A View From the Glen: Head and Heart

There comes a point in your working partners career when it is time to hang up the collar, put away the bell and let the youngin’s take the lead. Sounds easy. But it is a soul wrenching decision for me.

Finn came into my life, as a bouncing, rambunctious and annoying 9 week old puppy, after my old boy, Ben, destroyed his suspensory ligament in a back leg. I didn’t want Finn, didn’t need Finn and certainly didn’t think Finn could take Ben’s place. Finn didn’t take Ben’s place, because nobody could, he just squeezed himself into another part of my heart.

Matter of fact, I think he took over most of it. He and I have been through so much together, starting young. He was less than a year old when very early one morning, too early for the sun to be up, he crash landed on me while I was in bed. I was about to yell at him to get off of me, when I looked at my bedroom window and saw something my sleep befuddled mind couldn’t make sense of. The sun shouldn’t have been up and it certainly shouldn’t have been shining thorough that window… No, those were flames from the other side of my duplex that had made their way up the vinyl siding of my neighbor’s side. Good Morning!!

He got me up in time for me to get dressed, call 911 and make it out of the house with all the dogs. The house was completely destroyed, lost both of my cats and all because of a mentally deranged wanna be rent-a-cop. He poured a can of gas on my neighbors side of the duplex and lit it on fire.

Finn always worked WITH me, never FOR me and certainly never for himself. I trust him with my life, if I couldn’t quite make out a trail at night while it was raining and the fog moved in, I could follow his glowing collar and he always got me home. If I was cold he always curled up on my right side to keep me warm. If I was nervous, he leaned against me in comfort. When he is in the truck he’s got an unblinking stare that could put off the most determined of car jackers. He is bomb proof and nothing put him off his game.

He is a very serious dog. Not given to the normal rowdiness and silliness that marks the behavior of most Labs. However, he does have a game he likes to play with people that are afraid of dogs. When they aren’t looking, he’ll rush up behind them barking like a hound of hell, tail wagging and one ear cocked back at me. He wants to see how high he can make them jump. He can’t do it often, because they obviously don’t get the humor like he and I do, but when he does it is quite spectacular.

He did this to one of the porters that was carrying my gear in the jungles of Guyana, when he and I were down there looking for a lost plane. I finally had to yell some pretty explicit obscenities at him to make him stop after he made the poor man jump for the third time. It would have been completely in that porter’s rights to just dump my pack and make me carry it.

His first find was drowning that the police had been looking for more than three days. He found him in less than 10 minutes. His last task was in April, when he was just about to turn 11 years old, looking for a despondent in Goshen, VA.

But, now he slides a little too much coming down an embankment, and he is less sure of himself when working the pile. It is hard for my heart to agree with what my mind sees when he still goes on two mile bike rides, likes to go on trail rides and can still find cadaver sources quicker than my young ones.

So when the calls come, Darcy and Cora get in the truck with me