[Editor’s Note: Today’s guest blogger is Max A. Finch, sharing the news about his first week in Tucson. Please be kind about the conceit that Max wrote this. He’s very sensitive.]
I’m Max A. Finch.* Here’s my story.
I was Dumas on November 20, 2015, hanging out at Woofstock in Chandler. This tall, dark, and devilishly handsome fellow walks up. Persons talk, and I’m off on a walk. (Leash? Person? Let’s go.) Soon after, I’m off—same fellow—on a walk, into a car, and gone. Free will v. determinism? Pshaw.
The person—Mark is what persons call him—got a few surprises from me. I threw up as we approached I-10, and 2x more before we pulled into his garage. (Maybe there is something to that free will thing after all.)
Mark has a nice house. I hear words like “sell” and “offers” come up often. I’m thinking maybe people should leave that subject alone.
So anyway, I checked out his place, totally ignoring him. I liked the courtyard, and scoping out escape routes. That seemed to bother Mark; however, having been kidnapped, bothering him made me very happy.
Later in the day, a lady person came over for a little while. She brought pet store stuff. (I’m two, but I know from pet store stuff.) She calmed me down a bit, and told Mark what to do about this and that. We also walked, but I did nothing of the “we’re walking because …” variety. No way!
Mark got me up at 5:25 on Sunday and made me go outside. Finally, I peed. I did not want to give him the satisfaction—he was very pleased with himself over the fact that I did pee—but bladders are only as big as they are.
That night two other persons came over with a Corgi called Odin. Interesting fellow, but a good egg. (The lady person came over, too. She’s very nice, and she has two Corgis. June and Ozzie. They stayed home because Ozzie has a bum leg.)
The next day I heard something about work. “Geez,” I thought, “this is effing outrageous. Work?” Well, I showed Mark again. Threw up on the way, and on the way home. Truth be told, and don’t tell Mark, I like the work thing, lots. Like not work, but for the car ride there and back. Lots of people attending to me, too, and I get walked during the day.
Tuesday and Wednesday were more of the same, but for hearing Mark talk to the lady person on Tuesday night. “Vet,” he said. Pause. “You don’t think I should be concerned about the vomiting? Really?” Right then, I was done with the vomiting. No doctoring for me. I’ve had countless car rides since Tuesday afternoon, all of them clean.
So what else? Well, I’ve met Doug, a labrador/something who is also adopted. He works too, and in my building. And Odin also works, right next door to where I work. I’ve also done two Thanksgiving dinners—lots of people, and some floor scraps—and at one of them I hung out with the biggest dog I think I’ve ever seen, Reiley.
I did meet June and Ozzie on Thursday, before the Thanksgiving dinners. I did invade their turf, and even though I am young, I know my peeps have issues about that. Ozzie still had his limp, so he wasn’t super friendly. June and Ozzie came over for dinner—my house; my rules—Friday night and that went well.
One week into this gig, it feels pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty good. I needed a few days to settle in, but now I have two squares a day. Treats. Two futon-like beds, and one fine sleeping chair. (Every night since Tuesday, I’ve made myself available on the big bed. Gently sent away, but I can handle rejection well, and I know Mark really wants me next to him.)
So, life is good! I think Mark is pretty lucky I came along—so to speak—and I’m pretty lucky too!
*I’m Max because Mark was named—sort of—after his grandfather Max. A. Finch comes from Max and Mark both being attorneys, and some fellow who never really lived, called A. Finch. Mark thinks it’s a cool name, so I guess I do too.