No puppy is perfect, right?

The notices are in and Finnigan is getting mixed reviews.

"Look! He's the most wonderful puppy ever!" -- Shyla in the basement.

"What's a puppy?| Skylar, the four-month-old.

"Get lost," Gordie.

"He puked on me in the car!" Marissa.

 "Where is my iPhone? Mama Rose.

"Finn, give me those shoes," Papa Scott.

Four out of five stars is pretty good.

No puppy is perfect, right?

Black labs: They eat horses don't they?

Oprah, the female fountain of all wisdom has one piece of advice which resonates with me.
If you know better, you do better.
This advice holds very true when it comes to animal training.
When you're young and busy, you think, "Well, I'll just put down a mountain of kibble and the dog will eat when he's hungry." Or "he's a dog; he won't live long enough to have teeth rot."
Expensive mistakes, both.
Many of my early dogs became very fat because of the first theory. Gordie ended up being three times his proper weight because he just never stopped eating.
And then got bladder stones which cost me $3,000.
Then he got pancreatitis which cost me another $2,500.
The whole dental ignorance on my part was, by far, the worst mistake.
Here is what happens if you don't do dental maintenance on a pug.

Today, I am the proud owner of a vial of 10 of Gordie's teeth, which I'm thinking of turning into a neckace to try to sell to Mickey Rourke so I can pay my son back the $3,000 I owe him.

I've heard Mickey will buy anything.

The vet bill is not the worst of it. Now I have a toothless pug.

A pug who now looks like this.

I've been checking online to see if I can get a grill to keep his tongue in. Something like this.

Finnigan is getting schooled early.
Our new vet, Dr. Dave has suggested that twice a week, we go on a tooth picking expedition, like the birds who eat bugs on a hippo, to get all the grit and tartar off of Finn's teeth.

I was thinking instead of getting him an Oral B electric toothbrush because I bet he'd really like the twirling action.
On second thought, I'll just get Scott to pick Finn's teeth.

We're also watching Finn's diet from the get-go. Dr. Dave says labs are the equivalent of the Dyson 360 vaccuum cleaner, when it comes to food.

So he gave us a kibble dispensing ball, which looks like this.

It's called an Omega Paw Treat Ball and you fill it with kibble and let him have at it. Generally, Finn can only get, like, three pieces of kibble out before he falls asleep or asks to go outside to eat dirt, which is cheaper than kibble. And dirt is probably higher in fibre.

We'll see.

I pray not to wake up to a half-eaten carcass of Gordie lying beside me, like the horsehead in the Godfather.

If that happens, I'm going to let Finn eat what he wants.

Little posers

Finnigan is quickly learning to pose for the camera. He learned this from Gordie.

The Daily Finnigan: Sharing the Backyard

With all new puppies, there are daily frustrations and victories. Yesterday, Finnigan learned that biting is for toys and licks are for humans. He also learned how to play with Gordie. Here is a backyard sequence.




While he is pretty well trained -- in just a week! -- to wee outside, he still thinks the underside of the dining room table is his toilet for number two. Working on that.

He's stopped chewing the furniture -- thanks to Laurel for the bitter apple suggestion -- now he's on to the lamp wires. Note to self: a visit to Home Depot is required to save our electronics. Alas, my sheepskin slipper is toast.

God news on the Gordie front. He appears to be back to his old cranky self after the vet took out ten teeth last week. Here they are. I'm thinking about taking the incisor and turning it into a necklace.

He reminds me of Mickey Rourke in the Wrestler, an old fellar with no teeth and a craggy face on the comeback trail, taking on the newest Turk in the ring. You can't help but root for the old guy.

Elder Abuse

Today, it was time to "school" Finnigan on the fine art of cooperation with other dogs. Gordie, the senior pug was delighted to take over the training.

Guerrilla puppy training

Please watch my first attempt at making a puppy training video.

Notice the expert trainer who has the puppy eating out of her hand.

It may be a new career for me.

Finnigan: Let's Begin Again

The mail came yesterday, and there was a note of condolences. Here is what is said:

Dear Rose and Scott:

I am writing to say how sorry I am on the loss of your lovely Ming. You made the best decision for Ming. She was really struggling to breathe and her quality of life was significantly compromised. She was a lovely dog and I know she will be fondly remembered."

The note was from our veterinarian, Dr. Morgan who set Ming free a little more than a week ago. Ming was our 12-year-old pug, my best friend in the whole world. This is her, with my granddaughter, Skylar.

Ming entered my life at a very difficult time. I was trying to raise three kids on my own and get over an acrimonious divorce. I was deeply depressed, and drinking my way through a nervous breakdown. Ming made me feel special, like I was her one-and-only. She slept tucked down beside me every night and soothed my utter loneliness and despair. She taught me how to love again.

Over the years, my life has gotten much better and happier. I have three wonderful grown children, Nick, Stefan and Marissa. Nick and his spouse, Shyla, live in the basement with Skye who will turn four months old next. Stefan is a swinging server about town. Marissa works as a social media ninja and lives with her boyfriend, Jeff, who is a Francophone hip hop artist originally from Paris.

I was fortunate to find love nine years ago and I am now married to a wonderful, patient man named Scott who once covered the news for CBC as a cameraman, but now sells Subarus to make ends meet.

Here is my family.

 I am loved and I am blessed.

Ming was with me all the way, wheezing me on.

A year after Ming entered my life, Marissa brought home an ornery new pug named Gordie who looks like a baboon. He is disrespectful, pees everywhere and barks incessantly, but Gordie is well loved just the same.

At 11, he is here in spite of himself and continues to live a crotchedy life. This is him in an unfortunate pose.

Last week, he and Ming went in for dental surgery and only Gordie came out.

We were grief stricken, not just because of Ming but because we also lost our third dog, the lovely Hannah who died of cancer just before Valentine's Day. We thought she had a toothache and took her happily trotting to the vet, only to be told her condition was "catastrophic" according to Dr. Morgan.

I watched, sobbing, as Hannah was led away to the lethal injection site.

This is Hannah in better days.

Last week, we decided on happiness.

So we adopted a puppy. His mother is a Bernese Mountain dog. His father was a local lothario suspected of being a black lab.  This is his mother.

The puppy's name is Finnigan and he is nothing like his mother.

 If you believe in reincarnation, this is who he was in a past life.

He comes disguised as this.

Only a week in, and Finn has already left his mark. He has chewed my favorite sandals and is working on my good leather sofa and chair. He ripped up the carpet in the den like an expert contractor.

He has left Gordie cowering in the corner.

Me, I'm wounded all over, scratched and gnawed by tiny, sharp puppy teeth. He bit my nose last night then went after my lady parts.

Sleeping with Finn is like diving bum first into a pit of alligators.

A hungry seething pit of alligators.

Laced with spiders.

And that's why I decided to write this blog.

I'm in desperate need of some sharing.

So let's go on this journey together. Maybe you have words of encouragement. Perhaps sage advice. Perhaps you'll recommend pepper spray.

We'll laugh, we'll cry, we'll drink.

And here's a promise.

This diary will not end with the death of the dog, as almost all books on dogs do.

It began with death and it will end with joy, frustration and great memories.

See what I did there?

I switched it around.

See you next time.