I’ve been living with my human family for over three years now, and I have to say that things are going pretty well. I’m still not allowed up on the furniture (when my parents are around to see it) and they still insist on feeding me dry dog kibble when all I really want is a plate of the same food they’re eating, but overall, I’ve got them pretty well trained. The trick with humans, I’ve discovered, is to let them think they’re training you, when in reality, you’re training them.
Take walks, for instance. Like all dogs, I love a good walk. Sauntering around the neighborhood with my human in tow is great fun, and I especially like stopping to sniff all the enticing odors along the way. The first few times Mom took me for a walk, she insisted on keeping up a brisk pace, and seemed irritated when I’d stop to sniff every few feet. She didn’t understand that investigating all the scents we encounter is how I learn what’s going on in our neighborhood. How am I supposed to know that the beagle up the street passed stopped by this very same bush if I’m not allowed to smell it thoroughly? And don’t get me started on all the interesting scents coming from the storm sewer….the stories I could tell!
So I had to teach Mom the importance of letting me stop and sniff on our walks. It took quite a while, with me pointedly ignoring her tugging on the leash and repeated cries of, “Come on!” before she figured it out. She still doesn’t let me stop and sniff every single scent, but now she waits patiently when I discover something particularly intriguing, which happens a couple of times per outing. I heard her bragging to Dad about how she’s taught me to mostly keep moving, and of course I let her believe it. But the truth is, I’ve taught her to let me stop and sniff.
And while my parents still fill my supper dish with kibble, I’ve taught them to also share their (far superior, in my opinion) food with me. Again, it took time and lots of patience on my part, but now they both know that whenever they eat something, they have to save a bite of it for me. And since both of them are fond of their food, I get quite a few “bites” of food every day. My nickname is Bubbles (due to my bubbly personality) and they actually refer to the tidbits they give me as the “Bubble tax.” I don’t care what they call it, as long as they pay it.
I’m not sharing this to brag on my success, even though I’ve done a pretty good job of training my parents. I’m sharing it to give hope to all the other dogs who have just joined their human family and might be a feeling a little frustrated by how slow their new parents are on the uptake. I want them to know that it takes time and patience to train your humans, but if you stick with it, the rewards are worth it. Trust me on this…..
Love, Finn
I was dusting the spare bedroom the other day when I noticed a piece of paper sticking out from my grandmother’s old family Bible. Curious, I pulled it out and discovered it was a reflection, neatly typed on a small piece of paper with my grandmother’s name signed at the bottom of it. I have no idea if this is something she wrote herself, or if she found it somewhere and decided with was worth copying down and saving. At any rate, it ended up in the same Bible where she kept a careful record of our family’s births, marriages, and deaths, so I believe it must have held some special meaning for her. And after reading it, I can understand why.
On Saturday morning, we awakened to what looked like a winter wonderland. Snow was everywhere, at least a foot deep. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the dry, powdery snow that skiers love. It was the heavy, soggy snow that can damage roofs and bushes, and even cause trees to drop branches on power lines. When we saw that the tall bushes that line our property were bowing low under the weight of the snow, we quickly bundled up and headed outside to do some heavy-duty snow removal.
I believe we are quickly becoming a society of people who operate on the false assumption that immediate gratification is something we are entitled to. We aren’t. Sometimes we do have to wait in a slow line, and sometimes we are going to have our busy schedule interrupted by other people and things we can’t control. When that happens, we can choose to fly into a self-centered rage, or we can take a few deep breaths and realize that sometimes, these things just happen. And that learning to wait patiently now and then isn’t really such a bad thing.
I love dogs and spend a lot of time in their company, one way or another. I share my home with a dog and I walk shelter dogs in my spare time. Many of my good friends are dog lovers, and several of them also volunteer at the local animal shelter. But I have other friends who aren’t especially fond of dogs. I may believe that a house isn’t truly a home until there’s a dog (or two) wandering around, but I have good friends who wouldn’t dream of sharing their home with a dog. And you know what? I am just as close to them as I am to my dog friends.
With all due respect to Forrest Gump, I don’t believe that life is really like a box of chocolates. Personally, I believe that everyday life is actually far more like doing laundry. Because no matter how many loads I wash, I know there’s always going to be more that needs to be done. I never get to the point where I can say, “That’s it! I washed, dried, folded, and put away all those clothes, and now I’ll never have to do laundry again!” Doing the laundry is an ongoing process, which makes it very much like so much of the rest of my life.
I should have paid just a little more attention to the details. The prediction wasn’t just for rain, it was for tons of rain, falling for three days and two nights, often quite heavily. The empty flower pots I have lined up next to garage, waiting to be filled with spring flowers, are now completely full of water instead. My house and neighborhood is on high ground, but hundreds of people in my area are faced with flash floods, rising rivers, and water in their basements. All I wanted was enough rain to water my plants and wash away the pollen. But what I got was enough to make me think it might be time to start work on an ark.
Sadly, my knack for stubbornly hanging on isn’t limited to dining out. I spent years trying to get my children’s books published, which is actually the sort of persistence that most writers need. But the problem was I spent those years submitting my work the exact same way: sending off the full manuscript to one large publishing house at a time, then waiting weeks or even months before they sent it back and I mailed it off to another one. My system obviously wasn’t working, but that didn’t mean I was willing to give it up. Yet the only book I eventually published was sold through an entirely different method: I heard a book packager was looking for fantasy novels for teens, so I sent them the required book proposal, and they asked me to write the manuscript.
Muddling Through My Middle Age 