Finn

The other day, I got a call from my parents that I'd kind of been expecting for a while, it was the news that they'd put down our dog, Finn. He'd been on the ropes for a while, going from one set of symptoms to another, he'd stop eating and then start up again, his back legs weren't working super well, we didn't think he would make it to Christmas. Thankfully, he did!

Look, he's wearing a festive little scarf and everything! In any case, Finn was a great dog. He was affectionate, loved to curl up at the foot of your bed, and was pretty easily amused. All it took was a simple head juke to get him to start running a lap around the yard until he came back to you, at which point another fake-out would send him jetting off again. He mellowed out with age, stopped being super aggressive to other dogs, started moving more slowly as we all will, but was still pretty much a big ball of love. A constantly shedding ball of love, seeming to defy conservation of mass by leaving a trail of hair behind him year round. He got blind, he got deaf, he apparently suffered from dementia towards the end (we wondered why he was wandering around the house so much), he lost a tooth to a tennis racket during a game of fetch. He moved across the country a couple times, despite the fact that he regularly got carsick. He never ran away, but he did once almost attack a mailman. We generally don't talk about that last one.

In any case, he was a great dog, and veritably ancient, making it to about sixteen years old. I loved the snot of him and will miss him greatly.