Eating’s cheating with Waffle – Wuff With The Smooth

“The dog done something bad today – try not to be annoyed.” Seriously? If there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to annoy me after a stressful Wednesday at work it’s the Hateful Hound doing something stupid. ‘Annoyed’ is too weak a word for how I’d be feeling. Enraged? Fit to be tied? Murderous, even?

“What has he done now?”

“He ate something he shouldn’t have.”

This statement, whilst apt, was distinctly open-ended because, simply put, Waffle shouldn’t be eating anything that isn’t specifically prescribed.

You wouldn’t think to look at him, but Waffle has a fairly wide-ranging food allergy thang and after much trial and error, we have finally discovered that there are only a short list of things that he can ingest without breaking out in a severe rash and scratching the lugs clean off himself (his ears are particularly prone to rashy diffs when attacks occur).

Waffle has been a Devlin for a while now and in that time, we have tried A LOT of various foodstuffs which ultimately didn’t agree with him.

Chicken is a no, as is beef, as is turkey, as are any of the other ingredients which happen to be in a kitchen at any given time. As he can only eat fish, peas, asparagus and watermelon (those are the only things currently on the list) and due to a succession of expensive medications from the vet’s, this has meant that we try to stick with what agrees with his singular digestive system.

And you should see the melee which ensues when someone drops something as mundane a crisp in his presence.

“Get that crisp!” And, “Grab that bloody dog!”

“He ate your licence.” I was duely informed. “My licence?!?” “Your licence.”

“Wait til I get my hands on him!”

It turns out that the cheeky cur had only climbed up onto my computer desk when no-one was looking and decided the paper part of my licence looked like a tasty treat.

“Even now, I’m not sure why this was the case but the result was a confetti-like mess on the carpet ten minutes after the theft.

Of course, this wasn’t the first time (nor, I suspect will it have been the last), that the Hateful Hound has chewed things he otherwise shouldn’t.

So far, we have lost several pairs of shoes, a hose, a bucket, three socks, his first dog bed, his first lead, his first collar, a pair of pants, a torch and a wooden spoon.

The thing is, in the beginning – when you’re not expecting your new dog to be a kleptomaniac with mastication issues – you don’t tend to clear everything away to higher ground in the off chance it’ll be mangled by a rogue canine as soon as you turn your back.

“It’s not his fault – he’s just a pup yet.”

“He won’t reach adulthood if he doesn’t stop eating my stuff.”

Currently, of course, we’re all hard-wired to be on the lookout for anything Waffle might be able to seek and destroy. That means closing all bedroom doors when applicable and making sure nothing is left hanging around to tempt him.

Alas, it also means dealing with stuff that you didn’t dream he’d attack in the first place – like the toilet roll or the skirting board in the sunroom.

“I should never have paid for that operation.”

“God forgive you.”

A few months after Waffle (AKA The Hateful Hound) had moved in, we woke up one morning to discover he’d done a dirty protest all over the back hall.

Unfortunately for me, the ‘protest’ was mostly liquid and so a deep clean was required (after I’d stopped swearing).

“He needs to see the vet,” I was informed and given the smell, I didn’t disagree. Fast-forward two hours and I was sitting outside the vet’s again (at this rate of going I’m going to get my own parking space), waiting on a consultation.

When that arrived I was told there may be a blockage and Waffle needed an X-ray. The result of that consequent examination was hardly surprising.

“It looks as though he has eaten a sock,” the vet explained. “And that could be blocking up his system. Do you have pet insurance?”

I did not.

“I’m afraid it’s not cheap. And I’d have to get you to sign a form to say you agree to the cost.”

I was faced with a dilemma. It was going to cost an arm and a leg for the op to open Waffle up and extract the sock (a sock he was stupid enough to eat in the first place) and then he’d have to stay in doggie hospital for a night or two. No pet insurance meant I was going to have to fork out – big style. Then a thought occurred to me: I could drive to Killeter Forest and open the door and let Waffle take a pee and then when he wasn’t looking, I could high-tail it outta there.

Born free, as free as the wind blows…

My dog problem would be solved. No more chewing my stuff. No more cleaning up liquid poo. No more expensive vet bills. I could just tell the kids that poor wee Waffle had been really sick and he didn’t make it.

The stark truth was, I couldn’t do it on the weans.

“Where do I sign?” I asked the vet.

Ironically, as it turned out, whilst the op was a success, Waffle hadn’t eaten a sock at all and when he was opened up, there was nothing there. His explosive poo-ing was thus explained as a bad case of gastroenteritis.

“We won’t charge you for the operation since it wasn’t entirely necessary,” the vet said.

Despite the lack of a sock, Waffle was still kept in overnight and he returned the following day clad in a dapper head cone which he tried to chew off but failed. Haha!

Back at the homestead, the kids were uber excited that their beloved Waffle had returned almost unscathed and admittedly, I felt a pang of guilt at my previous thought of returning him into the wild.

“Good boy, wee Waffle,” everyone said. Repeatedly. And for the rest of that evening.

But while everyone else was fawning over the hairy fiend, I was hoking through the internet looking for pet insurance.

Pull quote

It turns out that the cheeky cur had only climbed up onto my computer desk when no-one was looking and decided the paper part of my licence looked like a tasty treat…