(In Part 3 of our story, you'll remember we had picked up our new dog mate, brought him home and the transition from "Street Dog" to "Family Dog" had not been easy. Finn fit like size 34 pants on a size 54 body... it was very uncomfortable and things were ready to bust at the seams! Through it all that Dear ol' Dad of mine continued to work with Finn, coaxing, encouraging, correcting and babying him. I, and the other members of my family, were miserable)
Between taking Finn on a walking adventure while leaving the OLD chin at home AND overlooking the very things that would have brought swift and sudden retribution on the legacy fur children... I had seen the straw that broke the camels back, used it to pick my teeth and set it on the wall next to the LAST STRAW. I was done with this hillbilly freeloader. I worked in my mind on a way to rid myself of this wart on my butt, this toothache that couldn't be "drilled and filled". Just when I thought I had formulated a plan of action... the situation took an odd turn.
Dad had grilled out the next weekend after we had picked up HIllbilly Finnegan Chin... it was the normal burgers and hot dogs. As was customary, I shared Dad's meal. I always get the first chip out of the bag, the first bite of leftovers, a little potato salad... just enough to tide me over till my real dinner. There was FINN, sitting right next to me,,, pushing himself in front of me... it was bad enough I had to share my Dad but now my "Live Action Snacks"? It was as if I was having a nightmare, in a nightmare, wrapped around a nightmare, covered in nightmare sauce. When would it end?
The next morning, I was up early and ready to take a stand. Dad spent some time with me before he left for work but Finn was not up and in his face. Finn was just kind of laying around, he had no energy and was not his normal "I'm the stupidest creature in the land" self. He walked with his tail down and didn't take more than 5 steps without plopping down again. Dad kissed us all and left with the normal "I'll see you babies tonight". Finn didn't follow him to the door, in fact, he just laid on the floor like a mop. Something wasn't quite right... I could feel it in my bones.
Later in the day, Mom noticed Finn was not begging for snacks or interacting with the rest of us. He would move from place to place and lay for a moment... then move on. He appeared to get weaker and weaker as the day went on. His nose was warm and his eyes weren't looking right. Mom called Dad at work, worried because Finn had not went to use the yard, eaten or drank the entire day. Dad left work and rushed home to check out the situation. A slow sense of panic set in around the house. Finn was not responding to anyone or anything. He was just a mop with eyes, laying on the floor and breathing very heavily. Dad picked him up and rushed him to the car, then wisked him to our Family vet.
I overheard a phone call from Dad while he was at the vets office and the news was not positive. Finn had something called pancreatitis. This apparently makes your belly hurt, take away and desire for food or water and, eventually, make your heart act funny. Dogs who eat a from the trash, dogs who eat greasy food or dogs who have a family history of this illness are more likely to have it. If you have it bad enough you can dehydrate or develop heart issues and die. In fact, the vet told Dad that if he had not brought Finn in that day... he would not have lasted the night. Now, I wanted Finn gone... but none of us wanted him DEAD!
Dad returned home, without Finn. Finn was at the Dr's office with IV's for fluid and antibiotics. They didn't know if he would make it through the night. Dad was beside himself. Had he brought this dog all this way just to lose him. Dad had brought him to our home to give him a life he had never had, not to let him die. Dad blamed himself... he knew it was the hot dogs he had given Finn. I tried to reason with Dad that he needed to look at the past month in Finn's life. He was eating garbage and sleeping on the streets. The weight of his ordeal had finally caught up with Finn. Dad didn't sleep much that night, as he laid awake thinking of his buddy Huckleberry Finnegan Chin.
The next morning brought some encouraging news. Finn has lasted the night and was somewhat perkier. The vet still wanted to keep him for a few more days... this is where MOM stepped in and took charge. She told the vet that, since she was a stay at home Mom, nobody could take better care of Finn than she could. She would monitor him and if anything changed, bring him back to the vets. But the best place for that baby was at home where he could receive personal care and NOT just lay in a cage unattended.
Mom picked Finn up and brought him home against the Dr's wishes. When he came home, he looked weird. He had a huge hump between his shoulder blades that was filled with fluids and medications. He still laid around and didn't eat. He didn't want to be bothered, he just wanted to sleep. Dad came home at lunch and Finn wagged his tail and walked over to him. Dad picked him up and loved him a little. You know... this time I didn't mind so much. Maybe there was enough of that Dear ol' Dad to go around. Maybe Finn wasn't the Anti-Sophie after all. Maybe he was just a dog, down on his luck, far away from where he lived, learning to deal with new people and new places. Maybe it was just as scary for him as it was for me. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't such a bad brother to have after all.
Over the next few days, Finn beat the odds and gradually became more of his old self. He was up and active within a week, back to being a royal pain in everyone's ass. Over the next year, Finn became less of an outsider and began to find his place in our pack (Squarely behind ME!). He even started to learn to play with toys. Finn and the Bitty started to wrestle and play. Loki and Finn had less and less fights and even started to lay on the big chair together. Finn began to defend and watch over me (sure its creepy sometimes but, in his way, it is love). To date, the pancreatitis hasn't returned... however, Finn has never tasted another hot dog and all of our diets have changed because there are things Finn isn't allowed to eat. Finn and Dad continue to grow closer,.. but I am back to being Dad's "#1 Walking Chin" because Finn doesn't have the chops for it.
I guess what I learned from the adventure of H. Finnegan Chin is... You can't judge a brother by his outward, stinky, rude, overbearing, aggressive, humping cover. Maybe the object that offends you is just as afraid and confused as you are. Life has a funny way of making you see the truth, even if you refuse to look at it.
Between taking Finn on a walking adventure while leaving the OLD chin at home AND overlooking the very things that would have brought swift and sudden retribution on the legacy fur children... I had seen the straw that broke the camels back, used it to pick my teeth and set it on the wall next to the LAST STRAW. I was done with this hillbilly freeloader. I worked in my mind on a way to rid myself of this wart on my butt, this toothache that couldn't be "drilled and filled". Just when I thought I had formulated a plan of action... the situation took an odd turn.
Dad had grilled out the next weekend after we had picked up HIllbilly Finnegan Chin... it was the normal burgers and hot dogs. As was customary, I shared Dad's meal. I always get the first chip out of the bag, the first bite of leftovers, a little potato salad... just enough to tide me over till my real dinner. There was FINN, sitting right next to me,,, pushing himself in front of me... it was bad enough I had to share my Dad but now my "Live Action Snacks"? It was as if I was having a nightmare, in a nightmare, wrapped around a nightmare, covered in nightmare sauce. When would it end?
The next morning, I was up early and ready to take a stand. Dad spent some time with me before he left for work but Finn was not up and in his face. Finn was just kind of laying around, he had no energy and was not his normal "I'm the stupidest creature in the land" self. He walked with his tail down and didn't take more than 5 steps without plopping down again. Dad kissed us all and left with the normal "I'll see you babies tonight". Finn didn't follow him to the door, in fact, he just laid on the floor like a mop. Something wasn't quite right... I could feel it in my bones.
Later in the day, Mom noticed Finn was not begging for snacks or interacting with the rest of us. He would move from place to place and lay for a moment... then move on. He appeared to get weaker and weaker as the day went on. His nose was warm and his eyes weren't looking right. Mom called Dad at work, worried because Finn had not went to use the yard, eaten or drank the entire day. Dad left work and rushed home to check out the situation. A slow sense of panic set in around the house. Finn was not responding to anyone or anything. He was just a mop with eyes, laying on the floor and breathing very heavily. Dad picked him up and rushed him to the car, then wisked him to our Family vet.
I overheard a phone call from Dad while he was at the vets office and the news was not positive. Finn had something called pancreatitis. This apparently makes your belly hurt, take away and desire for food or water and, eventually, make your heart act funny. Dogs who eat a from the trash, dogs who eat greasy food or dogs who have a family history of this illness are more likely to have it. If you have it bad enough you can dehydrate or develop heart issues and die. In fact, the vet told Dad that if he had not brought Finn in that day... he would not have lasted the night. Now, I wanted Finn gone... but none of us wanted him DEAD!
Dad returned home, without Finn. Finn was at the Dr's office with IV's for fluid and antibiotics. They didn't know if he would make it through the night. Dad was beside himself. Had he brought this dog all this way just to lose him. Dad had brought him to our home to give him a life he had never had, not to let him die. Dad blamed himself... he knew it was the hot dogs he had given Finn. I tried to reason with Dad that he needed to look at the past month in Finn's life. He was eating garbage and sleeping on the streets. The weight of his ordeal had finally caught up with Finn. Dad didn't sleep much that night, as he laid awake thinking of his buddy Huckleberry Finnegan Chin.
The next morning brought some encouraging news. Finn has lasted the night and was somewhat perkier. The vet still wanted to keep him for a few more days... this is where MOM stepped in and took charge. She told the vet that, since she was a stay at home Mom, nobody could take better care of Finn than she could. She would monitor him and if anything changed, bring him back to the vets. But the best place for that baby was at home where he could receive personal care and NOT just lay in a cage unattended.
Mom picked Finn up and brought him home against the Dr's wishes. When he came home, he looked weird. He had a huge hump between his shoulder blades that was filled with fluids and medications. He still laid around and didn't eat. He didn't want to be bothered, he just wanted to sleep. Dad came home at lunch and Finn wagged his tail and walked over to him. Dad picked him up and loved him a little. You know... this time I didn't mind so much. Maybe there was enough of that Dear ol' Dad to go around. Maybe Finn wasn't the Anti-Sophie after all. Maybe he was just a dog, down on his luck, far away from where he lived, learning to deal with new people and new places. Maybe it was just as scary for him as it was for me. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't such a bad brother to have after all.
Over the next few days, Finn beat the odds and gradually became more of his old self. He was up and active within a week, back to being a royal pain in everyone's ass. Over the next year, Finn became less of an outsider and began to find his place in our pack (Squarely behind ME!). He even started to learn to play with toys. Finn and the Bitty started to wrestle and play. Loki and Finn had less and less fights and even started to lay on the big chair together. Finn began to defend and watch over me (sure its creepy sometimes but, in his way, it is love). To date, the pancreatitis hasn't returned... however, Finn has never tasted another hot dog and all of our diets have changed because there are things Finn isn't allowed to eat. Finn and Dad continue to grow closer,.. but I am back to being Dad's "#1 Walking Chin" because Finn doesn't have the chops for it.
I guess what I learned from the adventure of H. Finnegan Chin is... You can't judge a brother by his outward, stinky, rude, overbearing, aggressive, humping cover. Maybe the object that offends you is just as afraid and confused as you are. Life has a funny way of making you see the truth, even if you refuse to look at it.