Waffle’s got talent

“While the Cockachon may not have the most elegant or appealing of names, they make up for this by being utterly adorable. A designer dog that combines the cheerful and ever-accommodating Cocker Spaniel with the clever and tolerant Bichon Frise, the Cockachon has a stand-out personality and can make the ideal family pet.”

– Dr Linda Simon, University College Dublin

Waffle is an ever-entertaining little mutt, notwithstanding the whining (and the pooing and the chewing and the peeing and the whining and the general habitual destruction of my stuff).

I have mentioned this before, I know, but as a member of the Cockachon fraternity (a cross between a Cocker Spaniel and a Bichon Frise), Waffle has a great many attributes. He is a real people dog and loves making friends with anyone willing. He is great with children and will happily play all day. He is super affectionate and likes nothing more than sitting up to have his lugs scratched or laying on his back to have his belly rubbed (neither of these two procedures are carried out by yours truly, I should add).

But beyond the confines of household civility and being affectionate, Waffle is, even now, presenting with new and hitherto unexplored talents.

As you can see from the photo, I’ve started taking the hound on some cross country hikes – the scenic route for me and for him, the route most likely to get him mucked to the eyeballs. It’s a win/win.

It wasn’t whilst in the river that this next episode occurred, but it actually happened so quickly that I was unable to snap a corresponding photo.

The two of us were in field near our home where the grass had recently been cut. As I watched the morning wind coast through the trees, stooping every now and again to appreciate a wildflower on the verge, Waffle was on his usual scent exploration routine and hitching his leg on anything big enough to cast a shadow. All of a sudden, I noticed him freeze in his tracks with one fore-paw lifted, as if cocked. I watched him with a frown as he began to creep forward, his little black nose twitching and glistening in the sunshine. He then began to growl, a low rumble and then he froze again, the growl intensifying.

I followed his line of sight, scanning the verge and the grass at the side of the field which hadn’t been cut but I couldn’t see a thing.

“Shush, dog,” I said and tried to listen. The bees buzzed and the Skylarks twittered but other that that…

The next sequence of events seemed to happen all at once.

From the corner of my eye, a shadow erupted from the long grass. I took an involuntary step backwards, tripped on uneven ground and staggered and Waffle shot out of the tracks as though fired out of a cannon. By the time I recovered from my stumble, Waffle was hot on the heels of the fleeing hare, the two of them coursing across the middle of the field. Momentarily I feared for the hare until I remembered greyhounds can barely catch these things, they’re so fleet-footed. And then it was all over just as quickly as it had started. The hare disappeared into a hedge and Waffle returned, his tongue seemingly too big for his mouth.

“Good boy, wee Waffle.”

Back at the house, I poured some water into the Waff’s bowl and made myself a cup of tea. As I drank the hot beverage I marvelled at how Waffle had detected the hare by scent rather than sight and had acted, like his Cocker Spaniel forbears, as a gun dog, flushing the quarry out into the open.

“Another new skill, eh, the Waff. You’re some boy. It’s almost as if you’re a real dog after all.”

Half an hour later the tea was finished, I had my headphones in listening to tunes whilst I typed at the computer and Hound was asleep at my feet.

Working away contentedly still amused at Waffle’s new gun dog skills, I only half noticed when he let out a small whine.

Strike one

I turned up the volume on the tunes and kept working. But even through ‘Giant Peach’ at full blast I heard the next whine.

Strike two

I tried to push away my annoyance that the hound had reverted back to type, was no longer in gun dog mode and was in all probability whining at a Daddy-long-Legs on the ceiling.

The next occurance jolted me stiff in my seat. Waffle touched my elbow with his little wet nose.

Strike three – and you’re out!

“What are you on about, dog?” I blurted, turning in my seat and taking out the headphones.

In reply, Waffle whined, long and mournful. Then he hitched himself up onto his hind legs, Meerkat-Kangaroo style. Then he growled, quickly followed by a bark. “Shut-up, dog!”

Usually, when reprimanded in such a stern manner, Waffle will do as bid. However, this time he hopped towards me, trying to nuzzle his head into me.

“Waffle!” But this only elicited another bark as he tried to clamber onto my lap.

“Waffle!” I snapped but in truth, I began to feel a little concerned. This behaviour was completely outside of the norm. Usually when I snap at him, he’ll shrink away from any confrontation. Was he trying to tell me something?

I thought then of seizure alert dogs who are trained to alert their owners prior to them taking some kind of a turn. Was I about to have some kind of turn?

“Waffle?” I asked, with no small amount of trepidation. But this prompt only made him worse and he began yelping and trying in earnest to climb onto my knee.

What the fup’s going on?

Suddenly a gun dog, could Waffle have developed a latent ability as a seizure dog that was only now bubbling to the surface ahead of me taking some kind of… physical attack?

AAAARRRGGHH!

I may or may not have vocalised this last bit out loud although I think I did because Waffle started barking in earnest, trying to get my attention. As a man I know would describe it, Waffle went aff his head.

Some mental health professionals refer to anger as a secondary emotion, as in, it usually just hides the presence of deeper, more hurtful conditions like guilt, embarrassment or fear. In this instance, as I sat in my seat, almost detachedly watching the dog go aff his head in my face, my fear was masked by an eruption of rage. “Shut your face, dog!” I exploded, springing to my feet. But if anything, this only made Waffle louder.

Next, he sprang onto the sofa, in my mind trying to alert the world to his master’s imminent self-combustion.

“Waff–”.

For the second time that day, I followed the Hound’s line of sight. This time, it wasn’t the hare or even the Grim Reaper. It was the postman struggling to open the gate at the bottom of the drive.

Relief washed through me followed by a tsunami of stupidity. Waff hadn’t been trying to warn me about an impending seizure. It was just that the postman had arrived at the gate. I hadn’t heard him because of the headphones.

Waffle is an ever-entertaining little mutt and chasing hares looks like great fun. But making me think I’m going to have to cataclysmic physical implosion is minus craic.