back, and showed his throat in a sign of submission. The larger dog grabbed his throat and began to turn her head in a tearing motion. Within seconds, I was confronted with an unpalatable choice. Either I had to hurt this dog, or my best friend would likely end up dead.

The choice was unpleasant, but surprisingly easy. I had taken years of martial arts, but had never been in a true fight-- other than childhood scuffles with my brother. Never the less, within a fraction of a second, I decided that if this dog or Finn that were to get hurt, then this dog was going to get hurt.

I wound up with my foot and delivered a heavy kick to the side of her head. Having never delivered a full force kick to a head before, I was surprised by how easily my leg followed through and the big animal's head snapped back violently. With Finn's leash still looped around one wrist, I rained down a couple more kicks before I caught the wolf-dog by the back of the neck with my left hand. Then, reaching under her chin with my right hand, I half lifted her by the throat before slamming her into the sidewalk. She stopped struggling almost instantly.

I sat atop the dog with both hands around her throat for several seconds before I was certain that she was not going to go after Finn again. I growled in a low and menacing manner, just the way that Finn's trainer had taught me when he had annoyed her in class. I then picked her up bodily and bodily threw her over the fence and into her yard. At this point, the owner finally heard what was going on. As he came out the front door, his dog darted in.

"Is there some sort of problem?" he asked.

I snapped back, "Not any more."

Not feeling like engaging in any more conversation at that point, I checked my buddy for any open wounds. The man shrugged and went back inside his house-- presumably to check his dog. In the meantime, I checked over my buddy on the sidewalk, worried that he had been injured before my intervention. I was happy to discover that I had apparently gotten to him before the other dog's teeth had broken the skin. Relieved and flushed with adrenaline, we headed home.

**********

That night, I spoiled Finn with extra treats and extra kisses on the nose when I tucked him in for bed. I was relieved that he had not been hurt or worse. Even though I felt terrible for hurting the other dog, I felt very good about keeping my tacit promise to take care of Finn.

Chapter 4 wip

Chapter 4: Learning to Live, Learning to Love
We soon began to take on the characteristics of a nuclear family, albeit one with very hairy kids. As we got used to our pets, we planned our wedding. We decided that we would keep our wedding very small– only immediate family. We would take a trip to the south of France, Spain, and Italy. The pets were about eight months old at this point, and we had no idea how they would take to being left for three weeks while we explored Europe. After some discussion, it was decided that we would entrust the care of little Finn to my parents after the wedding, and take a trip to Prince George after the wedding to pick him up. Shake, on the other hand, would probably not be very enthused about taking a six hour car ride to the north; so we decided that we would ask one of Nicole’s employees take care of him.
Our wedding was to take place in Kelowna at the Immaculate Conception Church downtown. We spent the night before at Nicole’s parent’s house, and the pup spent the night in the run outside. Shake, of course, did not make the trip to Kelowna, vastly preferring the friendly confines of his own house in Merritt.
The ceremony went well, and our vows were heartfelt and emotional. The day flew by, and before we knew it the next morning had arrived. We talked to the guests that had come by for our reception, but soon the time had come for us to leave for our honeymoon in Europe. My parents bid everyone goodbye, and asked us if we could bring Finn out to the car so that they could begin their long journey home. I thanked them again for taking care of him, loaded his food into their car, and headed out back to get him.
When I got to the run, Finn danced around excitedly. Having been penned up without much company for most of the previous day, he anticipated a walk– probably down to the dock on the lake below the house. Unfortunately an unanticipated surprise awaited him instead.
As I put his leash on, I said, "We’ll be home in three weeks Finn. My parents will really love having you there. You’ll probably go on more walks there than you did in Merritt."
Finn, in his usual manner, simply cocked his head, smiled at me, and wagged his tail so vigorously that his entire gangly body shook.
I gave him a snuggle before admonishing him, "You know that you have to be really well behaved. Don’t beg for treats too much because manipulating your grandparents is not a very nice thing to do."
The same lopsided smile told me that we were probably coming back to a seriously overweight dog.
"We’ll miss you big guy. We’ll see you soon. Love you buddy. O.k.?"
I led Finn back up from the run and passed the lead to my dad. "Congratulations again Ken," he said.
"Thanks dad," I replied, "And thanks again for taking care of Finn. I hope that he behaves himself up there."
"I’m sure he will."
Turning to my mom, I added, "Don’t forget that he eats twice a day– he will get really sulky if he misses a meal. Oh, and he loves walking after supper. Um, and if he gets too out of sorts he loves ice cream cones. I know he’s not supposed to have them, but we give him one every once in a while. Not chocolate though– we’ve heard that it can kill them. Oh, and..."
She held up her hand to stop me, "Don’t worry about him Ken. We’ve had lots of dogs. Remember? He’ll be fine. You two have a wonderful holiday. We love you both."
Blushing, I replied, "Yeah, yeah. Thanks very much and have a great trip home. I hope he doesn’t cause too much of a ruckus."
We all hugged before they led Finn to the car. He trotted along behind them, and hopped right in when they opened the back door. My parents got in and waved one last time before turning the car on.
Up until that point, Finn had been perfectly behaved– probably because nothing seemed particularly amiss. The instant that the engine started though, he figured out what was going on. Turning to look out the back window at me, his little puppy dog eyes went wide in a mixture of terror and accusation. My parents waved as the car pulled away and Finn barked and leapt up and down in the back. Wanting to stop the car and let him out, but knowing that he would adjust soon enough, I simply waved to my parents and the heartbroken little puppy.
**********
Nicole and I left for Europe the next morning. The first leg of our trip was the flight to Toronto, which went off without a hitch. This was very good news because I have a strong aversion to flying. There’s just something unnatural about being tens of thousands of feet above the ground.
The next day we caught a connecting flight from Toronto to Barcelona, where our cruise was to set off from. Again, the flight was relatively uneventful, save for an angry glare from a stewardess over a joke about the efficacy of life preservers that are stored under seats for the event of a water landing. I’m pretty sure that she decided to get back at me by putting on Titanic as the in-flight movie for our evening flight over the North Atlantic. In any case, we landed safely in Barcelona on a day that must have been 40 degrees Celsius.
We caught a taxi to our cruise ship, and our honeymoon shortly began in earnest. We enjoyed the cruise, touring: Elba, Gibraltar, Rome, Florence, and other points around the western Mediterranean. We enjoyed the culture and history of the area, and one another’s company for the first week.
The second and third week were to be spent in time shares that Nicole’s father had arranged for us– one in southern Spain and the other in southern France. We toured the areas together, visiting everything from paleolithic caves to Carcassonne. The heat, the pace, and small disagreements got to us; and by the end of the third week we were very ready to return home.
**********
As we pulled up to our house, we looked forward to seeing Shake after a long absence from him and the dog. We got inside, dropped our luggage by the door, and looked around when he did not immediately come to greet us. After several minutes, we became a little bit worried. I went to the kitchen to grab his bottle of Pounce, and walked around shaking it– an action that invariably led to him sprinting to my location and dropping whatever he was doing at the time.
As I shook the bottle, I heard a furtive "meow" coming from the attic. Rushing to the bottom of the stairs, we called up to our cat. Shake’s little head peeked over the top of the stairs hesitantly, and he meowed and hissed. "He’s gone feral," I said to Nicole, "We might have to put him down."
Rolling her eyes, but smiling none the less, Nicole took the Pounce away from me and shook it. As Nicole was Shake’s favorite person, he stalked down the stairs to see who was invading his home. We fed him a few treats, stroked his back, and soon everything was back to normal. After the cat decided that it was o.k. if we stayed in his house, we decided that it might be best if we called my parents to check on Finn.
Picking up the phone, I was lucky to get my mom on the line. "Hey mom, how’s it going?"
"Everything is good, how was your trip?"
"It was great. Hey, how’s Finn?"
My mom laughed, "He’s fine. Don’t worry, he had a good month. He stopped whining once we got to Cache Creek. We got him an ice cream at the Dairy Queen there, and after that he seemed very happy."
I paused, relieved but a little bit offended. I was happy that he was o.k., but felt a little cheap to have been sold out for the price of a Dairy Queen ice cream. It probably wasn’t even a large. None the less, I felt a load off of my mind.
She continued, "So, when will you be picking him up?"
"Well, probably in a week or so if that’s o.k.. It will give us a little time to get things in order."
"That sounds great. We really look forward to seeing you kids."
"Thanks again mom, we’ll see you all again soon."
"Love you guys."
"Love you too."
After the call, we settled in to bed. Our honeymoon had been great, but it was nice to be back home with our family– well, Shake anyhow– and to know that things were well on the home front.
**********
We set out for Prince George the next Friday. Ideally, we would have taken Nicole’s parent’s SUV, but we don’t live in an ideal world. Her parents were away, and the explorer was therefore unavailable. Her little two seat RX-7 was fine for the trip up, but we were less sure that it would be ideal for the trip back. Not wanting to wait though, we decided to brave it.
Leaving early in the morning, we arrived in Prince George at around eight o’clock in the evening. We were exhausted, but happy to have completed the journey. My mom came out to hug us in the driveway. After the obligatory hugging, she asked, "How was your trip? Europe must have been so exciting."
"It was great mom. Really, really hot, but great," I responded, "Um, so, how’s Finn?"
"Oh, he’s fine. He’s out in the garage right now. We’ll let him out once you kids have everything unpacked."
"Ah, that’s o.k., let’s let him out and he can sit outside with us for a bit."
My mom smiled and nodded. I opened the door of the garage, and were greeted by a different dog than the one that we had left behind. Finn had grown both taller and broader in our absence. Unfortunately, it seemed that while his body had matured, his brain remained the same. He bolted straight for us and bounded in circles around us. I tried every command that Finn should have known– sit, stay, down– nothing worked. For several seconds we remained under siege by the speeding dog, no one daring to move lest they be run down.
Eventually Finn calmed down enough to receive some pets. We snuggled the squirming little dog for several minutes, before putting him in the outdoor run. He was so excited to see us that he did not even whine in protest when we went inside without him.
Inside, my mom wanted to know all about our trip. She listened with rapt attention. Europe having been a place that she had never had the opportunity to visit. We told her about France, Spain, and Italy. The castles and churches, Napoleon’s Elba and the Vatican. On recounting the trip seemed even more interesting than during the visit.
When we finished, she regaled us with stories about Finn’s stay with them. He had enjoyed himself and they seemed to have enjoyed him. He had managed to talk them into daily hikes in the wilderness at the end of their rural street and along the power lines. As I heard more and more about his holiday, it sounded like he had talked the grandparents into spoiling him rotten.
Having spent most of the previous month on the road, we only spent a few days with my parents before heading back home.
The morning of our departure, the three of us crammed into the two seat RX-7. Nicole decided to drive, as one of us actually had to have Finn sit on their seat with them. My mom frowned as I got into the passenger side, and then had the seventy pound Labrador pile into my lap. You could tell by her expression that it just did not seem safe to her.

As I pulled on my seatbelt, Finn quickly settled to a position that was half lying with his head in my lap and half lying with his butt on the ground. Luckily the seats were nearly as low to the ground as the car was, so it seemed comfortable enough. Well, comfortable enough for him in any case.

With the sure knowledge that our method of puppy transportation would be considered a bad idea at the very least, we tried to be sure to obey all posted speed limits and road rules. We took frequent breaks to allow me to get blood circulating in my legs, and to allow our pup to burn off some of his excess energy. It was a beautiful day, so we hit the A&W drive thru in Hundred Mile House. We enjoyed lunch at the picnic tables and fed Finn his usual A&W restaurant fare-- an ice cream cone. After lunch, we headed out of Hundred Mile happy that we were more than half way home.

Unfortunately, sometimes two young people driving a red sports car attract attention despite their best intentions to pass unnoticed. Hundred Mile House was known for it's speed traps at the time, and we encountered a police car on the road side with flashing lights a few kilometers out of town. Looking down at the speedometer as soon as we saw the car, I registered the fact that we were travelling dead on the speed limit.

A middle aged officer wearing a pair of reflective sunglasses walked up to Nicole's side of the car. His frown did not bode well for our situation. He looked into the window with an inscrutable expression that gave me visions of being told that our puppy transportation mode was not acceptable.

He drawled, "Do you realize how fast you were going miss?"

Nicole's expression told me that she knew exactly how fast she had been going. As his question lingered in the air, I could see her going through the possible answers to the question and analyzing the consequences of each path. I hoped that she would take the diplomatic route because walking Finn was fun, but walking him two hundred kilometers probably would not be.

"No officer, I was not looking at the speedometer," she answered, "I thought that I was doing the speed limit though."

"Nope, you were actually going nearly ten kilometers over. Nearly a hundred and ten in a one hundred zone," then added while glancing at me, "Nice dog. Is he a pure breed Labrador?"

"Uh, no officer. He's half Golden Retriever."

With that, the officer took our papers, wrote us a ticket, and let us be on our way. We were both annoyed and relieved. The rest of our trip was uneventful, and we spent much of it mulling over whether we had gotten someone else's ticket. At the same time, we acknowledged that we probably had gotten lucky that the officer had not decided to make us seek an alternate way to get our dog home.

The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful. When we got home, it felt great to be there. We slept in our own bed, which had been a relative rarity during the previous month. When I awoke in the morning, I looked forward to spending time together and getting on with our new life together as one official family.

What a little bird told me

I walk along the same route to work nearly every day. A couple of months ago, there was a change along the route. It was spring, and nearly every morning I was serenaded by birds who had nested along the route. Every day was a pleasant walk, with sunshine and temperatures always hovering just below twenty degrees celcius.

One pair of birds in particular seemed to take an interest in me as I cut between the baseball fields along the valley floor. One morning they seemed to decide that I was a person of import and flew down along my line of march to greet me with a duet. Not wanting to startle them, I simply continued to walk along the path while pretending not to see them. This ritual continued for several days, with me thinking little of it.

One morning I deviated from my path slightly and the birds flew closer and their song became more furious and more desperate. Letting me get very close, they flew quickly back to the path that I normally followed. Not wanting to startle them, I continued along my alternate route. Unfortunately, this perturbed them far more, so they flew even closer-- landing near my feet. Their song became more furious before flying back to the path, and looking back at me expectantly. A light bulb came on, they were leading me. Probably leading me away from their nest and their babies.

I immediately diverted my walk back to the path that I normally followed, and the ritual between the birds and I reverted to normal. They stayed far enough ahead of me to know that they were not in danger, all the while singing me all the way to work. They had taught me the path through their selfless actions.

There was no question that the birds could not fight with me, and that I could easily kill them when they landed at my feet. They were willing to die, so that their babies could live. I thought about whether or not a person would do the same for another person, and came to the conclusion that they might. We hear of cases where people selflessly risk themselves for others, we hear of cases where people do terrible things to others, and we hear about cases where people stand by and watch as terrible things happen to others.

The birds were guided by an instinct that their rational brains did not, and likely could not, overrule. Free will is a great and wonderful thing, but it gives us the ability to choose what is wrong as well as what is right. Like the birds, people also seem to possess an instinct for altruism. It is arguable that ours is even greater than theirs because we can extend it to those outside of our group. On the other hand, however, our rational minds all too often override what we know is right in favor of enlightened self interest. Like the birds, we usually know in our souls what is right. Unlike the birds, we are able to decide to do otherwise. It would serve us well to always remember that most of the time we know in our hearts what is right and what is not.

Chapter 3:
Shakespeare
Things were going well for Nicole and I. We were enjoying our new puppy, and were getting along well with one another. We soon moved into her brother’s house because he was moving back to Kelowna to pursue a career in business other than restaurant management. As part of the agreement for her to take over the restaurant, we were to rent his place– an old heritage house across from the city public works yard. It was extremely large with a partially restored interior. The yard was also very large, and it had a big dog run in the back.

Soon after moving into our new place, we had decided to take the plunge and get married. We set a date far in the future, and settled in quickly. Her brother had joked that it looked like all of the pieces were in place to start a family with the impending nuptials, the house and the dog. We were in no hurry to start a family and settle down before I obtained a permanent position or before we did a little traveling though.

We frequently made trips to Kelowna because Nicole’s family lived there, and because it was nice to spend some time in the big city sometimes. One Friday we made plans to go into Kelowna, and were discussing what we might want to do when we were there. "Hey, how do you feel about going to the cat show with my parents Saturday," Nicole asked, "My mom says that there will be lots of interesting breeds there."

"Hmm, pure breed cats? If you want to check it out we can, but I’ve never been that interested in pure breed cats myself. I find that I prefer crosses when it comes to cats."

"What about Simba? He’s a pure breed, and you like him."

"Well, he’s o.k., but I don’t think that he would be the cat that I would choose for myself."

"No problem, I don’t think that we are looking for a cat ourselves. It should just be fun looking at the different cats."

"I guess that you have a point. When you put it that way, what do we have to lose?"

**********

We traveled to Kelowna the night before the cat show, stayed at Nicole’s parent’s house, and woke early to get to the show. After saying goodbye to Finn in the puppy pen outside, we arrived at the local arena shortly after the show opened. There we witnessed a scene of absolute pandemonium. It was organized chaos, as we watched people literally try to herd cats. There were cats and owners everywhere, both grooming themselves to look their best for the judges.

We saw big cats, small cats, short cats, and tall cats. There were cats of every color, cats with long hair, cats with short hair, and cats with no hair. Lots of meowing and purring permeated the entire scene.

We wandered for about an hour, taking in the splendor of the many breeds of cats. I noticed that Nicole was obviously affected by the show, recalling that before she been forced to give up her cat, Boo, shortly after we left U.B.C. because of it’s penchant for the destruction of her parent’s house. I sensed that we’d be leaving with a cat before we even discussed it. We wandered up and down row after row, talking to breeders and petting kittens.

She started off innocently, "So, which breed do you like best?"

"Well, I really like that Maine Coone," I replied cautiously as I looked over at the cat, They are nice cats, and they’re great mousers. Something to think about in an older house."

"O.K., we don’t have mice and that’s gross," she replied.

I tried again, realizing that I had chosen incorrectly. "Hmm... Those American Shorthairs with the stripes look like little tigers are really nice cats."

"Yes, they’re pretty cool, but I’m not sure I like them best."

I was getting warmer, and I knew it. Going for the prize, I tried a third time, "I like the British Shorthairs too. The blue cats are really cool looking, and their fur is really nice to pet."

"They are nice, aren’t they? I really like the pink kitten."

"Well, let’s go and take another look at them."

We spent the next hour or so looking at the British Shorthair kitten, leaving and wandering the cat show, and returning to ogle him some more. He was pink, had a tiny body, and a rather large head. His eyes followed us everywhere, and they seemed massive in an almost cartoony way. He played with our fingers whenever we put them in to pet him, and seemed to be a healthy and happy little cat.

I could tell that Nicole was conflicted, but I did not want to interfere too much with the decision making process. It took about an hour for her to verbalize the fact that she wanted the kitten. Finally, she said, "He’s really cute, and I do miss Boo. We could get him. What do you think?"

"Well, if you like him, he looks like he would make a great companion," I replied.

"The lady said that he’s three hundred dollars though, that’s a lot of money. We could get a cheaper cat somewhere else."

"We could, but do you really like this cat? If you do, three hundred dollars is quite a bit of money, but it’s not that bad compared to what keeping the cat will cost us in the end. If you really like him, then you should get him."

Her smile told me that this time I had answered the question correctly. We purchased the cat, signed the paperwork, and got instructions from the proud breeder. The contract had, we noticed, some very interesting stipulations. I asked the leader about one that seemed somewhat unusual, "Um, it says here that we can’t let the cat outside, ever, under any circumstances. Why is that?"

"Yes, that is correct," she offered pendantically, "British Shorthairs are agoraphobic."

"Agoraphobic?"

"Yes, they have a fear of open spaces. They’re defenseless outside because they freeze in panic."
"Our cat will freeze, if it gets outside?"

"Yes, they’ve been bred to live indoors for hundreds of years."

Turning to Nicole I joked, "We’re getting a pink cat with mental issues?"

She smiled and rolled her eyes, "No, they’re fine as long as they live inside. We would keep him inside anyhow."

Thanking the lady, we put our new little cat into a pet taxi that I had purchased while Nicole finished up the paperwork. The little guy looked between the bars of the cage and mewled furtively while sticking his paw out to swat at anything near enough. With that, we picked up a couple of cat toys in the lobby, and then headed back to Nicole’s parent’s house with our new addition.

***********

Taking Finn and Shake home the next morning was challenging in Nicole’s little RX-7.
We packed Shake’s little cat carrier into the tiny hatchback, and Finn laid between my legs as usual, but showed infinite excitement about the prospect of getting into the back to play with his new friend. Shake, for his part, looked far less enthused about the prospect of meeting the canine family member, and huddled up in the back of his cage.

When we eventually did make it home, we made certain that the kitten stayed in his carrier until he reached the relative safety of our bedroom. Once in the room, we released him to let him explore. We showed him his litter box first, then played with the little guy using a feather and string. He jumped at the feather indiscriminately. He jumped forward, backward, and sideways– often ending up landing on his back or head and turning the myth upside down about cats always landing on their feet. He seemed unperturbed by an apparent lack of catlike reflexes; however, and continued to play with us for quite some time.

Finn waited for us patiently outside the room, looking through the French doors to see what was going on. Initially he laid on the floor looking curiously, but eventually ennui set in. Feeling left out, he began to whine. I went out for a moment to appease him, and shushed him gently. Eventually though, I went back to the room to see what Nicole and the new baby were up to. This time, Finn stood at the French door, eagerly watching us play. His tail started wagging in earnest, and quickly built up unbelievable speed. Letting out a yelp that I would never have thought could come from an animal that small, he jumped up and down and started running back and forth in circles. The twin facts that Finn wanted to meet the cat, and that he was feeling left out were very apparent by this point.

I went out into the foyer again, petting Finn and cooing at him. In spite of the attention, he tried to pull away and look in the door to see Nicole and Shake. It became very apparent that he wanted to meet the cat. Not sure of what we could do, I went back in to talk to Nicole.

"He really wants to meet the cat," I began.

"Shake’s way too small though," she replied.

"Well, they’ll meet sooner or later, so we might as well make it sooner. That way we’re here to control the situation."

"Hmm... I guess so. Maybe you can hold him while Finn meets him and sniffs him."

Well, our idea seemed solid, so we decided to execute it. I took the mewling little cat out of our room, so that he could talk to the pup in relative safety. As I approached, Finn ran up with his tail wagging. I held Shake out for inspection as Finn approached, and as predicted he sniffed at the cat furiously to try to ascertain just who and what he was. Unfortunately, Shake was less enthused about the idea than Finn and I were.

As the dog began to sniff, Shakespeare’s reaction was so quick and so visceral that I did not have time to react. He sunk his little claws through my shirt and into my chest. Using the leverage that he found in my flesh to climb his way up onto my shoulder, jump down, and then flee for the relative safety of the room with Finn hot on his heels. The cat ran under the bed, in a vain attempt to hide from Finn. As I ran into the room, all that I could see of the two pets was Finn’s backside and wagging tail sticking out from under the bed as he foraged for the cat.

Pulling Finn out, I ushered him out the door as he squirmed frantically in an attempt to return and play with his new friend. Shoving him out the door, I was assailed with mournful whines as he jumped up and down in excited anticipation of playing with his miniature playmate, if only he could sneak by me. Having finally shoved Finn out the door; we tried to coax Shakespeare out from under the bed, so that we could comfort him. It took some time to get him out, as he had decided that the protection that we could provide from the black beast was dubious at best. We finally lured him out shortly before bed with a Pounce treat. Seemingly forgetting the incident after the treat, he purred and allowed us to pet him. We had all survived the first day, but we had also come to realize that the future would likely hold challenges for us all.

**********

As we adjusted to the pets presence and they adjusted to our expectations, things started to return to normal in the house. Finn realized that the bathroom was outside and that the cat was not a chew toy, and Shake figured out (mostly) that the scratching post was for scratching and the carpet was for walking on. Finn came to love Shake, and the worst that he ever did to the cat was an occasional saliva bath that cost him nothing more than his dignity. Shake came to tolerate Finn, but did not go out of his way to hang out with him. He was a grumpy little cat for the most part, but I quickly taught him that cat’s claws were not for use on human flesh or puppy noses.

After a bit of training, things seemed to work far better for both pets and animals. As Finn was barred from the bathroom in the new house, I even began to bathe with the door open. As I soon learned to my detriment, however, the lessons learned by one pet were not necessarily always transmitted to the other.

Shake really enjoyed coming in every morning to watch the bath. For all of their fear and loathing of water, cats are invariably fascinated by it. He would hop up onto the toilet seat to watch the bath run, and then sit beside me and talk as I cleaned myself.

One morning, Shake came in as I ran my bath, and he perched himself watching in rapt fascination. As I got into the bath, Shake decided to come closer to see the water. Jumping from the toilet seat to the tub’s lip, he sat contentedly and watched as I bathed. The longer that he sat near the water, the greater his bravery and curiosity became. Eventually, he reached down with one little paw to swat the water. It was an incredibly cute scene, watching the little cat play with the fascinating bath water.

Unfortunately, the cute scene did not last long. As mentioned before, Shake was not the most agile kitten when he was young. In fact, sometimes he was downright clumsy. This was a volatile combination for a cat sitting on a narrow ledge, mere inches from deep water.

Demonstrating an incredible lack of forethought, I played with the little guy. I splashed the water, then he reached in and splashed the water, I splashed it again, he splashed it again. Back and forth it went, until Shake overextended to reach the spot that I splashed. He slipped on the damp tub wall and cannon balled into the water, flailing his little paws as he fell.

Before I could react, a tiny ball of fur, fangs, and claws burst from the water. Shake literally flew out of the soapy water to the side of the tub. Unfortunately, he was unable to find purchase with his claws on the side that he chose, so he flung himself to the foot of the tub. Once again unable to dig himself out, he threw himself over me and over the side of the tub and onto the bath mat.
Shake furiously shook himself off. Then, taking one slow step after another, shaking all the while, he made his way out of the bathroom with all of the dignity that he could still muster. After checking myself to see that he had not cut an artery with his berserk, slashing fury, I began to dry myself off. Nicole came to the door shortly thereafter.

Looking at the water and fur that covered nearly every part of the bathroom she asked me, "What just happened?"

"Um, Shake decided to take a bath with me," I responded as I looked over the mess myself, "Don’t worry, I don’t think that he’ll be doing it again soon."

Chapter 2:
Life With Our New Baby:
Simba:

Simba was a Persian cat– the stereotypical kind that belongs in the lap of a criminal mastermind who is about to unleash a plot for world domination. He was not my favorite animal– he spat up hairballs all over the house; hid leaving you worried sick that he had somehow gotten outside of the house; and he had a knack for knocking his sealed food bucket onto the ground, so that he could eat some of the food that he had scattered throughout the kitchen. His haughty feline sneer oozed superiority, and let everyone in the house know their place. Everyone that is, except for the smiling, baby Labrador Retriever who knew with an absolute certainty that everyone in the world loved him as much as he loved them.

When we got home, I carried the little newborn in. When we got inside, Simba was wandering around the kitchen. He had made himself scarce when we had come home with our new baby, but he seemed to have decided that it was time to come out and assert his hegemony as the top pet.

Walking up to my feet, Simba glanced up at the pup, who was struggling to jump down and see his new playmate. The cat made one aloof pass before heading to the living room and hopping onto my desk. I set Finn down, and he instantly bee lined for the living room, knowing that the cat was as eager to play as he was. Simba hastily retreated to the top of my computer desk, staring down with a mix of disdain and abject terror. The pup sat at the bottom of the desk barking and waiting for his new friend to come down to play, completely unperturbed by the hissing that greeted him from above.

It became very obvious in under a minute that the cat would never come to be friends with my beautiful baby boy, so I lifted the siege by picking my pup up and carrying him from the room while he yipped playfully back at his new friend. Nicole and I hastily moved some boxes into the hallway, so that the pup could not get into the room to harass Simba. Seeing the barrier, he decided that the best strategy was to sit beside the boxes and bark until Simba decided to move them and allow him passage back into the living room. I was forced to scold my new puppy to stop the ruckus, which he did. He then followed me into the bedroom where I was reading, but had to periodically dart down the hall to see whether Simba had reconsidered his decision on being friends.

**********

Over the next week, Simba took his time getting to know the puppy– from afar. He never tired of watching Finn from atop boxes, chairs, and counter tops. Finn always barked in his little puppy voice when he saw the cat, and jumped up and down to show Simba that he really wanted to play. Simba, on the other hand, was quite content to sit above the puppy and gaze down at him with cool disdain.

A game between the two slowly took shape. Simba trying to avoid the frenetic ball of energy who charged up and down the halls, making messes on the papers in the corner near the door and making an ungodly amount of noise for a creature that small. Finn, on the other hand, stalked the cat– looking for his opportunity to convince Simba that he would make a great playmate.

Occasionally Finn would corner Simba when Nicole or I were in the other room. Generally, he would jump on him and wrestle in true puppy fashion, then lick him with his big puppy tongue. Simba, who was declawed, would then defend himself by swating Finn on the nose, hissing, and then heading for higher ground. Unfortunately, the pup got the impression that this was all part of the game, and would continue to stalk the cat, until one of us came in to break things up.
This game of cat and, um, dog went on for a few days. Simba would usually see the pup coming and get in a swat on the nose. This seemed to leave Finn thinking he’d been tagged, was therefore "it", and it was game on. He would then chase the cat through the house to try to return the favor, usually resulting in a lot of noise and some of our belongings being knocked over.

Over the course of the first week, the two little animals and I worked out a sort of understanding whereby Finn would not attack the cat, the cat would not smack Finn, and I would not have to break up the fight before anyone got hurt. Things stayed tense; however, and Finn would periodically break the tacit agreement by pouncing on his pompous playmate and licking him from head to toe.

We muddled through the next several weeks in this manner with relations steadily improving between the two. On the morning before Simba was to leave; however, the fragile peace was irreparably shattered by an incident that would surely haunt Simba until the end of his days. Depending on one’s perspective, the incident was either hilariously funny or terrifyingly undignified. Dog people will almost certainly think the former, while cat people will probably think the latter.

It was early in the morning, and Nicole had already left for work. I was in washroom having a bath with little Finn sitting beside me and the door closed to prevent unwanted interactions between the bitter rivals. As I lay there, I heard an alarming crash from the front of the house. The puppy started barking, and I quickly toweled off, threw on a shirt and some underwear, and headed out to investigate. Before doing so, I closed the door behind me so that Finn would not come to "help". Dripping water, I ran out to the kitchen to ascertain the problem. There, in the middle of the floor, was Simba– buried in a mound of cat food and eating himself out.

I was more than a little bit annoyed, as this was not the first time that Simba had pulled this stunt with his food. Just as I started to bark out the cat’s name in annoyance, I caught a little black ball flying through the doorway to the kitchen. Food flew in all directions as my little barking buddy flew through the kitchen at top speed and pounced on the offending feline. Two little balls of fur, one white and one black, rolled through the mess on the floor and into the open cupboard. Simba howled indignantly while little Finn barked between great licks of his disproportionately large tongue. The little animals rolled all of the way down the length of the cupboards before far cupboard door burst open with Simba making his escape at full speed with little Finn barking at the top of his little lungs, while his tail wagged furiously. The chase finally ended with Finn cornering the cat atop the computer desk in the living room. He bounced up and down looking to play more, as the cat sneered and hissed at him.

As annoyed as I was at the cat, I could not help but feel a little sorry for him when I looked at the state that my pup had left him in. Simba had been literally licked from head to toe. It seemed that rather than nipping at him, the pup had decided to give him kisses in a vain attempt to win his friendship. I laughed, as I saw that he was literally covered with puppy slobber from head to toe. He even had to shake his paws in an attempt to dry them. I picked Finn up to separate the combatants, but he continued to bark at his playmate. Simba wanted no part of any further association, so the cat slinked deeper into the recesses of the desk while the two of us headed back to the bathroom, Finn barking over my shoulder as we went. .

A tense peace settled over the house for the few days before Simba returned home. The cat’s haughtiness seemed gone, as he slinked from one hiding place to another. Finn explored his new environment; seeming to have forgotten the cat, with a happiness and zest for life that became his hallmark.

*****

Mornings with Finn:

Simba left a few days later, but changes were afoot in the house. The new puppy was adorable in many ways, most of the time; but not in all ways, all of the time. House training a puppy is a trying experience, and Finn was no exception. Once Simba left, Finn’s primary source of entertainment was gone. This meant that someone had to pick up the slack, and Nicole and I were the only two candidates.

At the time, Nicole was spending a great deal of time at the restaurant as the assistant manager, while I spent days substitute teaching. This meant that I ended up with more time at home, as I was not called in to work every day and school ended at three o’clock every day-- barring days involving coaching or other extra curriculars. The result was that I was the lucky owner that the pup bonded to the first and the quickest.

When one looks at a snuggly little ball of fur, this might not seem much of an inconvenience, but the practice was somewhat different than the theory. Finn spent all of his time, save for the time that he spent getting into mischief, living on my heels. For the first couple of weeks, it was even cute, but like so many things that are cute with babies, eventually cute transformed into annoying.

I did not realize how much of an inconvenience this was, until one morning a week after we got Finn, I got a last minute call to substitute at the local middle school. I said good morning to Nicole, rolled out of bed, and headed to the bathroom for a very quick bath. I closed the door to keep the pup out as I shaved and brushed my teeth, while the bath ran. Finn whined quietly just outside as I finished up and got into the warm bath. I felt sorry for him, but I needed a few minutes alone with the hot water to wake up and face the day.

Something about the sound of me getting into the water must have triggered some sort of primal instinct in the little labrador outside, because just as I sat down I heard a bang on the door that drew my attention. The door crashed open violently, and my little buddy charged through. Without any thought to the consequences, my tiny buddy charged across the floor and fluidly leaped over the end of the tub and into the soapy water. Oblivious to my yelling, he half swam and half bounced from the foot of the tub to the head to say good morning to me.

Taking the pup in both hands and placing his sopping little body on the ground, I strongly admonished him not to join me in the tub again. Oblivious to the scolding, he shook the water off of his body all over the bathroom before running a few circles over my school clothes, and then making himself comfortable by using them as a makeshift bed. Having woken up to the sounds of my argument with Finn, Nicole came into the room to see the mess. Saying nothing, she just laughed and went back to bed.

Finn sat contentedly for the rest of my bath, staring at me and wagging his wet little tail happily. I quickly washed off, so that I could clean the mess of water, soap, and black hair that the little brat had left in his wake. He ran circles around and yapped at me the whole time to help with the clean up. I ignored him because I did not want to give him attention immediately after he had misbehaved. After several seconds of firm resolve, I broke under the unrelenting gaze of his puppy eyes. Picking him up with the towel, I dried him off while gently scolding him.

Already running behind, I hurriedly dressed while Finn ran happy circles around my. feet. I headed to the kitchen, tripping over my pup several times as he ran through my legs– eager to see what I was doing. I prepared both breakfast and lunch hastily– peanut butter toast and peanut butter sandwiches respectively. I gobbled down my breakfast while saran wrapping my lunch and petting little Finn all the while. I wish that I had taken a video of those moments for anyone who maintains that men can not multitask.

Fortunately for me, I am compulsively early in my preparations for work, so I was able to get everything ready and dash out the door for the short walk to work. I walked quickly so that I could go over the teacher’s lesson plan before class, and was pleased when I saw that I was going to arrive twenty minutes early to go over the lesson plan and put some items on the board for the students to follow. I walked in the door, and greeted the principal, mr. Wowchuck. As I did so, I ran my tongue over my teeth– a nervous habit that I had developed years before when I had gotten a denture to replace a tooth that had been knocked out by a hockey stick.

To my shock and horror, I discovered that I had forgotten to put the tooth in before leaving the house. I told Dick that I would be right back, and then fled out the front door. I ran all the way home, dashed through the house, yelled goodbye again, and ran all the way back to school. I got through the door about five minutes before the bell– just in time to find my classroom, mop the sweat that was pouring down my forehead, and find (but not read) the lesson plan.
I muddled through the day, and looked forward to going home to see the pup in spite of it all.

*****

As we got to know Finn, it became obvious that he was not your typical Labrador Retriever. Every description of the dogs that has ever been written emphasizes the fact that they are upstanding canine citizens. Although Finn was wonderful, cute, and loyal; he had what can best be described as honesty issues. The first time that this became apparent, Nicole and I were working in the yard planting some flowers. Finn galloped around, happily playing as we worked.
As we worked, I kept an eye on the pup because he was just small enough to squeeze out the back fence. Fortunately, he seemed to want to stay near us most of the time, so it was an easy enough job. After a while, he got braver and started to drift further. As he made his way to the middle of the yard, he made a fascinating discovery in the form of a tree that had been planted in the middle of the yard.

Initially the little guy stood and watched the tree for a couple of minutes. This seemed strange, but he didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong, so I went back to work. When I turned back toward the pup and the tree though, he was digging furiously at the base. I ran across the yard yelling, "Bad Finn, bad pup."

When I reached the tree, I picked him up. He greeted me with big puppy eyes and a furiously wagging tail. There was no way that was going to work though because he was not going to dig up the tree. I scolded him, but realized that he was not in any way taking me seriously. We walked over to where I had been working, and I set him down beside me. Again, he dashed over to the tree and resumed his furious digging.

I ran across the yard and pulled the little dog out of his hole. As I lifted him out of the crevasse that he’d been digging, his little legs continued to dig the air furiously. I picked the little guy up, and turned him to face me for a scolding. Interestingly, the little pup smiled at me while spilling a mouth full of grass onto my shirt. "Please dad, just let me dig a little more," the look implored me.

"Bad Finn," I scolded gently him before putting him down.

After being set down, the pup continued to watch me while I worked. As soon as my back was turned, bam, he was off again. Sprinting to his hole, he continued his excavation with all due haste. Again, I chased him, scolded him, set him down, went to work, and then had to chase him back to the hole. We repeated the pattern several times, and Nicole got the camera because the little guy was so cute that a picture needed to be taken.

Well, the next few hours gave me a new appreciation for the work of national geographic photographers the world over. Nicole and I snapped picture after picture as the little ball of fur, dirt, and slobber darted around the yard at full speed. He spent hours digging holes to hide himself from imaginary enemies, and developed a new maneuver that would come to be known as a Finnysault.

Basically, the Finnysault involved running at someone at full speed, diving headfirst, rolling onto his back between their legs, wriggling furiously on his back, and wagging his tail. He followed this complex gymnastic move by smiling exultantly and begging for tummy pets. After the initial shock of seeing this passed, Nicole and I gently scolded him to try to break the habit before the habit broke his neck.

In the days before digital cameras, we could not see the results of our work until we went to Costco to have the rolls developed. Having used two or three rolls of film though, we were sure that we probably had dozens of great pictures of our new baby. Putting away the camera, we watched the pup run around the yard exploring and loving live. He played until he was exhausted, went inside with us, and collapsed in a little heap on the floor to sleep it off.

**********

We quickly realized that having a puppy who had not completed potty training could be bad for the carpets. Our first decision was to erect a barricade on either side of the living room. Not having had the forethought to purchase a puppy gate, we decided to use old packing boxes, chairs, and anything else that looked suitably impenetrable. Finn danced around as we built the barrier, sniffing boxes and running into us to get pets as we worked.

When we finished our wall of boxes, I headed into the living room to use the computer in the secure knowledge that Finn could not follow me in and have an accident on the carpet. I figured that it would also afforded me a few minutes on the computer now and then without the little guy jumping all over me constantly. Our plan seemed quite sound.

That night after supper, I stepped over our little wall and fired up the computer. Nearly as soon as I entered the room without Finn, he began to howl. It was the kind of keening sound that one would expect of an entire wolf pack that had lost a member. I looked back, and saw little Finn trying to climb the wall in vain as he whined.

Feeling sorry for the pup, and simultaneously realizing that he had to learn that he could not always go where I went, I turned back to the computer. I wrote as Finn whined, but eventually the cacophony stopped. I continued to write, knowing that I had emerged victorious. Eventually, I turned to check on little Finn, and to my shock saw him laying across the dining room table. He wagged his tail contentedly, and watched me as I worked.

Not sure how such a small dog had gotten up onto the high table, I came out of the room to put him back onto the ground. He wagged his tail and ran into my leg, happy that I had come back. The happiness was transitory, however, as I stepped over the wall into the living room again. Finn whined for a second, and then unperturbed he ran over to one of the chairs. He vaulted into the chair, turned, and then climbed onto the table.

I realized quickly that this could not be allowed. Before I scolded him and took him off of the table, I realized that I needed a picture of him. I headed off to the room to get the camera, but noticed as I retrieved it that Finn was running circles around my feet. The little guy had realized that I had left the room and followed me. Knowing that I could outsmart a two month old puppy, I went back into the living room and waited for him to hop up on the table. Unfortunately, it was like the little guy had a sixth sense. As I watched him from my side of the barrier, he cocked his head to one side, raised his eyebrow, and watched me from his side.

If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn that the puppy was mocking me. I waited patiently, knowing that if I captured this on film, thousands of dollars were sure to follow when I mailed it in to puppy picture contests. The two of us waited, staring at one another. Each waiting for the other to make a move. As predicted, Finn was the first to crack. Unfortunately, he did not crack in the way that I hoped. Sensing that I must want to play, he started to bark and bounce up around.

In frustration, I put the camera up on the desk. Turning to the computer, I figured that it would be better to act naturally, continue, and wait for the shot. Finn sat at the base of the wall as I typed. He waited patiently; but he sensed a trap again, so he did not approach the table. We continued our standoff for about an hour before he started to whine again. Unable to resist, I stepped back into the kitchen to pick up my crying baby. He immediately wagged his tail, and all thoughts of the puppy proof fence that I had built evaporated.

I would see my little guy climb onto the table again, but I would never manage to catch him on camera. It was like he had a sixth sense about the whole thing, and became as elusive as Bigfoot when the camera was around. In the end, I reconciled myself to a private memory instead of a million dollar picture.

**********

Over the next few weeks, Finn took to his new life with relish. The most frustrating part of any pup’s training is obviously toilet training. Finn, like every other baby in the world, had absolutely no idea about the where’s and when’s of appropriate elimination. As Finn was the first puppy that either of us had housebroken, we read about methods of housebreaking. Different people recommended different methods from rubbing the pup’s nose in the fecal matter when he made a mistake to teaching appropriate times and places by commands.

To start, we taught our pup to go on a designated spot on newspaper. This prevented the most egregious damage to the house, but was not at all ideal for anything other than preventing late night accidents. He did get paper training quickly, but we were not particularly enthused with him eliminating on a pile of papers inside the house.

The method that we finally settled on was one that we found in our Idiot’s Guide. It involved attempting to teach him to eliminate on command. Basically, whenever we thought that Finn needed to go to the washroom, we would take him outside and tell him to go. It seemed an easy concept, and it saved the pup some childhood trauma that I was sure the harsher methods would inflict.

The first time that I did it, I hitched up my baby boy’s leash, walked him out to the spot that Nicole and I had picked for his bathroom, and then gave the command. "Go bathroom Finny, go bathroom boy."

The pup looked up at me. I was sure that I saw in his face an odd mix of curiosity about what I was telling him to do and an appeal for a little privacy. Nevertheless, I continued to exhort him to go to the bathroom. A brief look of concentration on his part was quickly rewarded with a successful elimination. "Good boy, good boy! Good dog Finn," I praised him while fishing out a treat to reward him (the irony of awarding successful elimination with food was not lost on me, but you are supposed to reward successful behavior to reinforce it).

Over and over we repeated this ritual over the pup’s first weeks with us. Eventually, he became very good at it. He understood the command, and he understood that he would be rewarded whenever he successfully executed it. It came to the point where he would excitedly run to the door, jumping and wagging his tail, whenever he had to eliminate. He also became very fast to eliminate on command, and would not even look for the best place to go– as most dogs are wont to do.

One night, he ran to the door for his usual pre bed potty trip. He bounced and danced and wagged, while I put on my shoes. He seemed urgent, so I hurried him out the door and down the stairs right in front of me. As I did so, I absently said, "Don’t worry, buddy, we’ll go bathroom."
Well, the command was given, so I could not be angry about the results– even as I stood there in a puddle at the base of the steps. Finn looked up, smiling. He had done his part, now it was my turn to reward him with a treat.

Scowling down at the proud puppy, the rational part of my brain told me that the whole thing was my fault. Reluctantly reaching into my pocket, I fished out a puppy treat. Tossing it to Finn and damning him with faint praise. "Good pup," I managed to get between gritted teeth.
I walked my little guy in, and let him off of the leash. Taking off both my shoes and my socks, I headed straight for the bath. As I turned on the water, I heard Nicole come to the door. She asked, "Didn’t you already have a bath?"

"Yes, I’m having another," I answered.

"Why?"

"I just want to have one."

"Should I let Finn in? He’s waiting at the door."

"No."

**********

Life was speeding along, and after being potty trained, more decisions had to be made. Newborn puppies grow by leaps and bounds, literally changing every week. Finn was no exception. He seemed to be larger every day. The time quickly came to take Finn in to the vet to get his shots. The veterinarian was a nice lady who greeted us, gave Finn his shots, and then talked with us about our pup’s general health.

"He’s really a fine puppy," she started, "The standard shots should be enough for him, but there are some optional treatments that you might want to consider. Some people are giving their dogs heartworm pills as prevention. It isn’t something that is a problem here, but it’s available if you want it."

"Well, if there’s any chance of it, we’ll take the pills," I said, knowing that I’d regret it if I refused the medication and anything happened.

Going down her checklist, she continued, "Well, if you aren’t going to breed him, you really should consider neutering him."

"Um, well, we might want some time to think that one over..."

"I should say that there is no pain in the procedure, and the dog does not even notice a change."
"Um, yeah. I think we might want to wait until we’re sure about breeding him. We’ll make sure that we let you know though."

I hustled the little guy out and headed straight home. When we arrived, Nicole and I sat down and discussed the vet’s advice. "She did say that he would not feel like he was missing out on anything, and that it would help to keep him out of trouble," she began.

"I just don’t know Nicole," I replied as I crossed my legs, "I think that we might want to breed him– he’s just so perfect."

"Well," she began diplomatically, "he is a cross breed. I’m not sure that too many people would want to breed their dogs with him."

"True though that might be, I do think that we could probably find someone. I just think that we might want to take some time deciding for certain."

"I agree, we might as well think about it."

Feeling a surge of relief, I looked down to see the little guy looking up happily. His tongue lolled happily and his wagging tail made his whole body wiggle. His absolute trust and affection made me feel a little guilty for even having the discussion, let alone entertaining the possibility of taking the vet’s advice in this matter. Reaching down, we petted and snuggled him, all thoughts of betrayal gone for the moment.

**********

The weeks went by, and Finn grew rapidly. We knew that a puppy’s maturation was rapid, but he seemed more mature every day. Well, in any case, bigger every day. By the time that he was a few months old, he was starting to take a look akin to that of a gangly teenager.

Finn’s favorite thing at this time was running around the yard. Because our back fence was incapable of keeping him in at the time, he always did so under close supervision. We would read or do yard work as our little Finn danced around the yard chasing bugs, dug holes, and ate grass. One afternoon, as we observed this daily ritual, I came to realize that he was growing up way too fast– and not necessarily in a positive way.

As I looked over the top of my book to ensure Finn’s safety, I noticed that he was looking back at me with both paws on the top of the fence. It was the conspiratorial glance that he always chanced when he was about to do something that he knew he was not allowed to– usually something that turned out to be risky and stupid.

Wondering what he had spotted, I walked over to the fence. He immediately dropped to four paws and looked up at me with his patented "I’m not up to anything" look. Then he headed off to play in the yard a little more. Looking out over the fence, I spotted the item of his interest almost immediately. Just across the street stood a Rottweiler that must have weighed nearly two hundred pounds. The dog simply stood there, staring placidly at the fence where Finn had been standing. "Shoo, go away dog," I yelled.

The dog obediently trotted off down the street to my relief. I went back to my reading, but sat near the fence in case the dog came back. Finn went back to playing, but in true Finnigan fashion he kept eying the fence where he had initially spotted his new "friend".

Everything went well for a few minutes, and then things went pear shaped in a matter of seconds. As I sat on the stoop reading my novel, a little black blur flew right past me. Before I could intervene, Finn’s top paws were on the top of the fence again digging for purchase to propel him over. I ran to pull him back by his little red collar, and looked out to see the dog on the street again. Looking down at my pup, it suddenly became obvious to me why the little guy was so interested in meeting this particular dog. If his physical reactions were any indication, she was in heat.

Dragging Finn inside by the scruff of his neck, and probably saving his life in the process, I told Nicole what had happened. Moments later, the call to the vet was complete. Within days we took the little guy to his appointment, and assumed that we would not have to worry about such behavior again.

Chapter 1:
Arthur: More Puppy Love

One year later Nicole had graduated from university and had agreed to move to Merritt in order to manage her families’ A&W restaurant. Until that point, we had maintained our relationship at a distance through phone calls and as many visits as were feasible. I visited her there on a few occasions, but the strains of a long distance relationship soon became evident. Ultimately we agreed that I should move to Merritt, so that we could be together. It was the sensible choice because Nicole had a steady job and I was still a struggling teacher on call in Prince George.

We moved into a small duplex that was downtown, near the mills. It was not the best of neighborhoods, but the place that we moved into was clean, well kept up, and we could afford the rent (Nicole’s older brother Christopher owned the place). I applied at the local school board to get on the teacher on call list, but was not immediately given an opportunity for an interview. We managed to make ends meet because Nicole worked at the family restaurant as an assistant manager, and I worked as a cashier for a little while. I found the employment situation frustrating. Although I eventually found work at a mill in town, I was unhappy not to be working in my chosen field.

Between Nicole and I though, times were generally good. Our relationship was always a little stormy, but we enjoyed each other’s company. Throughout the first year, the one specter that hung over us was the fact that I began to think about returning home to Prince George because I was frustrated about my inability to get any work as a teacher on call. About half way through the school year I got hired on as a teacher on call, so it seemed that our future and place in Merritt was secure.

Once we started to feel more settled, we started talking about other things like where our relationship might be going. Marriage and family eventually came up. Nicole knew how much I loved dogs, and by this point she had warmed to the idea. We developed a sort of an implicit agreement at this point that a dog would be a good start to a family while I read book after book about dogs and puppies because it seemed that the acquisition of a new family member was becoming increasingly imminent. At this point we were both interested in puppies, but we were still in negotiation as to what sort of dog we each wanted. I wanted a big dog because I had grown up around big dogs. I was thinking something along the lines of an akita or a husky, she was thinking of something smaller like an american eskimo dog. There was no rush because now that we had agreed in principle, we had plenty of time to work out the details.
*****
It happened quite suddenly. One night during spring break when Nicole’s teenage younger brother, Sasha, and his cat, Simba, were visiting she came home from the restaurant with a newspaper in her hand, "I just found an ad for Labrador Retriever/ Golden Retriever cross puppies. If you are interested in looking at them, I am too.". The puppies were from a farm in Sunshine Valley near Merritt, and she told me that if I was interested in going to see the litter that she was too.

I was a little bit stunned for a second. Nicole had been coming around to the idea of a puppy, but I jumped on the opportunity and answered definitively. "Yes, let’s give her a call and go out to see the pups right away. What made up your mind so quickly?"

"I’m not sure. I just think that we should go and look, just a feeling. We don’t have to actually get one, unless we really like them," she replied.

I knew at that point that her mind was made up. People did not make appointments to see puppies without coming home with one. It’s one of the unwritten laws of the universe. That being said, I tried my best to respect her stance of indifference. "Well, if you really want to see them, I suppose that we might as well go to see them tonight."

Nicole called the woman who said that we might as well come out to see them right away because it was nearing dark. She lived on a farm in Sunshine Valley a short distance out of Merritt. Neither of us had ever been to that particular part of the valley, so we got thorough directions. They sounded fairly straight forward, so we left straight away.

It is sometimes tough to find addresses in Lower Nicola because it is full of farms with address plates that are invisible from the road, so getting there was a matter of the ladies’ confusing directions and instinct. The roads in that part of the valley were not particularly good, which was compounded by the fact that it was a pitch black night on a road that was shrouded by trees for the most part. Fortunately, Nicole’s parents had lent us their sport utility vehicle while Sascha was with us because Nicole’s little 1988 RX-7 was not big enough to comfortably drive the three of us around in.

Neither my instincts, nor Nicole’s, were great when it came to directions, but eventually we got to the house that we thought the puppies were at. As we drove up the long driveway a very large black dog, who looked to some sort of Labrador Retriever mix, jogged up beside our truck and followed us to our parking spot near the porch. Unfortunately the house had no visible number, so we waited to see if the house owner was going to come out at our approach. No one appeared for over a minute, so I figured that I would have to chance the dog’s mood and get out if I were to have a chance to see the puppies.

Getting out of the cab of the truck, I extended my wrist for the dog to sniff and hoped that the big dog was friendly. His tail started wagging instantly, and I was certain that things were o.k.. As soon as I started petting the dog, a voice from the porch boomed out, "Hello there."
I looked up and an elderly gentleman walked out toward me. "We called about the puppies earlier," I said hopefully.

"Sorry son, but I am not sure what you are talking about."

"Are you the people selling the labrador-golden retriever cross puppies?"

"No, I hear that the people up the road had a litter, you might want to try them."

I thanked the man and got back into the truck. I relayed the information to Nicole who had been a little more unsure about the big dog than I had, and we were quickly off again. After driving down dark country roads and up long driveways for a while, we were still unable to find a house with the correct number or information about where the lady with the puppies might actually live. It was getting darker, so I suggested that we might want to go home and try again the next day. As if by fate though, we decided to try one last driveway before giving up.

Arriving at the correct address this time, we saw an absolutely tiny Golden Retriever curled up on the porch. As we walked up to the door the little dog ran up wagging her tail and waited for a pet. After playing with the little dog for a couple of minutes, the owner of the house opened the front door and greeted us, inviting us inside to view the puppies. When asked if the little dog was the puppies’ mother, she said that she was indeed the mother, and that the father was a very large lab who was out wandering around the farm.

We went into the living room accompanied by lady and the little dog. When we got into the living room, Nicole and I sat down with the lady and talked to her while the puppies mother flopped down, so that several of the puppies ran over to get some supper. The puppies were the cutest babies that I had ever seen. They were small, black, fuzzy, and chubby all at the same time. I believe that there were seven in all, but it was very difficult to count because they were in constant motion wrestling, eating, and running in circles.

As I watched them play, I saw the two of them chase the runt of the litter away from supper and under a set of book shelves. He barked back at them, but they were not going to let him out. Having lost track of the conversation at this point, I walked over to the book shelf and shoed away the little bullies. Unsure of me, the baby stayed under the shelf and whimpered slightly.

Undaunted by a nip from his little puppy teeth, I fished him out. At that point, any chance of a rational decision was gone as soon as I looked into his dark little puppy eyes and smelled his bad little puppy breath. He was the cutest animal in the long history of animals. He was tiny, the smallest of the litter. When I lifted him, he was only slightly larger than my hand and had little ears that were so long that they could cover his eyes. His fur was relatively short and black as jet with just a hint of his mother’s gold in his cheeks. The cutest part was that his head was so fuzzy that he looked like he had a permanent case of bed head. I knew that there were many behavioral problems associated with the runt of the litter, but putting him back with the little bullies was unthinkable.

I stood up and walked over to the table where the discussion about the dogs was still taking place. Nicole quickly agreed on the puppy that I had picked out, so we paid the lady and took our new baby home. I rode in the back with the puppy, while Nicole and Sasha rode in the front. We talked along the way, but I can not remember much of what was said, although I do remember Sasha saying, "You’ve waited a long time for this– now we have to think of a name for him. How about Finnigan, like the dog off of Mr. Dressup?"

"That’s a great name, let’s think about it for a bit."

When we got home Nicole made a little box for the puppy to sleep in. It had a blanket and an alarm clock because we had heard that the noise made puppies comfortable by making them believe that it was the sound of their mother’s heart. Sascha and I had been camping out in the living room for the past few days, so I put the box beside my pillow, said goodnight to Sasch, and tried to get to sleep. It seemed that sleep was not in the puppies’ plans though because as soon as I started to drift off he threw all of his weight into the side of the box. The box spilled over, and he crawled over to nestle up in a little ball on my pillow.

I picked him up, snuggled him, and put him back in the box with a kiss on the nose. Assuring him that we would talk in the morning, I felt compelled to utter a sacred oath that would bind us forever, "I love you. You will have the best life– I promise. I will always be there for you, no matter what. "

Feeling that the words would properly assuage the dog and that I could now get to sleep, I turned over and closed my eyes. Thirty seconds later the box tumbled over again, and the puppy had nestled into the pillow beside my head. I knew that it would be the kiss of death to let the puppy win this struggle to assume the leadership of our pack, so I put him back into his box with the another hug and kiss. Thirty seconds later the box was over, and he was back. We repeated this process until I was half asleep, at which point the puppy claimed triumph and we both drifted off to sleep.

*****

The next morning was great fun. Arthur woke up and immediately began running around my head, licking my face, and barking at me. I rolled out of my sleeping bag, and headed to the kitchen. I immediately realized how woefully unprepared we had been to get the pup when I tried to find something to feed him. As I was searching, a smell wafted over to me from the other side of the kitchen. "Ken," Sascha called, "The puppy made a mess."

Walking over to the edge of the kitchen, I saw the mess. Right where the living room carpet met the linoleum floor. Why, oh why did the little dog not know that it was easier to get stains and smells off of linoleum than out of carpeting?

The little guy stood there wagging his tail, and wearing what appeared to be a smile for all intents and purposes. "Bad dog," I admonished him.

He continued to smile and wag his tail, but walked over and rubbed his head against my leg. Knowing that it was the wrong thing to do at this point in time; I reached down, picked the little guy up, and petted him. The puppy licked my face and barked happily. I hugged him tight, then set to cleaning the disgusting mess that he’d left me.

Shortly after I finished, Nicole woke up. She came out to the kitchen and petted our new baby. The pup was a tiny bundle of love and energy. He ran around in circles from me to Nicole to Sascha, getting pets from everyone who would give them. In the manner of most newborns, he understood exactly how cute he was, and knew exactly how much power that gave him.
We realized that we would need food for the little boy sooner rather than later, as his energy began to wane and playful barks turned to needy whines. Looking at the clock confirmed that it was; indeed, seven in the morning, so we headed out to the only place that seemed likely to have puppy food in stock– 7-11. I sat in the back of the vehicle holding my new baby while Sasch and Nicole went inside to get the dog food. They came out with a small bag of Kibbles and Bits– not specifically formulated for puppies, but it would give the little guy something to fill his tummy until we found something more suitable.

Returning home we took out some of the little green bowls that we ate out of and filled one with water and one with food. The puppy gulped his food quickly, running periodically to us to get pets and hugs between bites. When he had finished his breakfast, a mess of water and food crumbs was all over the floor. Nicole looked at the mess and said, "We really need some dog supplies– like a mat for the food.."

"Yup, and probably some appropriate food too," I agreed.

At that point in time, shopping for many Merrittonians meant a trip to Kamloops. I packed a little box with a blanket, carried our tiny new addition out to the Explorer, and sat in the passenger seat. Nicole got behind the wheel, and Sasch in the back seat– all eyes firmly fixed on the pup in rapt fascination, wondering what he might do next. To everyone’s disappointment, he immediately fell asleep. Even as the vehicle pulled out, the little guy did not stir.
Nicole asked quietly, "What do you think we should name him?"

"I’m not sure, do you have any ideas?" I asked.

Several suggestions were passed back and forth before Sasch interjected, "How about Finnigan, like off of Mr. Dressup?"

"I like that idea. Finnigan it is. Let’s think about it for a while and decide when we get home. Do we have a list of the things that we need?"

"No, I’ve never been shopping for a puppy before. What do you think we will need?"

"Well, probably some puppy food, a collar, a name tag, a leash, some toys, and probably the people at the store will know if we forget anything."

The puppy woke up when we got to the Logan Lake turn off and then proceeded to whine for the next ten minutes, until we got to a turn off. We trotted the little guy out and waited for him to go to the bathroom. Unfortunately, he decided that it was more fun to wander around the pull out, bark, and sniff the plants. Eventually he did his puppy business, and then it was back in the vehicle and off to Kamloops.

Arriving in Kamloops, we headed straight for the local Petcetera. We had not visited Petcetera many times before because, well, we had never had a pet before. We walked in carrying our little sleeping bundle of joy, and he immediately began barking and squirming. Now, when puppies die, I can only assume that the place that they go is somewhere like this store. It is completely full of pet food and treats of every description.

Unfortunately, having no leash made putting the puppy down in a store full of puppy toys inadvisable. We walked through the store, me with the puppy wailing and thrashing; and Nicole and Sascha picking up the necessities. Amongst other things we got a bag of Nutro puppy food, a little red leash, a little red collar, and various puppy toys. As soon as we passed through the checkout, we put the little collar and leash on the puppy.

Walking him out on his little leash was the first of many challenges that day. The little guy back and forth in front of the three of us, and then ran in a circle around my legs, leaving me completely entangled. After spinning myself out of the leash, I picked the puppy back up and carried him back to the truck while he licked my face.

Following our trip to Petcetera, we thought it would be wise to stop off at Chapters and purchase a book or two on puppies. I sat outside on the Starbuck’s patio with our cute little puppy, while Nicole went inside to look around.

Sitting on the patio, I realized that there is something primal about newborn babies of any species. A new puppy is like a magnet, and people that you have never met before will walk right up and compliment you on your puppy. They will then get down on their knees, make faces, and speak in silly baby voices. I had never owned a Labrador Retriever before, so I wondered how he would react to the stimulation of so many people walking up and petting him. As it turned out, the little guy basked in the attention, clowning around and barking at the strangers as they showered him with loving attention.

She came out with several puppy books, including the Idiot’s Guide To Choosing, Training, and Raising a Puppy. I had never before purchased an Idiot’s Guide, and flipping through it, I found tons of useful information. An idiot’s guide indeed.

Our next stop was Costco because one of us remembered that we had noticed a do it yourself dog run there during our previous trip. We piled in for the short trip over to Costco. Getting out, we walked to the door with our new baby. Nicole had the card, so she went in to purchase the cage. As I stood by the door holding the little guy. He wagged his tail happily and kissed me as I petted him.

Every person who walked by commented on the puppy or petted his head and made baby faces at him. Soon Nicole returned with the dog run in a box. We wheeled it out to the Explorer and loaded it into the back. We got in, and turning to Nicole I said, "How about Finnigan for a name? It was Sascha's suggestion, and it seems to fit."

"I like that name too," she said, "Yes, let’s go with Finnigan. Is there anything else that we need?"

"No, I’m hungry though, how about you?"

"I don’t think that we can take him into any restaurants, but I’m hungry too. How about Mcdonalds?"

"That sounds pretty good, let’s go."

We hit the drive thru, and I got a two cheeseburger meal. I held Finn with one hand while eating my fries. The little guy squirmed and struggled to reach the food, but he was just not big enough to get to them. When he could not reach them, he whimpered a little with a little voice that could melt the heart of the coldest person. I made a decision that probably cost me hours of torment later, feeding him a small piece of my burger. I should have realized that lessons that are taught to a five pound puppy are remembered by a seventy pound dog, but he was so cute in the moment. Mollified, the puppy was content with snuggling and licking me on the way home.