The continuing exploits of Mr. Finnegan as he conquers the world with his cuteness.

Wandering the meandering pathways through the dark jungles of the wild I stumbled upon a creature both curious and magnificent. It was shaped as a fur-covered log, but with four appendages protruding upwards as if grasping for the sky. The creature had no true face, as far as could be seen, but appeared to be a vast mound of white fluff framed by the four arms, if I may call them such, also adorned by additional luxuriant growths of hair. This broad expanse of fur seemed to call to me with each sudden flailing from one side to the other: “Sink your hands in my furry belly and give it a good pat”.

Fur covered beast

It was then that I saw the head and recognition swept over me. This mysterious beast, this flailing mound of fur, was none other than Miss Maisy Day, the One True Dog. She is often spoken about only in whispers, the stuff of myth and legend – and here she was before me!

It was then that I spied the giant squirrel.

As oft happens on my adventures one chance encounter with extraordinary circumstances follows fast on the heels of another. And here I found myself suddenly confronted with a squirrel of such enormous proportions I can only ascribe to it the sobriquet of “Ginormous”.

Fie! Squirrel!

The giant squirrel and I did battle for many days and many nights. The jungle echoed with the sounds of our war cries and the clash of weapons. When the dust had settled a lone figure could be seen in the midst of a great smoldering crater – a small gentleman of generous proportions, regal yet elegant, with gentle mien faintly reminiscent of Baudelaire.

Finnegan Wilde triumphant!

There is a wondrous creature I must needs tell you of, for she is full of fun and playful romps, covered in a luxuriant coat of the fluffiest fur, and waits patiently for me to join her in frolic. But alas! I am still but an infant, as yet unable to toddle forth and throw a ball or a frisbee or a stick. This sorry impasse is cause for much consternation on both of our parts.

Mutual longing

Maisy will bring me her favorite toy, in this case her Kong, and set it at my feet. I am fully aware of what is expected of me, but I simply cannot arrange my limbs in such a way as to comply with her wishes. We spend many hours each day looking at each other longingly, knowing in our hearts that someday we will gambol about with wild abandon – lamps, tables, and chairs be forewarned!

Someday your Prince will come

Eventually we tire of staring into one another’s eyes and Maisy comes to give me a sniff and a comforting snorfle, and then we must go our separate ways. Such are the travails of a baby’s life, not so dissimilar to those of a dog’s.