I took both of our schnauzers to Urban Fauna this morning for playtime and grooming. It gave me a chance to run some errands downtown on my way back home: new glasses, ring repair, kitty litter, and of course a Diet Coke at McDonald’s. Before I pick them later this afternoon, I’m involved in domestic duties including dinner preparations. The house is quiet without the pitter-patter of little paws, but I’m sure Frankie our cat enjoys the peace of temporarily being queen of the house. I also find it strange that no one follows me when I go to the refrigerator. 

100-year-old- plus Tinker is on a low dose of Prednisone, a steroid that helps control arthritis and allergies. It’s been quite effective in reducing her itchiness and joint pain, but makes her aggressively hungry. Her internal clock knows the feeding times and she relentlessly barks until her dish is filled. If I don’t protect our younger schnauzer  Tally’s bowl, she will eat that too. Every time throughout the day when I get up, she shadows me with hopes of any scraps. She also bullies Tally for her share and is rarely gentle with any bite she takes. It’s classic ‘Roid Rage! By the same token, Input continues to impact Output, and so “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet” continues to live up to her reputation. 

Tinker moves slowly with limited mobility, hearing, and sight. She knows the outside route we take and only on occasion strays from the sidewalk path. I do not hook her up on a leash like Tally for fear of dragging her along to keep up. She does her business and then dutifully heads home to wait for playful Tally to finish doddling. Sadly, Tally does not try to taunt her anymore, clearly respectful of her age. I often think of the years when Tinker was a puppy, chasing ducks behind our lake home. Her ears would fly in the wind as her short legs tried to keep up with her extended stomach. We believe her to be part poodle, and maybe some beagle when we rescued her from a shelter thirteen years ago. She was at least two-years old at the time and spent some time abandoned in the woods. 

The closest Tinker gets to speed anymore is when I push her in an Air Buggy carriage most weekend mornings. My wife maintains Tally on a leash while we take turns with her giving Tinker a ride. Maybe Tink gets a temporary recollection of her youth and the sensation of the wind in her whiskers as I run her through the neighborhood? We call it a “Schnauzerthon,” that allows me to record my daily running mileage and enables my wife and “her feisty puppy” to travel at a faster pace.  Tinker stands up in the buggy and barks when she needs to get out. Otherwise, she seems content driving her human propelled race car.  It’s as far away from the refrigerator that she ever cares to get, as she certainly dreams of devouring a treat to satisfy her ‘Roid Rage when we return home. Bark. Bark.Bark!