I can’t quite believe Finlay is eleven months old. Blue Merle Border Collie with a flash of red, one blue eye, one green — Bowie in fur. Half a tail, wagging like it could power the parish.

Seven o’clock. I open the crate. He rises slow, stretches long, yawns as if the night was hard work. Onto the sofa, face pressed into my lap, eyes locked on mine. Half-tail thudding. Ten minutes of pure calm before the day lifts off.

Outdoors, he transforms. At Fairlop Waters, he stalks ducks with military precision, utterly convinced he’s the solution to waterfowl disorder. Hainault Forest turns him wild — vanishing into bracken, bursting back out like a rocket, ears flying, tongue lolling, grin wide enough to shame the Cheshire Cat.

Then there’s that stare. Blue eye, green eye. Hypnotic. Sometimes tender, sometimes plotting. Is he begging for cheese or planning a coup? Hard to say. Either way, I’m hooked.

Indoors, he’s a one-dog courier service. Study, sitting room, even the water closet — wherever I am, he’ll trot in and drop a ball at my feet. Silent demand. Game on.

But here’s the truth: he heals me.
Pulls me outside when the walls close in.
Steadies me when thoughts run rough.
Makes me laugh when I’d rather not.

He doesn’t fix me with words — just presence. A warm body pressed to my side. A look that says, you’re mine and you’re safe.

He’s is trouble, joy, mischief.

Half a tail, but a heart full love.

Finlay.

lifewithfinlay #bordercollies