The Wuff with the Smooth: Anthropomorphism

Anthropomorphism (noun): the attribution of human characteristics or behaviour to a god, animal, object or Waffle.

Increasingly and unknowingly, I am foisting anthropomorphic constructs onto the Waff.

He and I spend a lot of time together, especially on the days that I work from home. We eat breakfast at the same time. We go for walks in the mornings or at lunchtime. He follows me to the toilet and waits by the door (whining). When I have lunch, he gets a snack and when the postman arrives, I rise to open the door and Waffle raises the roof with his barking.

This living in one another’s pockets can cause friction, as you may have read in the past.

However, it also means that we have developed a certain sense for one another’s characteristics and one another’s needs. I need Waffle to not be an arse and then he needs me to not draw my toe off his hind quarters.

Increasingly and subconsciously, we are falling into symbiotic habits, as we go about our daily business. Despite infractions in the past, Waffle now knows that he is not, under any circumstances allowed to harass the hens and likewise, I know when he’ll need a stretch of the legs of an evening or a foray into the long grass for a Jimmy Riddle. It’s a sense of something intangible but something shared.

As I write this, the Hound is asleep by my feet. Should I deign to explode out of my seat and shout randomly and loudly, Waffle knows instinctively that the zombie invasion is upon us and he too will morph into defender mode, woofing and growling in preparation for the undead to bash through the sun-room door. I know, too, that if I sit beside him on the ground, that he will reposition himself so that he’s snuggling into my lap and try to lick my hand with the same tongue that licks his butt. And I also know that if I discover that he has eaten a dishwasher tablet that has fallen by the wayside, I will hit the proverbial roof and my blood pressure will do the same.

Symbiotic and shared.

“He’s only a dog. That’s what dogs do. He doesn’t know any better.”

This was my father’s wisdom last week when I relayed the story about Waffle busting my laptop with his hairy shenanigans.

“It’s not as if he’s doing it on purpose.”

However, as with any misplaced anthropomorphism from earlier on, I can’t help shift the notion that when Waffle lets loose he knows exactly how those shenanigans will impact on my blood pressure and mental health. It’s almost as if he has opened a life insurance policy against my limited time on this mortal coil and he’s doing his level best to shorten to cashing in timescale.

Literally, I have lost count of the times that I have roared at him for worrying the hens. Seemingly chastened and contrite, the hairy fiend will slink away from the coop and seemingly, the situation is solved. And yet! If I deign to turn my back as he is slinking away, he cunningly takes the opportunity to return to his badness. Just as I have lost count of the times I have roared at him for worrying the hens, I have similarly lost count of the number of times I’ve clocked him returning to the scene of the crime mere moments after he’d acted so penitent.

“G’wan you! Ya fuppen baxter!”

Cue a return of the slinking and remorseful. Literally, I have to watch him until he returns to the house and close the door on the outside, or he’ll be away again.

“It’s almost as if he’s waiting on me to avert my eyes and then he’s conniving again,” I’ll tell anyone unfortunate enough to be listening. And I always get the same answer, “He’s only a dog. That’s what dogs do.”

Be that as it may, I concede, but Waffle knows what he knows and whether or not I’m attributing anthropomorphic qualities where they aren’t welcome, he KNOWS when he’s doing something wrong.

As you may remember reading from last week, Waffle ate a packet of Gaviscon tablets, a packet he had gained by clambering up onto my desk. Before I had come to realise what he had done, I noticed that he looked a little shifty (anthropomorphic). I thought nothing of it, that is, until I clocked the devastation of the chewed packet.

This week, when I returned from an excursion to the shops to purchase lunchables, I noticed upon my re-entry to the homestead that Waffle was once again looking a little sheepish (anthropomorphic). Like the week before, he stayed out in the hall, only poking his hairy head around the door from time to time with a distinct air of guilt (anthropomorphic). This red flag led me to search out the latest incident of note – to wit – an empty packet of lentil curls which he had licked clean and then shredded all over the utility room floor.

On this occasion, as with Gaviscon-gate, Waffle KNEW he had done wrong and he KNEW I would find out and by extension, he KNEW I was going to go off the head.

So, in conclusion, Waffle may well indeed ‘only’ be a dog but, in his case, there’s no ‘only’ about it. He knows things will upset me but he wickedly goes about his nefarious business nonetheless. He’s a dog that knows right and wrong. Only in his case, like a teenager looking to rock the boat (anthropomorphic), he’s acting up for some reason so as to attract attention.

Plonker (anthropomorphic).