It's my first day alone with Finnigan and he's laying on my foot.
In a minute, he will try to chew my sandal -- or my big toe -- and I'll have to push him away, But for now, he's cool, calm and collected.
It's been years since there has been puppy love in this house. Nine years, to be exact, when we brought home Hannabelle at only four weeks old. Now she and Ming are in doggie heaven, with only Gordie the pug left to train the youngin'.
I was frankly worried about Gordie who is the same size at 11-years-old as Finn is at three months. But Gordie seems to have taken on the role of eminence gris, the grandfatherly guide for the new puppy's journey.
That's not necessarily a good thing.
Gordie regards the entire world as his toilet, he barks incessantly and he hates my baby granddaughter. Finn has yet to have a urinary accident in the house, although he did puke twice. He barks in play but not at people coming to the door. But he may have followed Gordie's instinct about Skylar and her parents. He won't go near the scary baby or those who brought her into the world.
I'm sure he'll get used to her. At least I hope so.
Finn is a joy to behold with his floppy feet and ears and a tail the size of that of a small retriever. He'll be big; that's for sure.
Big and goofty, just the way we like our boys.
It was a good decision to get Finn, the Bernese/lab cross, even though it might have been a bit soon after Ming's departure last week.
But I'm tired of living a life of grief.
Joy and slobber.
That's the ticket.