Twinky Turns Ten
I want to make this clear from the outset — I have two dogs, I love them both, but I have a clear favourite. There is one that I share a weirder, deeper connection with, and as guilty as I’ve felt about it over the last ten years, I’ve accepted it as reality.
Twinky arrived on a blistering hot weekday afternoon in the back of a tuk-tuk, peering out of an A4 sheet box from my mum’s office. I had seen a plea for nine puppies living under the steps of a roadside kadé (shop) on one of the many stray dog rescue Facebook pages I followed, beseeching its fans to foster at least one of them. It was accompanied by a photo of nine tiny black and white bottoms sticking out of a tray of mashed up milk and bread. I forwarded it to my mum. We were sold.
Later that day I made my way down to Narahenpita, and right next to the CIMA building was Maithree Foods — Twinky’s first home. I met the rescuer and the kind people at the shop who were looking after the brood. The shopkeeper laid down a plate of food to coax the puppies out from their nap burrow under the paving stones, and they all made a beeline for the treat. As we spoke, I felt a small but savage nip at my expensive trainers. There she was: barely awake but ready to rumble. She was white with a black patch over each eye like a badger, two black shoulder pads like an 80s businesswoman, a black spot over her tail, and a rash. “That’s the one,” I said, not needing any further information.
Everything about her was tiny. Tiny eyes, tiny nose, tiny claws, tiny teeth. She was so small at four weeks that we had to get her a cat collar with a bell on it so that we knew where she was. She ignored all the names we tried to give her: Lily, Lucy, Patches, Smudge. My boyfriend Lalith suggested Xena because she was able to fiercely hold her own around the other dogs despite her minuscule size, but even that she shunned. Eventually I tried Twinkle because of the stars on her collar and finally — FINALLY — she stared me dead in the eye. That’s the one.
She slept randomly and woke up randomly. For the first few weeks she would wake up in the middle of the night and mosey over to Jack, our three year old male dog who slept on the floor. He would be in a deep sleep, she would startle him awake (presumably with a bite), he would snarl angrily in response, to which she would scamper away, screaming for her life. None of us got much sleep.
I remember coming back from nights out at around 2 or 3 am, grabbing dinner from the kitchen and settling down for a few minutes to eat and stave off a future hangover. She would be wide awake and mosey on over like John Wayne on her stubby legs, demanding to be lifted up so she could sit next to the food.
When I watched movies on my laptop, she too wanted in on the action, so I would let her sleep next to me. She would curl up next to my stomach and snore away to the sounds of the programme and my heartbeat. To this day, spooning this dog is a guaranteed off switch — even if she’s all riled up from seeing a cat or barking at the bin men. The moment I spoon with her, she’s asleep in minutes.
As tender as all this sounds, she’s also the only dog that has ever sunk its teeth into me. It happened when she was just a year old and indeed, it was entirely my fault — I stupidly used my right leg to try and break up a fight between her and our other dog Suey — but I still count that as a proper bite. Luckily the injury looked not unlike an accident with a hole puncher. It was only my feelings that were truly hurt.
When she was two, she went through a major life change. Lalith and I were moving in together, and all three dogs were coming with us. Jack adjusted first, quite possibly thrilled to have a new person to get pets from. Suey barked at Lalith each time he moved or spoke for the first three days, but eventually accepted that, since he was now the food-giver, she should learn to live with him.
Twinky on the other hand was terrified of him. She ran and hid, cowering under the bed and behind chairs each time he got up and moved around. This continued for two or three weeks until one night, when we were watching TV, she crept out from under the bed and inched her way to the sofa. She slowly climbed up, sitting between us, and looked at him, as if readying herself for any sudden attacks. Lalith ignored her, so she leaned in closer to him, sniffing. Then, for no reason at all, she burst into an excited wiggle, snuffling and nuzzling him, thrilled that he was not going to murder her. They remain inseparable.
The last ten years feel like they’ve gone by too fast. From the time she almost choked on a chicken bone, to her busted tooth, her unending skin issues (yeah that rash never went away), the time she covered a tuk-tuk in diarrhoea on the way to the vet (Wasantha was very understanding as Lalith cleaned it up, apologising profusely), the years-long phase she went through where she would obsessed over a single toy and would slobber over it all day until it was completely destroyed… a squeaky toy of Ronald Reagan was this phase at its peak — we had to hide it from her and she always managed to find it.
She has etched herself into my life in a way that no other living thing ever has. I have been both charmed and unnerved by her unwavering eye contact as she tries to read my facial expressions, always wanting to be involved by whatever comes next. She often puts two and two together and comes up with five, e.g. noticing me cleaning the house and thinking that people are coming over. She hides whenever we do have company, so visitors rarely get to meet her. That is, unless they stay past midnight. At around 00:30, madam will descend down the staircase and sheepishly sit next to me, staring at our guests with a distinct “PLEASE LEAVE” aura. The first time we had guests, they brought over wedding presents, and the moment they left she went berserk on the wrapping paper to blow off steam.
In short, she is bizarre and hilarious. The way her very existence constantly pulls me out of even the deepest quagmires of despair and self pity is remarkable. The fuzzy weight from her head sleeping on my leg wirelessly charges me up and keeps me going even through the most challenging days.
I had depicted her in my art many times without really thinking about it — she had become my muse and her depictions have charted the evolution of my visual art style over the years. Dogs don’t stay with us for long, but at least I now have an art gallery of my relationship with this imp.
As she enters double digits this year, I wanted to take a moment to reflect on how much this once softball-sized runt has impacted my life. I hope I never forget the happiness, purpose and bravery she has given me, even long after she is gone. For now, it’s time for pupcakes and celebration! Happy birthday you bonkers dog.
