Tink Hijacks My Blog

Waiting, waiting, waiting. I’m consumed with it. Waiting. Everything I am at this moment revolves around anticipating that sound – the one that hurts my ears yet signals that my master is awake and will open the big doorway to the great outside place. I whine a little, but not too loud. The master gets angry when I do so. It wakes the smaller ones in the house. I must be a ‘good girl’. I must, I must, I must!

There! I knew it was close. The sound, oh the hurtful, beautiful sound! I can contain myself no longer. I run to his room, the one he shares with my mistress. Momma and daddy. I wag my tail uncontrollably and dance in circles as his feet touch the floor. The whines escape me because I can no longer refrain from expressing them. I dance around his feet as he moves for the portal, and doing my best to suppress my bark, I scratch at the opening ahead of him. The bad things are out there and I must let them know that this is my territory, my yard. I must. I must. I must!

I burst through the space, scared at first, but definitely excited, for a new day awaits me. At my bark the squirrel-things fly up into the trees, and should one of the Me-Me person’s cats have dared venture into my realm during the night; they will surely get a comeuppance. Many, many smells in the air. I sniff and sniff, then sniff some more. It is cold. I do not like the cold. It hurts my feet and stiffens my six-year-old joints. I bark uncontrollably, delighted in the feel of my chest and the sound that emanates from within me. A quick pass around the yard is enough, I run back to the ingress and scratch my welcome – it is time to go back in. I yelp and throw myself against the screen-thing, unabatedly so. The master will come. He will let me in. He loves me. I feel it in a secret place that no one comprehends, except maybe others of my kind.

Once inside I jump on the couch, forcing myself back under the blanket he has provided for me. The master pats my back and tells me I’m a ‘good girl’. I growl at him, playfully, for I feel loved again. It grows in me, something primordial and untamed, engulfing my every thought. I love the master. I love the mistress. I love the smaller ones – even Sissy. They are mine and I am theirs. We belong.

In a few moments the master sits by me on the couch and watches the glowing, picture-thing in the corner. He drinks the liquid that I long for. I slide from under the blanket and place my nose against his warm leg. He responds by scratching my ears involuntarily. He is engulfed in the glowing thing. He is thinking beyond me, paying me little attention. Not enough attention. I could quickly lick the cup he holds, gaining the tasty nectar for my own benefit, but I know better. I must wait. I am not good at this thing called patience. I’m not. He will drink from the cup, but he will save a sweet-tasting residue for me. He will. He will. He will!

But I also sense the master is worried this morning. He worries too much. It makes me feel funny when he worries. I understand this in a way that only I can. He is thinking about the boy this morning, and he is worried. I sense the boy is ok, but I cannot convey what I know, for I do not have the ability to do so. The master is thinking of the mistress, too, and he worries about her, but I do not know why. I remember that she will give me of the delightful nectar from her own cup, too, and more of her precious liquid than he will save for me. But I am not happy because my master is worried. I feel it. I sense it. I whine a little, and I lick his hand. I wish I could tell him.

I smell the fear in my master, as I have on many occasions. I feel it in the mistress, too. They worry all the time. They worry. They do. They should be happy like me. They have the nectar. They have the other tasty things I smell in the hot room and around the big bowl they sit around when they eat. They have the big bed to sleep in. They have each other. They have the little ones – even Sissy. Why do they worry? I do not know. It is beyond me. I do not worry. Sure, I get hyper at times. But I do not worry. I have my master and my mistress, and the little ones. Even Sissy.

I can also feel the presence of Someone else. Someone I cannot see or hear, except in a secret place somewhere deep inside of me. It’s the Heavenly Master who created all things. He loves me. He watches over me. He knows when I hurt. He knows when I whine. He knows when I am hungry. He designed me. He will never leave me.

Hey! I know. I understand. I do, I do, I do! Maybe the master and the mistress do not know about the Heavenly Master like I do. Maybe He does not watch out for them as he does me? Maybe they don’t trust Him? Sad. Very sad. I wish I could talk to them in a human voice and remind them He is there. He is watching. He is waiting. He will take care of them. He loves them. I would really be a good girl – if only I could do so.

But I’m not thinking about this anymore. My master has set his cup on the floor for me. I leap from the couch. It awaits me, controlling my thoughts for the moment. But I am not worried.

Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God? But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.

Tinkerbelle - World's Wisest Dog

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