Finnegan

I can’t say much about a dog’s memory. I honestly can’t say much for my own. There are certain moments that stick out, although I’m not sure how much the passage of time has done in editing these ribbons of recollection.

It may be too easy to say that the best memory I have with Finnegan, Shadow at the time, is the day I met him at the shelter. There are a lot of other good ones in there, times he’s taken care of me and vice versa. Times he shown he truly understands me, listens to me, obeys, and loves. The times he's made me laugh and the adventures we've taken. The day I met him, though, he made me choose him. There was no other direction to go, even though I was considering it when I first saw him.

I’d seen his picture on a website for available shelter dogs. He catfished me, or maybe I wanted to believe something more from the picture. I certainly wasn’t expecting to see this scrawny dog, full grown and still tiny. I sound like an asshole, right?

Dogs have always been a huge part of my family. We had a few through the years, but we also found dozens on the road and my mom was always able to find the owner, until this one puppy. She had long, black hair, bright eyes, and an exuberant spirit… too young to realize she’d been abandoned on the side of the road. The weeks passed with no new information, and I prayed a family would never come forward. We began tossing names around by the second week. At the time, we had an upper-middle-aged Labrador named Mulligan. And soon after, we had Phoenix. The name stuck around and so did she.

Phoenix was always our enigma. As she grew, she became more catlike. She was aloof, but still protective and loving. In the early years she was a hellion to Mulligan, but we also like to think she kept him younger for longer. After Mulligan died, we took in another lab who was only a year apart from Phoenix, they were seven and eight at the time. Titan was supposed to be a temporary thing but he also ended up making roots in our home. He was an imperfectly perfect Labrador, making up with his heart what he lacked behind those adorably thoughtless eyes. We loved him, and so did Phoenix. They were the perfect match as playmates, whether it was chasing after toys or tussling in the backyard.

We were supposed to add a third. I was against it for a few reasons, initially just because it would be a purchased purebred. Around the time we were going to meet this pug, I was sitting on the garage door's threshold next to Titan when I felt a drop on my leg. I wiped blood from my knee and looked into his mouth to see and smell what would grow to become a large jawbreaking ball of cancer.

Titan’s time was short after that and Phoenix and I needed space. We kept ourselves separate from the new nuisance for a while. Phoenix used to stand up and walk away every time he tried to lay on her but he eventually wore her down. As a constant united team, I agreed with Phoenix when it was time to accept the pug.

The acceptance grew to love and protection over this oddly adorable creature. Much like Phoenix terrorized an older Mulligan, Hercules tormented Phoenix. She handled it well, always being gentle with him despite being four times his size.

I was devastated when Phoenix died. Something in me believed there was real magic to make her stay and live forever. I took my time to grieve, but upon living on my own was ready to save another life. So, when I saw this photo of a long-haired black dog, I almost allowed myself to think Phoenix could have been true to her name and rebirthed.

Finnegan was a two-year-old dog who in the same month I met him had been abandoned on the road, had his time expire at a kill shelter, and was rescued by the Humane Society of Forsyth before the other shelter could put him down. I played with another dog before getting in the pen with him... only out of obligation. I had, after all, come out this way to see him in the first place. The other dog had high energy and wanted to play the entire time we spent together. I was expecting more or less of the same from “Shadow.” Instead, this tentative dog crept over to me and bent his neck, putting his head into my lap and nestling in. I let him, expecting him to move at some point or jump on me. Instead, he just held that position for fifteen minutes, and as the time ticked on I felt our connection growing. I felt how safe I made him, how much love he had to offer.

When I brought him home, he didn’t bark or make any noise for two weeks. I think he was scared to do something wrong and be left behind again. Now, I can’t get more than two minutes without him barking at neighbors, cars, or suspicious spots of air.

I don’t think Phoenix rebirthed into Finnegan, he was already existing, somewhere awful, before she died. I do think we found each other at the time when we both needed it the most. He no longer needs to keep his head in my lap to be sure I won’t leave him, but I still like to hold him in the same way as a constant reminder that he is finally safe. Safe, and able to eagerly continue the cycle as Hercules's headache.