Today we lost our beloved dog Finnegan.
A few months ago, Finn started showing some worrying symptoms, and a CT scan confirmed our worst suspicions: an aggressive cancerous growth in his nose, eye, and brain.
He was 7 years old.
He was, to us, less of a dog and more of an earnest orphan boy.
He was sweet, watchful, and affectionate, but also rambunctious, independent, and opinionated.
We never learned his breed, but we suspect he was largely Lhasa Apso, who the Tibetan monks had guard their holy temples.
His favorite things were balls and string cheese, and his least favorite things were children and water.
Finn was whip smart and learned 15+ tricks in his short life, including "sit," "stay," "down," "bang," "roll over," "spin," "touch," "speak," "shake," "sit pretty," "find it," "leave it," and more.
He also learned things we never meant for him to.
"Where's your mom" and "where's your dad" would send him searching for either one of us.
"Go see who it is" would heave him howling toward the door.
He would ask for pets by propping himself up on your knees and then petting himself, pawing at his own face.
He would ask for back scratches by sitting in front of you with his back turned, then pushing backwards happily into your fingernails.
He would go upside-down for belly-rubs, and then - if you stopped - go somehow further upside-down, making himself irresistible.
He would ask to play ball by dropping it repeatedly at your feet ad infinitum.
I'll miss the "ka-thunk, ka-thunk, ka-thunk" of him coming down the stairs.
I'll miss the way he unfolded his entire body to pee, like a ballerina.
I'll miss the way he'd howl at sirens as if they were long lost family.