The big softie – The wuff with the smooth

“Il semble que la nature ait donné le chien à l’homme pour sa défense et pour son plaisir. C’est de tous les animaux le plus fidèle : c’est le meilleur ami que puisse avoir l’homme.”

– Voltaire

French Enlightenment writer and philosopher, Voltaire was no slouch when it came to using his aul noggin. One of the first internationally renowned authors, his works are still being studied by scholars around the world today and that will likely forever be the case. However, in this quote from the great man when he refers to le chien (the dog) and its relationship to mankind, it is obvious he was never acquainted with a hound called Waffle.

Roughly translated, the quote above suggests, “It appears that nature has given the dog to man for his defence and for his pleasure. Of all the animals it’s the most faithful: It’s the best friend man could possibly have.”

Generally speaking, I would probably agree but in the case of our Waffle, he can be your best friend but also your greatest adversary.

To paraphrase another literary luminary: He is the best of dogs, he is the worst of dogs.

Voltaire reckoned that a dog will defend its master and also bring him or her pleasure. This is certainly true of Waffle but it’s not as simple as that.

Waffle certainly wants to defend. If the postman arrives in a blur of red and a squeal of brakes, Waffle the Sleepy Hairball becomes Waffle the Angry Wolf. You wouldn’t think it to look at him but he has a humdinger of a bark, the timbre of which also belies his size. Be it the postman or anyone else, he erupts into action as though struck with a cattle prod and rockets through the kitchen towards the front door growling and snarling like the alpha male of an Alaskan Timber Wolf pack.

This defensive frenzy habitually results in two things happening. One: He scares the life out of me because it happens so all-of-a-sudden and two: I then have to tell him to moderate his behaviour.

“Shut your mouth dawg, would you, for God’s sake, you scared the fup outta me.”

Nor can I say this or any other form of rebuke in a gentle way. In order for him to comply with shutting his hairy gueule, I have to become angry, or at least sound angry. However, after routinely being shocked at his explosive faux-rage, anger isn’t normally a problem.

The best of it is, as you might imagine, all of this rampant barking is a front, a pretence. The only way Waffle the Angry Wolf could kill someone is by whining them into a coma.

So, Monsieur Voltaire, Waffle may indeed want to defend but this isn’t real (seeing as he wants to be friends with everyone; he and the postman have long become firm best pals) and moreover, this defence only works to the detriment of my own pleasure or at least, my own ease of mind.

No matter how many times I tell him to shut his mouth when a visitor arrives at the door, it does no good. He will only shut it at the time of the command (he can no doubt see the murder in mine own eyes) but the next time a visitor calls, it’s the same thing and so on and so on…

Part of my own frustration at Waffle’s congenital requirement to defend (barking and growling and snarling like that alpha male) is that I know he’s such a wimp at heart. I wonder sometimes what would happen if I actually was set-upon by someone or by another dog. Would Waffle realise the difference and spring to my defence? Would he nip my assailant’s Achilles tendon and disable them before they disabled me? Would he bite my attacker’s bum, hang on and not let go? I can’t honestly say and perhaps I’ll never know. I do know that he had only ever growled once in his life in earnest and even then, it was a half-hearted effort.

Last summer we found that an Irish Lizard had snuck into the house when no-one was looking. The tiny reptile, no bigger than my little finger, hid under an armchair in a bid to find some respite from the July heat. None of us initially realised this had happened until Waffle the Angry Wolf detected the intruder’s scent and went… mental.

Snapping and growling and tearing at the carpet, he tried to force his way under the chair. He sprang around and around the armchair lest the invader try to make good his escape. He howled and better howled and wouldn’t shut his face no matter what I said or threatened to do (there were lots of threats).

After inspecting the situation and realising it was a lizard (I was only glad it wasn’t a mouse), I knew I had to capture the little animal in case Waffle managed to snare it and ravage it to death. So, with the cunning use of a pint glass and a bit of kitchen roll and no small amount of effort, I was eventually able to corral the tiny visitor into the glass and we all repaired outdoors.

With the general consensus being that the lizard had been living under the back door step, I upended the pint glass as gently as I could and Lizzy the Lizard hopped out and scampered across the concrete. Immediately Waffle gave chase, his hairy lips pulled back in a snarl.

Whether Lizzy recognised his facade for what it was, I don’t know but instead of Waffle the Angry Wolf ravaging the tiny animal, the tiny animal ended up chasing Waffle the Wimp around the yard.

As Voltaire might have said, “le meilleur ami que puisse avoir la lézarde.”