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

The parents of one’s parents are called “Grandparents”.  This interesting fact has been on my mind as of late, being that I have been having much concourse with Nana Pam, Papa Henry, and Grandma Pat. As it so happens, they are all my “Grandparents”. Who knew?

Papa Henry is the one with the mustache.

Papa Henry and I

Nana Pam is the one who always tells me what the animals say. Did you know that the cow goes “Moo!”?

Nana Pam and I

Grandma Pat is the one who plays the piano with me. Our recent compositions are quite challenging.

Grandma Pat and I

I did recently meet my Grandfather John, so I am told that this completes the “Grandparents”.

It is strange to think that such big people as my mother and father need mommies and daddies. Do these grandparents keep my parents from chewing on electrical cords too? I was hoping that such supervision would end some day.

There are those times when happiness must not be restrained. To sit on top of a bale of hay is most decidedly one of those times.

Is there anything better?

A bale of hay is like a tidy package of promises. For our goats it is the promise of nutritious fodder for winter. For the local tractor owner it is the promise of cash money for baling our hay. For me it is the promise of good times and boundless adventure, for where is the man who will say to me: “Thus far and no farther!”.

Sitting atop my vertiginous aerie I see no such man, only the boundless sky where eagles soar. And I laugh!

What a joy it is to have friends! I have friend, her name is Beatrix, and she is a lady of great wisdom and much renown. I have known her all my life, but seldom do I have the pleasure of her company for great expanses of the Earth stretch between our dwellings. This weekend past the magic box on wheels took me to the edge of the universe where the land ends in a huge bathtub of salty water. And lo, there I beheld my friend Bee!

Bee on the beach

Our reunion was ecstatic as we rushed to embrace. We played in the sand and danced in the sea until exhaustion drove us to seek shelter. Once inside my friend shared her toys with me, and I shared mine with her. The exchange was one of mutual satisfaction.

I give you planet Earth

But alas, all things must pass, and so our all too brief sojourn in the lands of amicable solidarity was soon ended.

I will find you again, Beatrix, on this you can depend!

Now that I am 10 months old I would like to share some of my observations, collected over a lifetime.

Aloha!

Mostly, my advice is to enjoy the ride.

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!