Finneas
Finneas, gentle giant, loving companion, goof ball. Finn came to us in May of 2020, during the pandemic. One evening, a girlfriend sent me a photo of a cute little puppy telling me he was available to adopt from STS Rescue. I replied that we were looking for an older golden, not a puppy, a dog my husband, who had cancer at the time, could walk. But that face led me to asking her so many questions that she put me in touch with the foster mom. The next day, the foster mom brought him over to meet us. He was so chill, he wandered among us as we sat on the floor, climbed in our laps, plopped on the floor, never going too far. He made us laugh. The next day we were fostering to adopt.
Finn was an amazing dog. He was special. He bonded with my late husband like neither of our Goldens. Since he came to us during the pandemic, he was surrounded by the four of us for the first year of his life. All of that changed in 2021. Our daughter graduated from college and moved out, our son left for college and two weeks later, my husband passed away. It was just Finn and me.
I put his crate away. I let him sleep with me until he decided the bed was his, not mine. We went for training. I learned how to communicate with him. We took long walks. I took him everywhere, even the office occasionally where he charmed everyone. He would quietly lay under my desk but would occasionally wander off and I’d have to go find him.
He was a friendly goofball. He would wander into my neighbors’ garages, even their houses if the doors were open. He made friends with everyone he met. For a while, he was taller than the children next door and he would lick their faces but never intentionally knocked them over. He often took a toy on our walks. Loved ripping the squeakers out of his toys, spreading stuffing everywhere. He would carry around the squeakers, throwing them in the air and catching them. We played ball in the house.
On his last day, a neighbor asked if he could steal one last toy from her porch. When she called him, he promptly got up, loped over, and took a stuffed chicken which he promptly destroyed to remove the squeaker. When Dr. Rikh arrived, he got up from the porch to greet her. She gave him a couple of treats to get him in the house. Once inside, Finn continued to nudge her for more treats. He ate them all, stuck his nose in the pocket of her bag looking for more, when he didn’t find them, he pawed her bag and whined.
His life was too short, cut short by cancer. The silence is deafening. His pawprint will forever me emblazoned on my heart.
