Duncan sent a very clear message to Twinkie and Yumi this morning. There will be no more mistaken identity.
On our way back from the park, where we tossed the ball and Dunc spent a great deal of time rolling in the grass, collecting the cottonwood fluff until he was good and wet and so speckled with seedlings that he looked more like a mangy sheep than a Golden Retriever, we passed Yumi and Twinkie at the fenced in enclosure where people occasionally take their dogs to tend to business. Even though our apartment complex refers to it as a dog park I refuse to let Duncan set foot in the small, pebbled area because it reminds me of a giant kitty litter box, each tiny rock covered in urine. Yumi was standing on the outside of the fence still wearing her pajamas and a hoodie, watching Twinkie sniff out a good spot on which to leave her mark. We smiled and nodded at each other while Duncan stepped up and touched noses with Twinkie through the chain link. The moment Twinkie found her spot Dunc turned, lifted his leg and sprayed a straight line of pee right across Twinkie's flank, who, grinning, hardly noticed. I yelped and Yumi burst out laughing while I pulled on Roo's leash and apologized. Twinkie, who thought we wanted to play, leaned further forward as I pulled Dunc away, his stream, sure and solid, splashing all over her. Yumi couldn't contain herself and laughed even harder.
"I'm so sorry," I said, hoping she understood even though she doesn't speak English very well. "I'll pay to have her groomed."
Yumi shook her head, still laughing, and waved me away.
"Are you sure? I don't mind!" I insisted.
"No," she said. "Is very funny."
Twinkie didn't seem to mind either. She and Duncan touched noses again before Roo turned away with a humph, the matter settled. There would be no more mistaken identity. His point was made.