Category: Tinker: The Poopingest Pup on the Planet (Page 3 of 5)

Yesterday, as my writing oddly channeled Socrates, I mentioned that one of the things “I Don’t Know” is what my dogs are thinking. As I was pushing Tinker, our 100-year old schnauzer, in her carriage this morning, I wondered what was on her furry mind? There she comfortably sat, with a breeze in her face, high above the line of sight of most other dogs. Did she feel superior or did she feel confined? Was she having fantasies of being “Mario Dogdretti,” or thinking back to those puppy days when she would get the “zoomies” and run uncontrollably in circles? Does she consider herself privileged or handicapped in old age?

As she was perched in her fancy stroller, her sister Tally was on a leash, walking beside my wife. It almost looked like she was prancing, while twisting her head and body to get a glimpse behind at Tinker. Was she thinking, “look what I can do that you can’t?” Or, was she silently boasting that she was with “mom,” while Tinker was stuck with “dad”?  Did she even have a desire to be pushed along, or feel left-out as “Dogdretti” and I speed quickly by?

As I continued with my run, I left both the stroller and Tally with my wife for a couple laps around the park. Did Tinker like the comfort of being in a pack of three rather than in the company of just me? Tally seemed much more relaxed not having to contort her body to keep track of Tinker’s whereabouts. Did Tinker like the slower pace of a walk as opposed to the relatively frantic velocity of being pushed along by a runner? Or, was Tinker solely focused on when we would stop so she could poop. After all, she is “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet.” We let her out twice along the way, and diligently do our doggy-dooty. (See Post #501). Does she experience those same worried moments of humans when we can’t find a rest stop on a long drive?

Do they like the dog-sitters that we hire when we go out of town? What does it mean when we start to pack our bags? Do they get to go, too? How much do they worry that we’ll abandon them like their former owners? How do they know before I do that my wife’s car is pulling into the neighborhood? Do Tinker and Tally really like each other, or do they just peacefully co-exist until it’s time to fight for a bone? What do they really think of Frankie the cat, and why doesn’t she ever go outside?

Does Tinker resent that Tally gets different dog food every night? Does she understand that we do this because of her allergies to wheat and eggs? When she makes a deposit on the kitchen floor, even after output outdoors, is she making a statement or is it just an oops without the “p”? Does she miss being able to jump-up on the couch and our bed without help? Does she think that every dog gets “ham time,” special treats, and dinner left-overs? I’m certain they are wondering why the cat get fed first, and why do they have to share the sliced ham (now turkey) with her? Could they all possibly understand how much we spoil them? If only we could have a family meeting and engage in conversation?

Does “Dogerella” now live in a fantasy world of carriages and glass-slipper water bowls? Does her sister Tally have wicked, vengeful thoughts about all this special pampering? What do the other neighborhood dogs think? Does coddled Tinker’s poop stink? These are all questions that only a dog whisperer can perhaps answer. We do have a friend who hires one on occasion to understand the needs of their pups. Maybe we should do the same? In the meantime, it’s fun to simply speculate on what our dogs are thinking between poops. 

Last week, my wife’s youngest daughter was recounting her humorous story from spring break in Cancun. After she had gotten back home, she asked her mom for money, along with a plea of “please don’t ask why.” Years later, the truth came out about an afternoon at Senor Frog’s, where after dancing with a statue of the bar’s web-footed mascot, she accidentally broke it. Security personnel made her pay a fine, with threats of going to jail.  She barely put together enough money to get home, even despite the efforts of her friends to organize a party to raise bail funds in support of her cause: “Free The Frog Killer.”

That was her unforgettable Senor Moment, not to be confused with “Senior Moments,” the real topic of this post.  “Senior moments” often jokingly refer to memory lapses, but can seriously be the beginning of Alzheimer’s, certainly no laughing matter. Memory loss in most cases, is not serious, just aggravating, and maybe one of the first indications that we are indeed aging.

Since the aging process is so slow, the signs are never obvious. Others may see changes in you, as you notice differences in them. However, the best indications that time is passing and that we are growing older is through our children and pets. Since I see the children and grandchildren so infrequently, it’s the everyday experiences with our pets that provide my strongest references to growing older.  

Tinker, our 100-year old schnauzer, now needs a stroller to handle long walks. She’s taking Prednisone tablets, a steroid, twice daily that we hide in chunks of soft cheese. If it wasn’t disguised as food, she would spit them out. It helps with itching and painful arthritis that continues to slow her down. She can’t get up on our bed or the couch by herself anymore, stairs are a struggle, and the stiffness from inactivity every night makes the first outing every morning the most difficult of the day. She needs a walker to go with her stroller. Tinker has also developed a chronic condition called “dry eye” (keratoconjuctivitis sicca) that requires drops four times a day. Poor Tinker.

Tinker was the “Frog Killer’s” favorite, as they built a strong bond when she was living with us while finishing up her degree. (See Post #370). Watching the two of them together again during this recent visit brought back memories of the inexhaustible puppy that chased geese and incited a vigorous game of fetch-the-tennis-ball that once broke a window. The only thing that hasn’t changed is Tinker’s constitution that continues to make her “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet.” The steroids have only strengthened her appetite and the predictable by-product. However, squatting has become noticeably more difficult. Both my stepdaughter and her once playful pup are now 12 years older (84 dog years), and it made me realize my own inevitability. What will life for me be like in another 12 years?

In 12 more human years, I will be approaching 80, and will have certainly lost Tinker, along with even-more-ancient Frankie the cat, and probably Tally our 8-year old schnauzer. Frankie presumably has her “Senior Moments” in ignoring the location of the litter box, while Tally is also now on eye drops, her first sign of vulnerability. Like Tinker, muscle stiffness has slowed me down, and appears to be my most noticeable indication of aging. There is also the gray hair, wrinkles, and a few age spots…but who’s counting?

At least still youthful Tally still seems to look forward to her walks and responds immediately to the word “outside.” She is not the food hound that Tinker is, but still sits patiently in front of the refrigerator following our last outing each night in anticipation of our “Ham Time” ritual that for health reasons has been changed to turkey. (See Post #360). In a similar manner, my younger wife also gives me a “treat” of Vitamin D3 each morning with my egg, an effort to keep me her ageless and healthy travel companion. 

It’s a lot more fun to think back to those “Senor Moments” we all had when we were young, rather than contemplate the “Senior Moments” that lie ahead. Tinker often stares off into space, licks her lips, pants heavily, and stalks me for food. At least, I don’t seem to be getting hungrier as I age. It makes me sad to watch our pets change from happy active companions to slugs who respond only to food. Yes, they do still get excited when my wife comes home from work, but that’s partially because they also know it means dinner time.