Things really do improve with time, and not just in that "Antiques Roadshow" sort of way. Take Finn, for instance, a dog that has grown exponentially cuter since I first met him a year and a half ago. I'm not sure if he's been secretly secreting pheromones in my general direction lately, but I do know that I have become absolutely nuts about that hound.
Sure, he's got his bad habits--God help you if you have the gall to ring our doorbell or if you are a man in a hat bending down to pet him, not to mention that weird, wiry fur of his, which is winning him exactly zero admirers. But the guy's got the smarts and personality of a comic-book hero.
As much as I've loved every dog I've ever had (minus, on certain days, Ginger the brown poodle, who could be snippy and petulant, especially with young children), when it comes to sheer brain power and entertainment potential, I've never had a dog like Finn.
Give him a Gallup StrengthFinders survey and Finn would nail the "positive activator" categories. The guy could care less that I often wake before 4 a.m. When I rise for the day, he rises for the day. And he acts like it's the greatest thing ever that we are waking before the Robins, more or less the Broxes and Housers and (sometimes) the Kellases.
The fact that Finn thinks I walk on water has done nothing to hurt my impression of him. Perhaps he's got a touch of Gallupian "woo" running through his scrawny frame, given how effective his smiling, sideward glances are as we head out on yet another walk through the neighborhood. Regardless, I have allowed myself to be happily swayed by his fuzzy-faced manipulations.
So, yes. I'm not so dumb as to think that his motives are entirely pure. I know that, without my opposable thumbs and ATM card, he'd pretty much be screwed at meal time. But I also know that--even given my propensity to ignore dust bunnies and toilet-bowl rings--a gig on Woods Avenue beats the heck out of the noisy, urine-soaked confines of his Missouri rescue facility.
Clearly, Finn--if not exactly coming out of this smelling like roses (more like fox urine and bad breath)--benefits from our symbiotic relationship. Ah, but so do I. So do I. And I have absolutely no plans to alter this "You do for me, I do for you" gig we've got going.
That's how much I love this dog.
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