To the beat of the drum – Wuff With the Smooth

An American Border Collie named Chaser used to be known as the ‘smartest dog in the world.’ (She passed away in 2019 – RIP).

According to National Geographic, Chaser was able to recognise and remember 1,022 words – the names of each of her toys. Apparently this smartest dog in the world could retrieve each of these items – stuffed toys and balls – on command.

This reminds me of a question a journalist once asked John Lennon: Is Ringo the best drummer in the world? John replied, “I don’t know if he’s even the best drummer in the Beatles.”

Extrapolating on this theme: Is Waffle the smartest dog in our house? The answer is ‘no’ and that’s all the worse because he’s the only dog in the house.

The thing with Waffle is: He’s smart in some ways but then as thick as a bottle of dung in so many others.

For examples to his intelligence, Waffle knows several quite impressive tricks. He can sit, bark, play dead and sit pretty all on command. Or (after some diligent training on my part), if someone approaches the house and I suggest, “Get them, Waffle! Bite them on their bums!”

He will race at that approaching person snarling and barking his hairy head off. A consequent, “Right, dog! That’s enough!” halts the faux assault (he wouldn’t bite a fly never mind a person).

Waffle’s intelligence doesn’t end there either. If, of a weekend, I happen to crack open a beer, the Waff has come to appreciate that this sound eventually coincides with a softening of my disposition.

K’tiszz!

And there he is at my knee peering up at me with his big, hazel eyes. A scratch of the ears habitually follows alongside a, “you’re not so bad are you Waffie – hic!”

However this softening of my disposition is usually ruined by the man himself. Just when we thought he was past acting the wag (get it? Acting the wag?), Waffle goes and does something phenomenally stupid.

Last week, working from home, I needed bread for my lunchtime sandwich and in a bid to avert the impending crisis, I shrugged into my coat, found my keys and headed off in the direction of a shop. Ten minutes later, I was back at the house, laden with bread, ham and several tubs of instant noodles(?!?). These items I dumped onto the kitchen worktop simultaneously asking Waffle, “Did you miss me, wee Waff?”

But Waff was nowhere to be seen. What was to be seen was a confetti-like mess on the living room floor which used to be my notebook – a notebook he could only have gained by climbing up onto my desk.

Sure enough, the hairy culprit then sloped around the corner of the sofa, hang-dog sad and as guilty as a conviction.

“G’wan ya f…” I snarled and immediately gave chase.

Even with the temper gone and wearing my trainers, I couldn’t catch the wee bugger. He dashed out of the sitting room, down the hall and then double-backed before crashing against a bedroom door to open it before scurrying under a bed. I considered flipping the mattress up to get in at him but then I remembered that that would merely result in more of a mess to clear up. So I didn’t.

The thing is: Waffle knew he was doing something wrong.

His hang-dog expression said as much and not only that, he has been chastised too many times in the past to not know that chewing up my personables is a cardinal sin punishable by death.

Later the same day, I returned from yet another shopping venture only to discover that the hound had snuck into the bathroom and ravaged the bin and all the detritus it hitherto contained.

“He’s only a dog, leave him alone,” a little human suggested as I seethed at the hairy culprit.

How can it be that a cute little dog who knows so many tricks, who can bark on command, attack on command (even though it’s a fake) and will do everyone’s bidding because he’s so eager to please, can be such an a-hole when no-one’s around?

One friend suggested that this continuing errant behaviour could be caused by the separation anxiety Waffle experiences when I’m not around. Instead of crying or wringing his hands (or paws) or howling at the moon, as a way of coping with his anxiety Waffle starts chewing my stuff.

“Could it be,” this friend continued, “that Waffle is deliberately making a mess when you’re not around to prove a point that he shouldn’t be left alone as he doesn’t want to be left alone?”

Admittedly, I was forced to consider this question for a long moment although ultimately I dismissed the notion.

Making a mess when he’s left alone so as to suggest he can’t be left alone – this is too much lateral thinking for an animal that licks his own bum and chases falling leaves thinking that they’re birds.

“Na,” I told my friend. “I don’t buy it. Chaser, AKA the smartest dog in the world could recognise names of toys but that was about it. There’s no way this hairy bugger is using cunning canine psychology against me so that I never leave him alone in the future. Not a chance. This dog isn’t even the best drummer in the Beatles.”

My friend countered, “Whatever the case, it has got to the stage that you can’t leave him alone any more. By fluke or design, that’s the reality. You might say he has you dancing to his own beat.”

K’tiszz!