Category: Tinker (Page 7 of 15)

Our first schnauzer

Creature Features: Dogfather #763

December 6, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Mario Puzo wrote The Godfather in 1972 that became a popular string of mafia movies. I’m re-purposing this story under the pseudo name of “Pup”zo (Or “Pug”zo), as a tribute to my life as the dog sitter. As most are aware, GOD spelled backwards is DOG, man’s best friend. I’m trying to be a better “capo” to my dogs, but I’m still struggling to fulfill the role of “The Dogfather” that has uncharacteristically developed into an enjoyable part of my retirement. Honestly, being the owner of two schnauzers was not necessarily by choice, but rather the fact that I married a dog lover. Otherwise, I would have probably never taken on the responsibility. As it is, they are often my sole companions throughout the day until my wife gets home from work. I’m sure they would rather have her by their side all day, as evidenced by their enthusiasm when they hear her car pull in the garage every evening. In the meantime, they are stuck with me, “The Dogfather,” an offer they can’t refuse!

I begrudgingly take them out at least five times a day, but in most cases I’m tempted get them back inside as quickly as possible, often depriving them of the exercise they need. They’ve learned how to stall. Tinker probably appreciates these shorter outings because old age has made her stiff and sore like her master. Tally, on the other hand, cannot get enough walks every day and mopes sadly to her “good bed” as soon as we gets back. She moves only when she hears to the words, “go outside” and reacts with vigor. Tinker is always near me throughout the day and moves only when I do (particularly if I open the refrigerator), while Tally typically remains stoic and in a state of mild depression. I used to walk them occasionally down to the neighborhood Starbuck’s, but Tinker basically drags herself along while Tally leads the charge. As a result, it’s no longer part of “The Dogfather” daily routine.

On sunny days, I will let them out on the back patio and take them on longer excursions. Unfortunately, it’s often cold and rainy here in Portland and they both hate water. I feel guilty when I’m comfortably inside by choice while they must feel trapped. We don’t have a back yard that allows them to roam freely, and neither are trustworthy enough to let outside on their own. I’m also just “The Dogfather” not the “Dog Whisperer,” so I don’t have the communication skills of my wife. She doesn’t feel like I pay enough attention to them while she’s at the office and is often frustrated that they need so much attention when she’s trying to unwind after a tough day. I can’t possibly fill her shoes as “The Dogmother.” They like her better and compete for one-on-one time with her, regardless of what I do for them each day.

I’ve never been very nurturing, so “The Dogfather” is probably an accurate description of me. Don Vito Corleone was not exactly the epitome of goodness, although he took care of the “family.” I apply the eye drops, pick up the poop, shuttle them to Vet/spa appointments, and take them on car rides. Also, I frequently administer “ham time,” but simply don’t have the patience to put on their fancy little coats every time I take them outside, as my wife encourages. To me, they are dogs but to her they are cute, furry gods and she treats them better. I’m reminded of this poem:

Oh to be a dog

In the next life,
This is my wish.
Give me a bone,
And my own dish.

Then I can snore,
And scratch my butt.
I’d be no pure breed,
I’d return as a mutt.

I’d sleep all the time,
Chew on a boot.
Then lick myself,
And smile real cute.

Woman’s best friend,
At men I would growl.
And when I was hungry,
I would just howl.

My greatest desire,
If I did come back.
Should I be fortunate,
To get another crack.

Just to be sure,
I’d have the perfect life.
I’d want my master,
To be my current wife.

Diary of an Adoptee: Bastards Unite #745

November 21, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

It’s good to be a bastard, especially considering the abortion alternative! Maybe I’ve just spent to much time watching shows like Game of Thrones and Vikings where bloodlines determine royalty and children out-of-wedlock are looked upon with disdain? Masterworks like The Scarlett Letter by Nathanial Hawthorne explore themes of legalism, sin, judgement, and guilt. When I think of Hester Prynne’s scarlett “A”, I can’t help but feel sorry for the shame that my own birth mother must have experienced being pregnant with me. Undoubtedly, I’ve stirred up some angry feelings in trying to contact her.

I’ve found through the years that a sense of humor is the only sane way to deal with matters where others tend to be so judgmental. As a result, I’ve tried to focus on the positive side of bastardhood. After all, “bastard” seems like such a hard word and takes on such an ugly connotation. In fact, it’s derived from the Medieval Latin word “bastardus.” However, there is always a certain amount of intrigue, mystique, and romance behind any illegitimate relationship, dating back to even Adam & Eve. There can also be elements of cruelty and hypocrisy that lead to behind-the-back whispers. Much has changed in the 67 years since my birth, but the very thought of being sent out of town and hidden away to give birth makes me both sad & angry.

This is the way my life started out, in temporarily derailing the life of an 18-year old girl. It only makes sense that she might want to forget about it. I just want her to know that being a bastard has turned out to be a good thing for many of us. I did not obviously reach the notoriety of some of those in the club, but thanks to a young couple that couldn’t have children of their own, I became their baby – so thank you. They gave me every opportunity to succeed, but not quite to the level of these six lucky bastards:

Confucius (ca. 551-479 BCE)

“The early life of K’ung-Fu-tzu, better known in the West as Confucius, is largely a mystery. Born in the feudal kingdom of Lu, Confucius served as an adviser on political matters and court etiquette to several Chinese leaders during the mid-to- late 500s BCE. The circumstances of Confucius’s own birth, however, are hardly up to any Emily Post standards. According to the first complete biography of Confucius, the Shiji, his dad, a warlord named Shu Liang He, and his mom, a member of the Yan clan, “came roughly together,” indicating either a rape, concubinage, or some other sort of extramarital shenanigan. His low birth, however, didn’t stop him from attracting plenty of highborn followers, many of whom protected him when his outspoken manner offended his various employers.”

Leonardo da Vinci (1452 -1519)

“Everyone knows of Leonardo da Vinci, the well-rounded man who could be a painter, a naturalist, an engineer, a metallurgist, or a philosopher with equal ease. It’s considerably less well known that this personification of the Renaissance was actually the son of a notary, Ser Piero, and a peasant girl of somewhat “easy virtue.” In fact, the two simply took a tumble in the hay together before going their separate ways and providing Leonardo, from their marriages to other people, with 17 half brothers and sisters. Needless to say, these assorted half siblings were none too fond of their renowned relation, whose birth was something of an embarrassment, and on his father’s death in 1503 they conspired to deprive him of his share of the estate. Leonardo had the last laugh, however, when the death of an uncle led to a similar inheritance squabble, leaving him with sole custody of the uncle’s lands and property.”

Thomas Paine (1737-1809) and Alexander Hamilton (1755-1804)

“Two of the best-known fathers of the American republic, Thomas Paine and Alexander Hamilton, were the results of extramarital affairs. Paine, whose Common Sense helped bring widespread support to the American Revolution, and whose other writings, like the anti-Bible tract The Age of Reason, scandalized all and sundry, had to flee England a step ahead of treason charges. In the end, however, he died penniless in the United States. Hamilton, on the other hand, was the illegitimate son of West Indian colonials, and made a name for himself as a brilliant orator and writer. He eventually became one of the leaders of the American Federalist Party, but had the misfortune to be challenged to a duel by Aaron Burr. He also had the even greater misfortune of accepting, bringing his career to a dramatic close one fine New Jersey morning.”

Lawrence of Arabia (1888-1935)

“The illegitimate son of a knight and his children’s nanny, T. E. Lawrence became the model for generations of British diplomats blindly idolizing all things Arabian. One of the organizers of the much-touted (but in reality fought more on paper than on the battlefield) Arab revolt against the Turks during World War I, Lawrence later became embittered with Britain’s imperial policy and spent the last few years of his life sulking and tinkering with motorcycles (he died in a motorcycle accident). Though he largely tried to keep a low profile, his much-exaggerated accomplishments led to him being dubbed “Lawrence of Arabia.”

Eva Peron (1919-1952)

“Saint Evita” was the daughter of an adulterous relationship between two villagers in an impoverished part of Argentina. She made a name for herself as an actress before marrying Juan Peron in 1944, but, being illegitimate (and a peasant), she was never really accepted in the social circles in which he routinely traveled. As a rising military officer, Peron quickly found himself dictator of Argentina, and “Evita” was by his side. In fact, she was there to do more than just wave at crowds and manage the mansion. Evita actually ran several government ministries and almost became vice president in 1951 (the military bullied Peron into making her drop out of the campaign). And though she’s best known to many from the musical and movie that bear her name, you really shouldn’t feel obligated to cry for her. While the flick plays up the glamour and romance of her career, it largely ignores her corruption, oppression of political rivals, cozying up to Nazi war criminals, and other questionable doings.”***

Bastards Unite! We’re in good company. We may have been born as lemons, but we’ve made lemonade.

***From Mental Floss: 6 Famous Bastards Who Made Their Mark by Mangesh & Jason

Retirement is not without Hassles: Sunday #742

November 18, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I remember when Sunday was not just another day, as it tends to be in retirement. In fact, I rarely even recognize it now except as the day the trash needs to go out. For my working wife, it is still a special weekend day of not having to go to the office. She likes to start her “Funday” by giving our two pups a long walk, something she believes I am remiss on doing during the week. Since I run every morning, it’s become a ritual of compromise that we now refer to as a “Schnauzerthon.” Our 100-year old, gimpy schnauzer Tinker can’t handle the distance any more, so we bought her an Air Buggy that allows continued participation in the fun. We take turns pushing her along through the park with schnauzer-sister Tally on a leash. When Tinker is in my control, we surge ahead at my faster running pace, she gets the youthful sensation of a puppy chasing the ducks at full speed, her ears pinned back by the wind – as if I could possibly run that fast any more.

When I was a kid, I went to Sunday school, another miserable day in the classroom. Soon my stubborn resistance made life unbearable on everyone at home until they just let me sleep-in, my favorite activity as a child. Even at this age, Sundays were still an ominous signal that a week of work was soon about to begin, and I was already looking forward to retirement. Once in the job force, Sundays were all about getting ready for that Monday morning alarm, hoping to ease the pain of the worst day of the week. As far as I was concerned, the weekend was over when I finally got out of bed on Sunday. Church was still not on my agenda, only disrupting a rare opportunity to sleep-in late. Please forgive my laziness!

The only two good things about Sunday that I remember were Chicago Bears games and Murder She Wrote. There was no Sunday Night Football back then so no conflicts between these two great television events. Without fail, every Sunday night at 8 p.m. I set up the ironing board in front of the TV and pressed my suits and shirts for the week, eliminating one of the hassles of getting ready every morning. By the time Jessica Fletcher solved the murder and my clothes were laid out, I began to feel the depression of another weekend gone by! It always seemed like the time passed so quickly, despite all my efforts to savor the precious hours. Suddenly, I was back in the office and Saturday was five seemingly endless days away!

Casual Fridays were also non-existent back then, so it meant a stuffy suit every day and five to iron every Sunday. The thought of also ironing a sixth suit for church was just another excuse not to go. Later in life, I bought a steamer to take the wrinkles out of my suits, and even though church services became more casual, I still didn’t go. Football is now on nearly every day and so are re-runs of Murder She Wrote, so neither says Sunday anymore. It’s now all about trash, “Schnauzerthons,” afternoons with my wife, no suits to press, and trips into wine country.

Creature Features: Doggy Bag Duty #735

November 13, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

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!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Queen #726

November 4, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

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.

Creature Features: Tootsie Roll #722

October 30, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

It’s “Trick or Treat” time, so all I can think about is candy. I’ve had my wife lock our stash in the trunk of her car, so I can’t devour them all in one sitting. It’s safe while she’s at work! One of my favorite movie scenes is in Caddyshack when the Baby Ruth accidentally gets flung in the Bushwood Country Club pool and floats away to Jaws-like music. As it drifts by a group of misbehaving kids they quickly scatter over the side in a panic while a little girl screams, “Doody, Daddy, Doddy!” Bill Murray is the groundskeeper, Carl Spackler, who’s given the job of retrieving the mistaken poop, but recognizes it as a candy bar and takes a bite to the shock of onlookers. It could just as well have been a Tootsie Roll, that is also often mistaken for “Doody.” To further capitalize on mistaken identity, they manufacture an inflatable pool float shaped like a giant Tootsie Roll. Unfortunately, if it were designed as unwrapped, they couldn’t show off their logo. We have a supply of full-size Tootie Roll’s and Baby Ruth’s in our candy bowl to give to costumed visitors.

Today, Doody Daddy is the name of a waste management firm in Cove, Florida. You can also buy an inflatable giant poop emoji to float your troubles away on. Or, if you want a toy for your kid there’s Princess Poop, Flush Force, Poopeez, Sticky The Poo, Toilet Trouble, Don’t Step In It, POOP: The Game, Poopyhead, and Doddy Head. It’s all part of the Poop Craze, that maybe started with the Poop humor in flicks like Caddyshack, Dumb & Dumber, Scary Movie 4, Van Wilder, Date Movie, Harold & Kumar go to White Castle, Not Another Teen Movie, American Pie, Friday, and White Chicks?

I happen to own the “Poopingest Pup on the Planet,” a dog that’s full of it. I don’t always find her habits as humorous, but it’s created a popular topic for my blog. Tinker is over 100-years old and showing signs of senility. For example, she no longer does an endless back-and-forth dance searching for the perfect spot. In fact, she’s developed a recent habit of pooping on the sidewalk. I’ll be walking along with younger Tally pulling me forward with eager enthusiasm, while Tinker gimps along slowly behind. The retractable leashes are often stretched to their fullest in both directions. If I’m not careful, Tinker will stop to itch her butt on the rough concrete surface, and suddenly she’s being dragged along. She could also stop at any moment to empty her bowels, as I watch Tootsie Roll-like logs rolling down the steep neighborhood hill behind us. I’ll have to chase them down with my doggy bag, before they tumble into street traffic or into a storm drain. Sometimes sadly, what comes out is Tinkerreah (the runs), that never rolls. (See Post #370)

Tinker’s appetite has remained strong, unlike her legs and eyesight. She continues to take Prednisone to control her itching and arthritis. The steroids have turned her into even more of a mooch, as she relentlessly follows me anytime I head in the direction of our refrigerator, hoping for a nugget. She’ll eat anything, but chocolate is poisonous to dogs, so Halloween is not her favorite holiday. We used to dress her up in a Bumble Bee outfit to greet our Trick-or-Treaters, but it never got her a bag of candy. We’re generous with most everything else we eat, but chocolate, eggs, and many wheat products are strictly forbidden. We sneak a bite or two of egg to Tally every morning when Tinker isn’t looking. To be honest, I don’t think we fool her, so she tries to retaliate by stealing Tally’s dinner. The “bottom” line, is that Tinker enjoys excessive amounts of input, and expels equal amounts of output. She’s all about “treat,” and too smart to be “tricked.” In most cases, she’s a dog that gets what she wants! This is why I fondly refer to her as the “Poopingest Pup on the Planet!”

Retirement is not without Hassles: Vulnerability #702

October 16, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

As I reflect on the death of another famous contemporary, Paul Allen, it demonstrates that anyone, no matter how wealthy or healthy is vulnerable. (See Post #701). At the same time, every day I helplessly watch our aging dog Tinker have more and more difficulty getting up and down our stairs. Her eyesight is failing her and even her once iron stomach is now a concern. Only in the mirror can I see the changes in myself, but that biased reflection is filtered by my stubbornness to accept the inevitable. It’s solely by watching those around us where we get an honest gauge of the slow aging process. I can feel it in my bones, but can’t see it in my face.

Every day I go for a run, motivated solely by maintaining my daily streak. I can think of many reasons why I started it including weight control, personal challenge, and better health, but I don’t think about those things any more. I’m simply driven to run at least a mile every day for as long as I can. After nearly 10 years of doing this, I can’t even imagine not starting my day this way, but someday it will end. For now, aging has simply slowed me down, as related aches and pains seem magnified. My mile times are slower and it takes longer to complete any distance.

I never knew Microsoft’s Paul Allen, just as I don’t know 76-year old Sam Johnston of Naples, Florida. Sam and I share simply a last name and a common interest in running. Every once in a while I check the USRSA (United States Running Streak Association) website at www.runeveryday.com to do a comparative check. Sam’s streak extended for over 41 years (15,023 days) and he was #13 on the active list. I currently stand in the low 200’s, and I hate to think of moving up on that list at the expense of Sam Johnston. Here are his words about ending this remarkable streak:

“After running 1.26 miles, I stopped and walked for twenty painful minutes and decided that it would probably be my last official day of being a streak runner. It was over. I told my tolerant and loving wife that I was quitting, but I did plan to run the next morning just to make sure. On Saturday morning I went out and got a couple of minutes into my run and I decided quitting my streak was the right thing to do. And even though I could have run a mile, I didn’t. I finished 1-k and stopped. I then turned off my music and took a very slow, reflective, one hour walk before going home. Saturday was a long day filled with the benign torment from my decision. I went to bed at about 10:30 that night and oddly enough I woke up later and looked at the clock. It was 11:59. And just as I glance at it, the clock changed to 12:00. It was officially over.”

Regrettably, attrition is the only way to move up this run-streak list, as opposed to other ranking lists in life. I will probably never reach Sam Johnston’s mark. I would need to continue for another 31 years, and then celebrate my 100th birthday with a mile run. At some point, my knees may give out like his did, or worse yet, meet the same unfortunate fate as billionaire Paul Allen. In his case, others may have moved up on the list of the wealthiest, but my only accomplishment is living longer. On the other hand, Sam Johnston has not only run longer but also has the edge in age. Hopefully, he’ll prove that there is life after running. Congratulations on an amazing accomplishment, Sam. Maybe we’re related?

Creature Features: Tinker Strikes Again #693

October 8, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

The “Poopingest Pup on the Planet” has struck again. This time on the kitchen floor. At over 100 years old, she’s entitled to a few mistakes, even though she ruined a number of carpets in her younger years and those were not all accidental. Certainly Tinker, the stinker, knows better, and after yesterday’s ramblings about “Dog Thoughts” I have to wonder: What was she thinking? (See Post #690). So far, the more-lady-like Tally has fortunately not emulated her leadership efforts in this department. Sometimes when you’re dealing with a pet, there’s nothing I can do but chuckle, clean up the mess, and write a another poem:

(P)oops!

What’s that on the rug?
Is it what I think?
The air in the room,
Is starting to stink.

You try to convey,
That innocent look.
Suggesting the source,
I must have mistook.

Just how many others,
Who walk through our door?
Are likely to take,
A dump on the floor?

I know it was you,
The “Poopingest Pup.”
And who do you think,
Has to clean it up?

This is the reason why,
We take you outside.
When did this happen?
The evidence has dried.

If this was on purpose?
Your thinking absurd.
This was no gift,
You’ve left us a turd.

An accidental “oops.”
I guess it could be.
It’s less of a mess,
Without the extra “p.”

So hold it until,
You get to the brush.
But If you can’t wait,
Learn how to flush.

Creature Features: Dog Thoughts #690

October 7, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

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.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Socrates Says #689

October 6, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I can safely say that after 67 years of life that “I know quite a bit about nothing important.” It sounds like a country song to me, so I’ll work on some rhyming lyrics. After searching for similar phrases via Wikipedia, I found “I know that I know nothing”, “The only thing I know is that I know nothing”, “I know one thing; that I know nothing” or “I know that all I know is that I do not know anything,” called the Socratic paradox, is a well-known saying that is derived from Plato’s account of the Greek philosopher Socrates. That ain’t country.

The phrase is not one that Socrates himself is ever recorded as saying, so I can begin to take credit for my own variation of the philosophical words. At this stage in life, I have many more questions than answers. I’ve also forgotten more than I remember. This I know I know! I do, however, remember knowing nothing, rather than being like some people who think they know everything. The humbler approach is more befitting of my personality. Let’s examine this lack of knowledge that I possess and will continue to accumulate.

We can safely start with ten things that I definitely don’t know:

I don’t know there’s a heaven
I don’t know there’s a God
I don’t know who will win the World Series
I don’t know there will be a tomorrow
I don’t know there’s an end to the Universe
I don’t know that our retirement funds are enough
I don’t know what our dogs are thinking
I don’t know who my birth father is
I don’t know if I can actually get two cars in my garage

Others only think they know some of these answers. Since this is a pros and cons discussion, here’s ten things on the “do know” side of the ledger:

I know that “knowledge perception” is a subject too deep for this blog
I know that I’m no Socrates
I know that I love myself and feel satisfied with my accomplishments
I know I love my wife & family and that they love me
I know that Tinker is hungry right now
I know Ohio State will come back to beat Indiana for their 24th straight
I know that it will soon start raining in Portland
I know that I’m an adopted child without answers
I know that I have a lot to learn
I know that I know nothing

All of this knowledge is mostly unimportant to anyone but me. I’m sure that my wife and family are glad that I’ve confirmed their importance in my life, but I’m pretty sure they already had that knowledge. With the exception of my birthmother, I do know that no one has the knowledge to know what I don’t. I also know that “nothing” is a relative thing, and every thing else I know is trivial with respect to life and death.

Socrates was once told by the Oracle of Delphi that he was one of the wisest men in all of Athens, and his response was to not boast or celebrate but rather try to prove the Oracle wrong. If you know? Please feel free to prove me wrong. In the meantime, I’ll continue to compare my questionable knowledge to the guy who knew nothing:

Nothing

When Socrates spoke,
They’d lend their ears.
Yet he knew nothing,
It plainly appears

He must have known,
More than he thought.
His words of wisdom,
Were widely sought.

He wisely taught,
That he knew nothing.
But people thought,
He was something.

In modern times,
I think the same.
And know as little,
My knowledge lame.

I know nothing,
And nothing more.
It closely matches,
My IQ score.

Nothing here,
And nothing there.
If it’s something I know,
Does anyone care?

Of nothing important,
I know quite a bit.
Of life and death,
I don’t know sh*t!

Category: Tinker (Page 7 of 15)

Creature Features: Dogfather #763