Enter: Tinkerbell

"Chihuahua" by Anthony Kelly on Flickr,
Creative Commons License

My downstairs neighbors have several dogs. The rules prohibit more than one? Don't worry your pretty head: they certainly haven't. For the winter months, all I knew was that they barked a lot while people were gone, that they barked when I slammed open garlic bulbs (which must have sounded kind of like knocking), and that the owners occasionally yelled at them in unintelligible words.

This spring, with the windows open, I found that one of them was called "Tinkerbell." That's an unfortunate name for a dog, but I assume the dog does their best to move past that and continue living its life of quiet desperation. Living as a purse-dog.



Tinkerbell is a tiny teacup chihuahua. Her eyes are black and fill the sockets, so that you can't quite tell what she is looking at or thinking. It reminds me of Quint's story from "Jaws:"


Lifeless doll's eyes, indeed.

Tinkerbell spends a lot of time being held, because the world seems to overwhelm her. She tends to just stare and shiver when one speaks to her. Eventually, she will pause and say, "Gagh!" in a strangled and brusque tone. It's the term for the fictional dish of live worms that Klingons eat in Star Trek, and it seems like a strange thing to teach a dog to say, but then I'm not a dog owner. Or a Klingon.

Tinkerbell reliably says it; usually, her saying it is followed by the owner saying, "Oh, she likes you!" The owner seems to be sincere, but I may just be misunderstanding the use of facetiousness in the English language. Tinkerbell has no other comment on the matter.