This week I interviewed a stylish, very tall poocheroo, Finnigan Roberts, a 5-year-old Great Dane. For some reason, I’d always thought Great Danes were sorta melancholy, but Finnigan had a friendly personality (and really big feet). He’s called a Harlequin ’cuz he’s got an amazing black-and-white design, like he’s always ready to attend a costume ball.
When he came over for the Wag-and-Sniff, I felt like a chihuahua (no offense). He looked down at me and said, “A pleasure, a real pleasure, Bonzo. I’m Finnigan and this is my Mom, Linda. Dad’s somewhere around here. He’s Ron. In case you’re wondering, I haven’t been sneaking into the bourbon chicken, I’m sorta wobbly because I’m still recovering.”
I had noticed he was pretty slim and a little unsteady on his paws, but I didn’t want to be rude. “Recovering?”
“Maybe you heard, a few months back, about 66 Great Danes were rescued from a horrible puppy mill in Arcadia. It was so bad lots of us died. The rest of us were skin and bones. We were chained to trees and couldn’t play or exercise. My job was being a Puppy Daddy, but I never got to meet any of my children, or have a proper family.
“It was so awful the humans had to wear those big white suits and masks when they rescued us. The good news is, as soon as the word got out, dog rescue groups from all over swooped in to save us. One of them was Big Dog Ranch Rescue in Wellington, which was where I ended up.
“Mom and Dad had always had Great Danes, so they were used to taking care of big dogs. On Craigslist they found pictures of us Big Dog Ranch rescues. They saw a female they liked and drove down to meet her. Well, she and I had stuck together during our rescue so the Ranch people brought us out together. I was what Mom calls ‘emaciated,’ which means wa-ay skinny, and I had burns on my paw pads from lying on the concrete. I musta looked like I was on my last legs, which I was. I just felt like I was done for. Lizzie was really shy, but, somehow, I sensed the two humans were kind, so I got up my strength and went right over and hugged ’em.
“That was four months ago and I’m much better now. I’m good on a leash, I come when Mom clucks for me, and I don’t have ‘accidents’ anymore. Aunt Maxine wants to be a vet, so she’s helping teach me stuff, and she gets special shampoo for my skin. I’m working on getting in shape. I get two walks a day, and we go to the Dog Park at least once a week. I love people and most other dogs. But I don’t care much for other Great Danes. I guess it’s because they remind of those bad times. I ’specially like little dogs.”
“So, you don’t remember your puppyhood?”
“Not at all, but listen to this!”
“I’m all ears!”
“Mom wondered where I was born. She’d noticed that my name at the Ranch was Zaiden, so she Google-searched and landed on a website from a Russian kennel, Don Renessans. Turns out, I was born in that very kennel! and, my dad was the Grand Champion of Belarus! So it looks like I had a good start, then I got sold and things sorta went Soggy Dog Biscuits.”
“That is so Prince and the Pauper,” I blurted. “And how awesome, you’re part of a champion bloodline!”
“Isn’t that amayzing? Mom and Dad say I’m not just a Great Dane: I’m an excellent Dane. And my human brothers and sister, Quinton, Colin, Cameron and Olivia (they’re grown-ups), agree. None of ’em mind if I drool. Which I do! It’s a breed thing. ’Specially when I’m excited. Or playing. Or drinking water. Feel free to use one of our drool towels. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
“Thanks!” I said. “So, how’d you get your new name?”
“My family tried some Russian on me but I didn’t remember a thing. Aunt Maxine said Finnigan just fits me.”
“I agree! Tell me about your typical day.”
“First, a morning walk. Then breakfast, hamburger with kibbles. Then playing. Maybe go to the park. Lots of snoozing. Another walk. Then dinner. I have my own bed, but I like to sleep with Mom and Dad. My most important job is to protect my family from the pool filter. It can’t be trusted. It could grab ’em when they’re not looking, and they’d never be heard from again. So it’s an important duty.”
“Indeed.”
“Oh, here’s something funny. At Halloween, Dogs for Life had a costume contest. I dressed up as the Chik-fil-A cow, and dog, I owned it! It was perfect ’cuz I’ve got cow colors and I’m big as a little cow. I even had a sign that said, ‘Eat mor chikin.’”
“That’s hilarious! Well, thanks so much for the interview. We should hang out sometime,” I told him.
“Just gimme me a bark!”
I smiled all the way home, picturing Finnigan in that cow costume.
Till next time,
The Bonz