Category: Tinker: The Poopingest Pup on the Planet (Page 2 of 5)
Stories of Tinker, our first schnauzer, who ate too much and too often.
We’re on the move today, satisfying my wife’s need to keep busy on her precious days off. She arranged an early dinner with friends last night and made plans to visit the Vancouver, WA farmer’s market this morning. We have to pick up a case of wine that we bought on our way back from Walla Walla a few weeks ago. We’ll check out a few of the sights from the other side of the Columbia River while we’re there and maybe grab some breakfast. In the meantime, we’ll give our bored dogs some exercise and fresh air via a “Schnauzerthon” through the neighborhood park. It’s Day 3822 of “The Streak,” and the dog outing breaks up the loneliness and monotony that often accompanies my day-to-day roadwork. I’ll push our aging pup Tinker at a fast pace in the stroller during part of the 4 mile challenge this morning, and try to get Tally to “run like the wind,” that usually turns out to be “dragging” her reluctantly along on the leash. I’ll then leave my wife with both dogs and the stroller while I jog the winding path through the woods on my own. Two schnauzers, my walking wife, a stroller, and solo sprints make up the various legs of our weekend “Schnauzerthon.” I continue to struggle with a sore lower back.
This family activity has been going on for nearly a year now, since my wife bought the stroller at an auction fundraiser. (See Post #617). This year, we’re skipping this Soulful Giving event that comes around again in another few weeks in favor of a Zupan’s Market “Oregon Bounty” dinner with friends. We’re also not going to Polo Noir that happens the weekend after with this same couple. We had all attended the first two of these “Sport of Kings” events because of the music acts that included Bruce Hornsby. It was like going to the Kentucky Derby to watch all the fashionable outfits. It has no appeal this year.
I just got a few more gift cards for Father’s Day from my wife. We’ll have steak salad for dinner tonight in honor of the occasion and maybe a bottle of the wine we’re about to pick up at the Vancouver Market. My wife slept in a little bit this morning while I wrote this post, but the dogs are getting anxious for their “Schnauzerthon.” Hopefully, Tinker won’t poop in the stroller like she did a few weeks ago during the American Heart Association 5k. She’s usually pretty good about letting us know – with a bark – when she needs to get out and do her business. However, you never know with an aging pup of 15 years that’s earned the reputation as “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet.” (author note: the poopsident happened despite this premonition – however, an easy clean-up this time.)
The Portland area is known for their food trucks, serving hot, delicious food prepared in a mobile kitchen. There seems to be one on every corner. Every once in a great while I will grab a bite from one of them. One of my favorites is The Dump Truck that makes a cheeseburger dumpling. According to Yelp, they are temporarily closed, as inner-city construction often disrupts these portable businesses. As a side note, while we were in Thailand, I could get a variation of this delicacy in the form of a Cheeseburger Spring Roll. I think this gives you a feel for my sophisticated taste in foods. I even had a Cheeseburger at Buffalo Wild Wings this week instead of my tradition wing order, and I thought that’s what I would get before last night’s Train, Goo Goo Dolls, and Alan Stone concert. However, my wife found a food truck, Bahn Mi Saigon, that served Vietnamese and met her need for easy chewing after undergoing oral surgery earlier in the week.
We patiently stood in line for what seemed forever, chatting with our friends. Sadly, the first artist, Alan Stone, had finished his set just before we finally ordered, and the Goo Goo Dolls had already started theirs, as we continued to wait for our rice bowls. It became a joke with the other people in line as we watched them slowly prepare each dish. In all, it was well over an hour wait to get our paper plates from a food truck! Cheeseburgers would have been a much more efficient dinner option, so maybe they need to re-think their place at an event much more suitable for fast food. It was indeed soft and tasty, but hardly worth the wait. The delay was reminiscent of the Tom Petty concert in Seattle where massive security line delays caused us to miss The Lumineers opener.
Once we finally got to our seats, the concert was great, but it was near midnight when we got home, well past any retiree’s bedtime. I also bought some tickets for 93-year old crooner Tony Bennett, who will certainly be much more respectful of our earlier sleep routines. We did have great seats for the show last night, just behind the boxes. I often complain that seats are only as good as the people around you. There was no one standing in front of us and no obnoxious neighbors, but they had set-up a closed-circuit camera directly in front of me that blocked my view of the stage. I felt I should have gotten a discount for a obstructed-view seat and had to rely on the big screens to even see the lead vocalists for each band. It’s just another good reason to stay home.
The dogs were left behind once again in our late night absence. It was a little to long for aging Tinker, “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet.” She unfortunately lived up to her reputation before we had a chance to get home. At least her “poopsident” was limited to the tile kitchen floor. Despite the stinky mess, the pups deserved a long outing this morning before we met my step daughter and her fiance for breakfast at Sanborn’s in the quaint Brooklyn neighborhood where they’ve made an offer on a house. German pancakes are their specialty and we couldn’t resist at least sharing one in addition to our toast, potatoes, bacon, sausage, and eggs. So much for the “white diet!” The house they are buying will require a lot of yard work, but they’re young, able, and motivated. Their wedding is in November.
Ironically, while we were watching “Train” perform, I booked an “airline” flight to San Francisco to see my wife’s other daughter and her fiance before they get married in September. There has been a tremendous cash outflow this year in preparation for both of these weddings. It’s a good thing that my younger wife is still working for a few more years before she joins me in retirement. After all, neither event involves the affordability of a Food Truck.
My heart is into home right now after a rigorous first five months of travel this year. I’m content with the relatively hassle-free enjoyment of home life. Next week, I do have an appointment with the TSA to enroll in their accelerated security program, hoping to cut down on waiting time and avoid the hassle of taking off my shoes and belt. It’s worth the $85 fee, especially for international travel. I do have a love for hitting the road, but it sometimes gets to be a bit much!
I have only two flights booked in advance at this time. One is for my August 68th birthday party in Steamboat, Colorado and in early September, and the other is for my step-daughter’s wedding at the Presidio in San Francisco. I seem to be in the midst of the first travel lull since retirement – at least a conscious break from airports and especially lengthy flights that tend to kick my butt. My wife, on the other hand, is traveling to Phoenix in two weeks. I also agreed to stay home when she travels to Los Angeles in July. While she’s gone, I did commit to drive the pups to the Oregon Coast to play on the beach with my friends’ Golden-doodles and spend the night at their Netarts home. We’ll also chauffeur them to Vancouver, B.C. in July for a long weekend. After summer comes to a close, I’ll have recovered enough to join my wife on cross-country business trips to New York City and Chicago, while we’ll continue to discuss Florida or Palm Springs.
We still don’t know yet about the Superbowl in Miami next February. Our reservations are still questionable and tickets yet to be fully secured, although we have a source. I will also soon be making airline arrangements to Egypt next October. This morning, however, I’m in downtown Portland for the American Heart Association 3-mile walk. As we wait for the start, I will get in a few miles to maintain my running streak. Tonight we’ll see “Rocketman,” the Elton John story. Tomorrow morning, I will thankfully wake up in my own bed, with a month of such comfortable home life ahead.
As I continue to write on the morning after, the dogs were perhaps a bit over-stimulated about participating in the Heart Walk. I pushed old lady Tinker, “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet,” in her stroller, while my wife led a frightened Tally on the leash. She’s the youngest of our two schnauzers, who loves to romp but was clearly afraid of the humming noises that the car tires made as they crossed the Hawthorne Bridge. As we approached the end of the course, I stopped to give Tinker a final potty break but quickly discovered it was too late. The Heart Walk suddenly became the “Poop Walk!” Typically, she barks when she has to go, but instead she quietly let loose. “Silent but Deadly,” they say, and I had the unpleasant task of cleaning up the mess that was all over her paws and butt. It was not the kind of donation that the Heart Association was expecting!
We got through this morning’s “Schnauzerthon” without another incident. Next weekend, we’ll participate in another fundraiser and hopefully our only donation will be monetary. We’ll buy some Wet Wipes to keep in the stroller just in case. My heart goes out to Tinker who now is over 15-years old (105 dog years) and slowly losing control of her aging body. The stroller allows her to still go along with us on long weekend walks that are frequently for a good cause, considering the dry weather associated with this time of year in Portland.
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!
“You’re as old as you feel” is what everyone would love to believe. However, it’s not always true. This morning I was stiff and sore after a couple of awkward falls on the ski slopes a few days ago. I suppose that just being out there at age 67 was a small sign of rekindling my youth. The fact is that my balance is beginning to suffer. Even when I run in the morning I sometimes feel like I’m staggering, as my feet want to take me in a different direction. I know that from talking with older friends that this will only get worse. There was even a brief moment as I passed underneath a basketball net where I wanted to jump and see if I could at least touch the net. Sadly, the force of gravity just seemed too much to even try.
I was pushing our hundred-year old schnauzer in a stroller while my wife walked our youngest pup on a leash. We call it our “Schnauzerthon,” where we take turns with each pup, while I try to get in my three mile run. Believe me, that 50 extra pounds of stroller and dog is a lot of extra work, especially when I’m running uphill. It’s a relief when it’s my turn to go solo or even unsuccessfully try to convince the leashed pup to keep up with my pace. I’m very fortunate to still be able to do these things at this age. In fact, the other morning I watched an age-peer struggle to get around his neighborhood on a walker. Hopefully, he was just recovering from knee or foot surgery, and it was not a permanent condition. Nonetheless, I felt guilty running by him, even despite my slow pace. I watched as he bravely persisted in completing his journey.
The reason we use the stroller is because aging Tinker can’t keep up with us any more. We let her out for the last part of our stroll and watch her slowly waddle home. At least she’s not hobbling like she was a few months ago. Despite her age, she still has no trouble with input and output. This is why we call her “The Poopingist Pup on the Planet.” When I take her outside, I rarely hook up the leash anymore, she simply does her duty and waits in the garage for sister Tally to delay the outing as long as possible. No extra steps for Tinker anymore, while Tally is not trustworthy without being secured to a leash. Before my decision to grant Tinker leash independence, I felt like I was constantly in a tug-of-war, since they both headed in different directions at different speeds. Just as the guy on the walker, it’s tough to watch Tinker grow old. She used to chase a tennis ball with vigor, but the other day she didn’t even respond when one rolled by her. As my mother used to say, “getting old ain’t for sissies.” She apparently stole that line from Bette Davis.
A few weeks ago I spent three days in an assisted living facility visiting my mother-in-law. She is nearing her 98th birthday and can’t hear, see, or walk. It’s sad to watch her waste away, along with Tinker, and not help but think that my turn is coming soon. I’m doing my best to stay young by running and skiing, but you “don’t underestimate Mother Nature! In a fight she always wins.” Mother Nature was sitting on me this morning, and wouldn’t let me out of bed. She was on my shoulders when I thought about jumping for that net, and was nestled next to Tinker in the stroller I was trying to push. She also must have tripped me on the ski slopes, with this subtle reminder: Even though it was a beautiful, “spring” day on the mountain, you’re no longer a “spring” chicken.
“Cutie Care” does not just apply to manicures and pedicures, it is all about the feeding and nurturing of our precious pets. My wife is much better at this than I am, and it’s why they crave her attention. I can be here all day long with them without as much as a stir, except when it’s time to go outside or I approach the refrigerator. However, when my wife comes home for work, they practically mob her at the door. She gets what she claims to be “ear kisses and nose bops,” while I wait patiently for my turn.
Without giving her too much credit in the “cutie care” department, she does get home at feeding time, so some of their excitement is about food. However, our youngest schnauzer Tally will roll over on her back and expose her belly for a “Tummy Attack.” She rarely does this for me. She also typically greets my wife at the door with a stuffed toy. Tally has gotten in trouble for being too aggressive with her nose bops, so the toy helps cushion her enthusiasm when jumping-up for a lick to the face as you bend-down to pet her. She also seems to need my wife’s approval before she eats, and responds to “Yummy Tummy.” It’s all silly baby-talk to me.
Our hundred year old schnauzer Tinker never needs encouragement to eat. This is why she’s known as “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet.” She’ll finish the food in her bowl, slowly sneak towards Tally’s dish, and would steal it all if we didn’t supervise. Tinker is usually finished eating before we finally coax Tally to eat the first bite. We’ll bang on the side of her bowl and tell her how good it is, keeping one eye on Tinker’s movements. Not surprisingly, every time we go to the Vet, Tinker always weighs a little more. With every year older she also somehow gets hungrier, and gobbles down every bite like it’s her last meal. Don’t get your fingers in the way! Tally, on the other hand, likes to savor her food, and this can be costly around greedy Tinker.
As soon as it gets to be 5 o’clock, Tinker’s built-in clock tells her that “mom” will be home soon and dinner will then be served. It’s this association that causes her to bark relentlessly in anticipation of arrival. All our pets can hear my wife’s sports car come up the street and the garage door open; it’s their cue to line-up at the back door and wait for “Cutie Care.” After the ceremonies, Tinker then rushes to the kitchen and waits, keeping one eye on her bowl and the other on the refrigerator. She’s also my wife’s sous-chef, always at her side in the kitchen, hoping to taste anything she’s preparing. Tally remains unimpressed with food and stays in the background until she’s called. She’s usually on our bed or in “good bed” patiently waiting to eat, while her older sister simply can’t get enough.
Tally relishes “Cutie Care” and plays the role perfectly, putting her best “cute” forward. Tinker would rather just eat but knows that acting “cute” will earn her more dining rewards. Frankie our cat begins to prowl just before her scheduled feeding times. As the “Senior Cutie” at 18 years old, she knows the routine and rarely ventures out of our bedroom, unless there’s a feeding frenzy in the kitchen. She does not like to be left out and let’s us know with a mournful “meow.” She does not give me any credit for cleaning her litter box every day. Lately, she’s also been avoiding me because of the medication I have to force down her throat.
On the “Cutie Rating Scale,” I rank a distant last in our family. I also usually do the dirty work, putting my wife on an even higher scale of adoration. I take our pets to the vet, accompany them on walks, clean up after them, and do most of the yelling. This leaves the “Cutie Care” primarily in my wife’s capable hands. It makes her feel welcome as she comes in the door from a hard day’s work, and gives me something constructive to do in retirement. It’s just too bad I don’t qualify for “Cutie Care.”
I got up early this morning to take the dogs out and do my daily run. My wife and I were hoping to get to the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry for the King Tut exhibit before it closes later this month. The pups were depressed that their much anticipated “Schnauzerthon” was preempted by rain and cold temperatures. They are often disappointed in the Portland weather at this time of year. They got a shorter walk than normal between rain drops, and we were off to pay homage to the King!
My wife was willing to compromise by leaving for the O.M.S.I. early so that I could watch Bears football and I.U. basketball in the afternoon. What we didn’t know was that it was $2 admission day pricing and the place more like a zoo than a museum. Parking was way out in the overflow lots and ticket lines were outrageous. We had some free passes for the exhibit but still had to redeem them for admission. When we finally got to the front of the line only a few times remained available to see the popular attraction. We elected to get tickets for next week instead rather than endure the long wait and crowded hallways. It also gave us time to go to Cracker Barrel for breakfast with assurance that I would not miss either game. The only problem was that they were both on T.V. at the same time.
I am hoping that the message that the dogs left when I got out of bed this morning did not apply to my teams’ chances. I was greeted with an unprecedented “poopsident” in the living room. I just wasn’t sure which schnauzer was guilty? Normally it’s Tinker the “Poopingest Pup on the Planet,” but she normally goes on the tile kitchen floor. This particular deposit was made on the dining room rug where younger sister Tally typically plays. She in turn has never gone indoors, but this looked suspicious! Perhaps the “Super Pooper” was being clever, trying to pass the blame? Tinker then proceeded to poop four more times once I got them outside, while Tally went only once. This could have been the result of Tink’s voracious appetite yesterday that included an entire raw carrot. She was supposed to share!
Input equals output! We attribute some of Tinker’s food cravings to the steroids that she’s currently taking. However, she was also never one to pass up a snack or meal at any time during her near 15-year lifespan. We adopted her at any early age after she had been abandoned in the woods and apparently forced to eat acorns. I guess after that particular diet everything tastes great? She always finishes her dinner and then immediately looks at Tally’s bowl for dessert. Tally unfortunately likes to savor her food but somehow they both weigh the same.
Game Day has finally started, and I am busy flipping back-and-forth from CBS to NBC to stay up with the action. I’m not overly optimistic with either of these two teams, but I also thrive on pessimism. Why set yourself up for disappointment? It could be the end of the Bears season with a loss today to the Eagles, but I.U. will have a lot of basketball to play before their year is complete. Both teams are down early as I gravely predicted. I just hope that neither team plays like what I found on the floor this morning!
I continue to be amazed by the volume of scatological output relative to our dog Tinker’s small size. I also know from comments that others aren’t quite as fascinated with this subject, so I’m giving you fair warning before you waste your time reading this post: POOP ALERT! I know there is no Guinness World Record Book listing on this subject, but it does report Blue Whale feces to be colossal in size. Dinosaurs apparently also made a big impact, judging from their fossilized leave-behinds also know as “coprolite.” The scientific term is derived from the Greek words kopros meaning “dung” and lithos meaning “stone,” although it’s hardly “lite.” If you’ll pardon the pun, they’re now ex-stinked. Tinker is very much alive, and is not known for massive movements but rather aggregate sum.
I proudly call our stoolish schnauzer “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet,” but the only means of comparison is really our other schnauzer Tally. We think that Tink is part-poodle and this may be the reason for her superior intelligence. I don’t even want to get into “poodle doodles,” and I’m not talking about breeding. Tally is half her older sister’s age, and both were adopted. They each weigh 25-26 pounds and are served the same amount of food every day, yet Tinker regularly has ten times the output. I know this because I’m responsible for their daily care that includes 6 or more outings a day. It’s rare if I don’t collect at least one full doggy bag every time I take her out. Pound-for-pound I’m willing to challenge any competitor.
Tinker does steal Tally’s food to the point where I have to stand over the bowls and referee once dinner is served. Tinker devours her dinner, while Tally seems to savor every glorious bite. As I’ve reported before, Tinker is not shy when it comes to pooping and favors no surface. Tally needs privacy and seeks a patch of ivy or tall grass to hide her spoils. I go through roll-after-roll of doggy bags on account of Tinker, but Tally thoughtfully never goes where others might walk. They are output opposites!
Today is the day I take them to Urban Fauna for playtime and grooming. This is a second Tuesday of the month ritual, but in this case it’s been five weeks. They need a bath badly to the point where my wife jokingly pleaded, “Please get the Stink off Tink!” Too many times a day, I get the stink out of her and collect it in a bag. This is the one day a month when it’s somebody else’s responsibility to clean-up after the two of them. I have a feeling they hold it in all day, because they are sure glad to get back to their favorite spots here in our neighborhood. I’m always the one left holding the bag!
Soon, we’ll be packing up the “Doggy Bags” to head to Bend, Oregon. It will involve a three-hour drive for the dogs, who love any “ride in the car.” I don’t think they have a sense of distance, but any opportunity to get out of the house seems exciting. Just the words, “ride in the car,” gets their tails wagging. It takes awhile for Tinker to settle into the ride, as many times her legs start to shake and she begins to pant in what we believe is panic. We were told at the time of her adoption, that she was abandoned early in her life and was eventually found in the woods caked in mud. She ate acorns to fill her stomach that supposedly kept her digestive system intact. At this time in her life, maybe Baby Ruth was a better description of her poop production than Tootsie Roll? (See Post #722). She also seems to associate being abandoned or dumped with being in the car, so a longer ride eases some of that anxiety. She often sits on my wife’s lap in the passenger seat but will eventually curl-up in peaceful sleep on her elevated bed in the back seat, until I hit a disturbing highway rumble strip. Tally will sit in anticipation of mom’s lap availability. Poop-related accidents in the car have been limited to Tinkerhea. (See Post #370). Bags are not helpful when this happens!
Last night my wife and I went to see Bohemian Rhapsody – the story of Queen. It was the same successful formula as A Star is Born, the rise of an unknown artist into stardom. It was a welcome departure from too much Queen Cersei Lannister of Game of Thrones, who I’ve grown to despise in the popular television series. “Movie Night” gets me out of the house and away from the television screen for a few hours. Once my morning run is done, I’m typically a slug the rest of each day.
For some odd reason, I mistakenly thought that the members of Queen had met at the Julliard School of Music where they studied the classical music influences in Bohemian Rhapsody. I’m not sure I could have been any further from the truth, or at least how Hollywood portrayed it. As a result, after watching a movie like this, I immediately jump on the internet for some “facts.”
I guess I really didn’t know anything about Freddie Mercury at all, other the fact that I loved his voice and that he tragically died of AIDS as a result of being sexually promiscuous. I never knew he was born Ferrokh Bulsara in Zanzibar (now Tanzania), practiced the Zoroastrian religion, had a younger sister Kashmira, moved to Middlesex in his mid-teens, and was married for six years to Mary Austin. The movie held true to these details, including how in April of 1970 he joined guitarist Brian May and drummer Roger Taylor in a band called Smile, after their lead vocalist suddenly quit. Soon after, he changed the name of the group to Queen and designed their logo to represent his flamboyant style, in conjunction with zodiac signs of all four members that also included bassist John Deacon.
Mercury wrote 10 of the group’s 17 greatest hits, but was not particularly successful doing two solo albums then returned to the band he considered family. His live performance at Live Aid was one of the greatest on record and was majestically captured in the film. In retrospect, I missed one of the humorous segments of the movie by not recognizing Mike Myers in his role as EMI record executive Ray Foster. He’s quoted as saying after listening to the six-minute long song, “mark these words…no one will listen to Queen.” He ironically implied, with a British accent, that youngsters would not be cruising along to their operatic-like music. Seventeen years later, the movie Wayne’s World featured Myers, Dana Carvery and friends riding around their hometown of Aurora, Illinois in an AMC Pacer singing along to a cranked-up version of Bohemian Rhapsody.” He was purposely cast in the perfect role as the cynic who refused to accept their creativity. Wayne’s World helped to put the song back at the top of the charts for the second time since it was originally released. Unfortunately, Freddie Mercury was no longer alive to enjoy its unprecedented reprisal.
My wife and I were still discussing the movie the next morning, so it must have been good. Sadly, it doesn’t deserve to be in the same paragraph as the next subject. I woke up to a pile of poop on the kitchen floor, maybe the result of the time change last night? After too many “Creature Feature” posts that appear as part of this blog about our aging schnauzer Tinker, “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet,” it was suggested by a friend that I have “poop on the brain.” I had promised to refrain from writing about it for awhile, until this morning’s “Poopsident.” It was later that my wife also found she had made a deposit on one of the painter’s tarps spread out on our living room floor. It’s hard for me to ignore the subject when I spend a good portion of every day walking them around the neighborhood armed with a bevy of doggy bags. After five or six trips outside every day picking up after her, maybe a better nickname is the “Queen of Poop?” “Crazy Little Thing Called Poop“
My friends are right – I do have poop on the brain:
Oops – Poopsident
As I walked in the kitchen,
And picked up the scent.
It wasn’t a good smell,
But rather a Poopsident.
Was it my fault?
For waiting too long?
She knows better,
Something went wrong.
With time change last night.
She was forced to wait.
I slept an extra hour,
And it was too late.
Does she need a diaper?
Or maybe a plug?
At least it was tile,
And not a Persian rug.
I took her outside,
And she had to go more.
Just how much poop?
Can a little pup store?
She overeats,
Then asks for treats.
After a snack,
The cycle repeats.
Next, magic happens,
That some may doubt.
Whatever goes in,
Even more comes out.
She’s a machine,
The “Queen of Poop.”
I need to get,
A larger scoop.
Incidents Happen,
I may be to blame?
On this occasion,
I could see her shame.
Her appetite’s grown,
As she’s gotten older.
Sometimes her output,
Is as big as a boulder.
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