If you read the last post #370, you know that “Tinker’s Girl” has come to visit. My wife’s youngest daughter is here for the week, with her older sister joining us for dinner tonight. Tinker will be thrilled to see both of them together, although we all know her favorite – and it’s not me or my wife. During lunch today, we shared some more stories about Tinker, our schnauzer, especially after I told them I was putting together a book called “Tinker’s Tail,” the tale of the pooping-est pup on the planet! I may not actually call it that – but I do have a volume of humorous poems about our lovable pup named Tinker along with her mischievous sister Tally, and would like to get together with an illustrator to publish a tribute. I included the “Montezuma” story at the end of my trip down memory lane regarding our pets that I wrote about this morning. Consider the following paragraphs to be Part Two, the sequel to “Bone Wars.”

“Tinker’s Girl” reminded me of the time she took Tinker for a walk in Austin, Texas, where we moved after living in Decatur, Illinois. Following the nightmarish loss of an adorable little schnauzer that we adopted down there named Roxy to a horrible accident, Texas Tally came into our lives. Poor Roxie was with us for only a brief time before she was run over by a car. It was my fault for not paying closer attention, but ironically I had to pick-up Tinker’s poop and could not get out of the way of a fast moving vehicle that nearly took all of us out at a blind intersection in our apartment complex. There were no sidewalks, and the car took a short-cut around the corner without stopping. I will never forgive myself, but would have probably never had met Tally if it weren’t for that tragedy. As you might have guessed, Tinker is always pooping – the pooping-est dog ever, as we call her. She is still a bottomless pit and never misses a meal, while keeping a hairy eyeball and a lightening fast tongue on plates and bowls around her. What goes in – must come out! Justifiably, she was apparently abandoned as a pup and survived by eating acorns in the woods, according to the doctor who examined her stomach prior to our adoption.

According to my stepdaughter’s story, she was walking Tinker on South Congress Avenue near a Mexican restaurant. Tables were set up on the sidewalk and the place was packed with standing room only. Without any kind of warning, Tinker lost control of her sphincter and ruined several appetites by depositing a puddle of poop, the consistency of nacho cheese, on the sidewalk. It could only be mopped up, so the baggy she was carrying was useless, and they could only move on with their walk, regrettably leaving the residue behind. “Tinker’s Girl” was helpless and embarrassed, but Tinker herself was already searching for another abandoned nacho chip. I had a similar thing happen here in Portland a few years ago, but at least it was raining and quickly washed away as opposed to being baked into the hot Texas pavement.  This was clearly not an appropriate lunch tale, but we all chuckled anyway. You just have to be careful about what comes out under Tinker’s tail!

Another story of “toilet humor” that she told us took place back in Decatur, Illinois, when Tinker was still a pup and furry sister Belle was still alive. The three of them went together to a neighbor’s house to let their Golden Retriever pup outside. Before she could even get its leash attached to go outside, the Golden peed in the middle of the kitchen floor and the other two dogs followed suit. Tinker added to the puddle first, while the unsteady, aging Belle tried to add her “two scents” worth. Instead, she sadly stumbled, slipped, and fell into the growing mess. While trying to get Belle back up on her feet, the other two were using the kitchen floor like a Slip and Slide.  I too had gone to take care of this same young Golden two days earlier, and found he had escaped from a cage of smelly, runny poop and tracked it carelessly throughout the house. It was obviously not worth babysitting this pup, since both of us ended up with extensive clean-up jobs just by trying to be neighborly. I fortunately did not take Tinker and Belle along on my visit. In all fairness, Tinker, at a later time, got revenge on this neighbor’s son, who was returning the favor of our help on behalf of his parents, and faced a severe case of Tinkerreah at our house. Dog sitting can be crappy duty – that’s for sure!

Poop stories can be gross, but they can also be funny if they don’t happen to you. This applies primarily to babies and dogs. As a precaution, I always carry extra bags when taking Tinker on even short walks. We’re guilty of feeding her “people food,” so I guess we’re just asking for trouble. She’s also been accused of sometimes having excessive gas. Through the years, however, she’s learned to do her duty outside, and has been great about managing her liquid intake when we’re not home. Tally is equally good about controlling her bladder around the house. Since we live in a condo, I have to walk them both on a leash, rather than giving them easy access to a fenced-in back yard, so I take them outside about five times a day. Tinker is living proof that bad dogs can become good dogs, once they are properly trained. She will not even wander off, even when a squirrel crosses her path. Tally, on the other hand, still has some growing up to do.

I’m married to a true dog lover, so if I’m going to live with her I have to be one, too!  She feels a kindred spirit.  I’ve always been around dogs, but never wanted to put the work into owning one.  I can’t remember the circumstances of having dogs in my former marriage, but there was Smiley, the golden retriever who would stand in the shallow water of the lake for hours and stare at her reflection, and Gizmo, the schnauzer with bat ears who did nothing but bark and pee.  I probably wasn’t very helpful in their care, but they were both part of the family.

My parents did not have a dog until after I left for college.  I’m not positive how that happened, but I’m sure my younger sister was the influence.  It was a Brittany spaniel  with the creative name of Britt.  My mom was scared of dogs, in-part due to the one who bit me when I was three years old.  I still have the clipping that reads:  Boy, 3, Bitten By Dog, Gets Anti-Rabies Shot.  It was not front-page page news, but rather almost the size of a classified ad, and the poor dog was kept under “observation.”  Rabies shots are supposed to be very painful, so if I associate that with dogs, it’s no wonder I was a slow adapter to puppy love.

When I met my current wife, she had a part-Chow, part-Shepherd, named Belle that was probably scared of me.  She would not let me walk her outside the neighborhood, stopping abruptly at the edge of the housing addition, or wrapping herself around a mailbox to emphasize that we had gone far enough. I slowly got to know Belle, a critical first test in the new relationship with my wife now of 16 years.   When we eventually got married, we then adopted Tinker, making a “Disneyesque” combination.   Tinker and Belle were an inseparable pair for several years, and I slowly learned how to love.

As I think about all the dogs in my life, there are fond stories that come to mind.  Perhaps this sentimental journey is the result of recently reading, “Call of the Wild,” and watching the movie, “Megan Leavey.”  These were stories of dogs that worked hard and saved lives.  I can’t say that was the case with any of my pets.  They just simply make me smile.

I’ll start my stories with Gizmo, who was out doing her business in our back yard twenty years ago.  When I went to let her in, it was a raccoon who sauntered in instead.  It was very dark outside and both animals were about the same size, so I mistook it for the dog.  Gizmo was then trapped on the other side of the screen door barking at  the bandit, who had proceeded to boldly eat out of his food bowl.  I might not have even noticed the clever thief if it had gone straight up the stairs.  If so, it probably could have done a lot of damage, but Gizmo’s barking alerted me to the culprit.  I chased it around with a broom, three-stooges-style, while Gizmo continued to bark until the masked coon eventually got the message and fortunately ran back outside into the night.

One of my favorite Gizmo tales, was the night I stopped for To-Go at my favorite Bar-B-Q joint.  I was so hungry that I ate the baked potato like an apple on my way home.  I wanted to dig-in right away when I got to the house, but Gizmo, of course, needed to go outside  and was barking like a maniac.  I could smell the Bar-B-Q sauce as I waited patiently for her to finish, and was careful not to let another raccoon through the door.  I could just taste it, but thought better of getting the runny sauce from the pulled-pork sandwich on my new suit.  I reluctantly went into my closet to change into something more casual.  By the time I got back, there was nothing left but the empty Styrofoam container on the floor.   Giz was a chunky little dog, with not much vertical jumping ability, but somehow had gotten up on the counter and devoured my treasured sandwich, along with some cold slaw and baked beans.  I was stunned and angry, but Gizmo licked her smiling lips and held back a belch.  He was then forever known as the BBQ Gremlin.

Smiley preceded Gizmo, and was a lake dog, who absolutely loved the water.  Gizmo, like the Gremlins character he was named after, avoided water, but faithfully guarded our home from intruders.  We would lock him in the front office, with a window overlooking the street, where he could bark at all passers-by.  His radar-like ears could hear from afar any “enemy” approaching.  Unfortunately, he was immune to potty training, though we tried everything, and chose to pee on the carpeting, which is why we would confine him to that space.  It was a small room, so we could afford to replace the carpeting on a regular basis.  He also liked to poop in shoes, so we had to warn our house guests.  Smiley, on the other hand, was outdoors most of the time by choice, so we didn’t have to buy Spot Shot by the case.  Smiley got his name from me, a childhood nickname that was hard to shake.  We thought by giving the name to the dog would make my friends think twice about calling me “Smiley.”  When they did, they would get a big, hairy dog in their lap and a slobbery kiss.  I was still called “Smiley,” despite the efforts to change the habit.  It wasn’t a bad name; it just wasn’t my name.

Tinker loves BBQ, too.  Her favorite restaurant in Austin was “Rudy’s.”  Just the mention of the name “Ruuuudys” sends her into a tizzy, even years after dining there.  It was not the best brisket in town, but it was dog and family friendly with an expansive backyard patio filled with picnic tables.   She would join us at the table like she belonged there, eating her meal off of waxed paper like the rest of us.  Portland is also dog-friendly but the rainy conditions are not always suitable for sitting outside with the pups.  Tinker got to go out to eat a lot more frequently in Austin.  Tinker’s new adopted sister, Roxie, died at a young age, so Tally then became the second member of our schnauzer family. Tally does not have Tinker’s voracious appetite, but enjoys any opportunity to be outside, and tends to favor fish and vegetables.  She’s always full of joy, and walks with the confidence of a race horse.

Tinker is part-schnauzer, part-poodle and very smart, but she’s getting old.  She’s very savvy on the streets, having to fend for herself in the woods.  She wisely ate acorns to keep her digestive track active.  I especially enjoy watching her move from shadow-to-shadow as we walk, keeping her paws cool on the exposed pavement. Tally, even at 7 years old, still has a lot of puppy-like energy and now confines her chewing to stuffed animals as opposed to furniture and shoes.  She’s left a lot of scars in the wood of our bed and coffee table that we’ve yet to have refinished.  They will always serve as memories of her first year with us, dealing with separation anxiety.  Adopted animals always come with issues, but there are so many homeless pets that it feels good to give them a solid home.  There are other stories of Tinker in posts #13, #33, #67, #76, and #130.  Tally is also the subject of these posts, plus #77: Chew on This – a favorite of mine.

Both dogs love to ride in our convertible, hoping that we’ll take them for ice cream.  We have to be careful about using the words “go” or “ride” because they will get too excited for words, and their tails and ears will drop like a starter’s flag if they find they are not accompanying us.  We also have to secretly pack our suitcases for travel so they don’t get disappointed.  They are spoiled, greedy little children if they don’t get their own way, and love to have their tummies rubbed, unless there’s a cookie or food scrap that would take immediate priority.   They also like the fact that I’m retired and can spend the afternoons with them.

As we plan to travel more in the future, Tinker and Tally will probably be our last dogs, but the gravitational tug to have a dog will always be in my wife’s nature.  It will be tough to not have them in our lives.  Probably the best time of day for both of our dogs is “Ham Time.”  They wait poised at the refrigerator after their final outing of the night, anxious for their bedtime snack of sliced ham.  For health reasons we’ve recently switched to sliced turkey breast, but as quickly as they chow it down, they’ll never know the difference.  When Tinker hears “ham time,” I’m sure she thinks of “Rudy’s.”