Wuff with the Smooth: Who loves ya, baby?

I was shocked this week to read that new research from an animal charity has shown that a great many pet owners have admitted having stronger bonds with their pet, than with the other members of their family.

A whopping 75 per-cent of those surveyed agreed that “in some capacity” they have a closer bond with their pet than their partner. More than that, an astonishing 78 per-cent agreed that their pets provide more emotional support than friends and family. And get this: When seeking comfort, three out of five people said they sometimes prefer a cuddle from their pet than their partner.

Seriously? People seeking solace would rather hug a hairy fool smelling of wet dog than hug their partner? Who did the animal charity canvas? Lord Sutch and the Monster Raving Looney Party?

Personally, despite what you might have concluded from some recent columns and despite this being tested regularly and by you know who, I would honestly consider myself a dog lover. I like the canine honesty and the fact that your pet is always there for you, no matter how bad your day has been and how bad a form you’re in. Back in the day, BW (Before Waffle), I also considered that having a dog about the house would be a good thing for the little humans. As well as companionship, having a pet also teaches empathy, care and compassion and importantly, it teaches a person that the whole world doesn’t revolve around them. However… I’m not sure that I, Michael James Devlin, would even qualify as a dog lover when compared to people who have closer bonds with their pets than with their family members. Then the question arose: Do my own family members believe that they have a stronger bond with Waffle than they do with me?

To gain an insight into this sudden, thorny question I decided to carry out a survey of my own at home. It was called: ‘Who Do You Love Most: Me or the Dog?’

I stopped short of creating an actual survey with a list of questions in Excel and then printing it out and distributing (I’m not completely mental), although I did set my inner dictaphone to record. I reckoned that these responses might come in handy in the mouth of Christmas.

During Saturday’s lunch at the homestead, I explained that I had an important question for the two little humans, one which I needed to know the answer to for an article I was working on.

“No pressure,” I said in a measured tone but inwardly I was maniacal. “Just say how you feel and say whatever comes into your head.”

First up was Number One Daughter and the person who is responsible for giving Waffle his every evening meal.

“Who do you love more, me or Waffle?”

Number One Daughter rolled her eyes before asking, “Seriously?”

“Seriously. It’s for a story I’m writing based on a survey from an animal charity. This is my own version of the survey, only on a smaller scale. Answer the question.”

Another eye roll.

I persisted, “Who do you love more, me or Waffle?”

Number One Daughter chewed a mouthful of her chicken wrap and then swallowed before answering. “I love you both the same,” she eventually answered with a small, Mona Lisa smile.

Ah, diplomacy! However, this wasn’t the answer I needed.

“Try again,” I said.

Number One Daughter rolled her eyes for the third time before saying, “Jeez! OK. I love you the most. Happy now?”

On cue, Waffle whined at her feet, as if to vocalise that he could appreciate that she was under duress and thus couldn’t be entirely honest.

“Final answer?” I asked.

“OMG, bruh – yes! Final answer.”

Next up was Number Two Daughter, who is, let’s say, more of a loose canon in matters of house diplomacy.

“OK,” I said, nodding in her direction. “You’re next. Who do you love more, me or Waffle?”

Without missing a beat, Number Two spoke around her half-masticated mouthful of chicken wrap. “Waffle. I love Waffle more.”

“And so why would that be?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Well,” she considered. “He doesn’t leave a bad smell in the toilet in the morning and…”

“He’s a dog! He does his business outside!”

Number Two Daughter fixed me with her best no-ship stare. “Do you want me to answer or not?”

“Go on,” I conceded.

“He doesn’t leave a bad smell in the toilet in the morning and…”

“You said that already.”

Another stare.

“…and he doesn’t make me eat carrots with my dinner and he doesn’t make me go to school and – AND – I bet he would let me have Nutella every day for my breakfast, if I wanted.

“And, he gives the best snuggles in the evening time.”

“Comprehensive explanation,” I replied, sardonically.

But she wasn’t finished.

“And he doesn’t shout bad words at the TV when the football is on and if he owned a phone, he would let me play with it as long as I wanted.”

“Finished?”

Anna popped the last morsel of wrap into her mouth and slipped down off her seat. “I’m done,” she announced. “Can I have a Mini
Roll?”

“Get lost, monkey,” I said, hiking a thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the door.

“I bet Waffle would let me have a Mini Roll – wouldn’t you, wee Waffie?”

“Away you go.”

Anna stuck her tongue out and skipped away.

Mentally packing up my failed survey (Number One was too diplomatic and Number Two was only taking the hand), I consigned this straw poll to the annals of family history. Sure, it was only a bit of craic anyway.

Still, alongside the diplomacy and the taking of the hand, the two responses tallied up with the global concept that yes, people are indeed, in love with their pets. Maybe the survey wasn’t too far off the mark after all and maybe, I should endeavour to swallow down future frustrations in the aftermath of future Waffle infractions. If nothing else, the survey and my own straw poll has provided some great food for thought. And speaking of food, extra portion of carrots coming up for Anna.