Tinker has been all the talk today, as “Her Girl” has come to visit. It’s remarkable that after so much time apart how quickly they reconnect. Tinker’s memory is a tribute to her intelligence – she never forgets! Right now, however, she is back at my feet, temporarily loyal to the hand that just fed her and took her outside. She and Tally are in waiting mode for mom to get home from the office, and the chance to reunite at the garage entrance to the condo.  Who knows how long they think she’s been gone? By the way they react every night, you would think it was years! I will soon be forgotten as the whole family comes together as one – dogs, cat, parents, and daughters.

When I was growing up, my mom could tell when I needed to use the bathroom. I couldn’t keep my body still, moving about in a near spastic manner, legs shaking, and arms quaking that made everyone uncomfortable, yet I couldn’t find the time or make the effort to visit the bathroom without being asked. She called it the “Tinkle Dance.” Tinker does a little dance, almost as annoying as mine used to probably be, as she tries desperately to find the right spot. It is particularly frustrating in the rain as she slowly moves back-and-forth, forth-and-back, as I watch with little patience, waiting for “lift off.” As a girl she rarely raises her leg, and gives little indication of her need to pee, so I simply have to wait for what sometimes feels like decades. If I’m in a hurry to be someplace, it is particularly painful to watch as she circles, hops, tip-toes on the uncomfortable grass, and ultimately lets go. It’s less dramatic with a poop that is always followed with the bull-like kicking of the turf with her back feet, a habit she may have picked up from her first sister Belle. Nonetheless, there’s a “Tinker Dance” that accompanies each performance. It’s a gesture of accomplishment yearning for acknowledgment. I hope I didn’t anticipate the same praise after my mom urged me to seek the toilet.

Today’s posts have been filled with toilet humor, that seems almost endearing when it comes to pets. Five times a day I urge them to go, so I can get back inside and continue writing. It’s a pet owners ritual when you don’t have a convenient back yard. Unfortunately, it’s also like trying to watch the kettle boil. It never does! We all wish we could train our dogs to use the toilet and not to leave the seat up. A solution has been found for cats with the invention of the litter box. Are dogs just not smart enough to use one? The poodle in Tinker makes her smart, but she prefers just to eat the cat turds like a trip to the buffet. “Bone Wars” often extend to “Turd Wars,” as Tinker and Tally wait patiently for much anticipated cat action to satisfy their endless hunger. We have installed a Door Buddy strap to prevent the recycling of these feline leave-behinds. Ironically, the kitty uses the same rear kick of the bull, like Tinker, to attempt to bury these apparently tasty treasures. Similarly, Tinker turds occasionally still show up on the kitchen floor, but only in emergency situations. She tries to blame it on Tally, but we know better since she somehow consumes twice as much food and therefore has to poop twice as much.  At least it’s never on the carpeting anymore, since we’ve now gone primarily to hardwood and tile floors.

Here’s one last poetic thought on Tinker:

Tinker’s Tail (Tale)

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Eye goobers,
Itchy skin.
Crusty hair,
Under her chin.

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Dark age spots,
Droopy Eyes.
Lack of energy,
But she still tries.

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Joints that ache,
A few steps slow.
But don’t ask twice,
She wants to GO!

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Good dogs like her,
Are hard to find.
Years of training,
Her amazing mind.

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An appetite,
That’s never full.
Just offer her,
An extra bowl.

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Bat-like ears,
Schnauzer beard.
A distinctive bark,
That can be feared.

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Curly gray hair,
Coal black nose.
Our love for her,
Forever grows.

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Fuzzy eyebrows,
Cheshire grin.
Adopting her,
We’d do again.

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But growing old,
Can be cruel.
Her best hope’s,
A good gene pool.

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A woo-like whimper,
When she’s glad.
Tail up – she’s happy,
Down means sad.

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We hope to get.
A few more years.
When she’s gone,
There will be tears.

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Like a Timex watch.
Tinker’s still ticking.
And her pink tongue,
Keeps busy licking.

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Copyright 2017 johnstonwrites.com