Conversations with Anna

Clocking up 30 years and 266 days, a dog from Portugal named Bobi was recently crowned the world’s oldest hound (ever) and according to the Guinness World Records he broke an almost century-old record.

The previous titleholder, an Australian cattle dog named Bluey, was born in 1910 and lived for 29 years and five months.

Clocking up three years, three months and (at the time of writing) 16 days, a dog from Drumquin named Waffle was crowned the world’s most annoying dog, as per the collective consensus. The previous titleholder, the same dog, becomes more annoying with every tick of the clock, hence his ability to retain the crown for now and forever after.

At just over three years old, Waffle has passed adolescence (in dog terms) and is well on his way to being a mature dog, although he’s a few years off middle age just yet.

News of Bobi’s longevity though, made me wonder: How long will we be graced with Waffle’s presence?

A quick scoot online and I was informed that a typical Cockachon will live for up to ten to 14 years. That should mean – if my rudimentary abacus-style maths haven’t deserted me – that we can expect to have aul Waff around for at least another seven years – or thereabouts.

Then I checked the worldwide web to see what breed of dog Bobi is. It turns out he’s a purebred Rafeiro do Alentejo, ‘a breed often used to guard property and livestock’. Apparently, these dogs normally live for about 12 to 14 years, but Bobi has survived for twice as long – and then some.

So, really what you’re telling me, worldwide web, is that these life expectancies for dogs are merely a guide? At 47 years old (at the time of writing), I can reasonably expect Waffle to be around until I’m 54. However, if Waffle turns out to be a genetic colossus like Bobi, I MIGHT have Waffle until I’m in my 70s. To be perfect honest, that is, paradoxically, both a sobering and reassuring thought.

INTERLUDE

“If you had the greatest dog in the world – your dream dog and not Waffle – would you sell him to a genie if he gave you three wishes?”

This was another one of Little Human Anna’s conundrums, postulated as we drove to school last week.

“Why did you say, ‘not Waffle?’ I asked, stalling for extra time.

“You’re always telling him to, ‘get ta Fintona.’ That means you don’t think he’s the greatest dog in the world.”

We drove on in silence for a few moments before Anna finally lost patience and repeated her question, this time with a slight alteration.

“OK, if you had the greatest dog in the world – your dream dog called Waffle – would you sell him to a genie if he gave you three wishes?”

Honestly, this was a tough question, it being almost a perfect moral conundrum. I was between rock and roll and a hard, hairy place.

“Well?” she prompted.

“I’m not sure,” I replied, honestly. “Even though he’s super annoying sometimes, he’s still a member of our family.”

As Anna digested that thought, I considered her question with as much mental fortitude as I could muster. For whatever reason, people part with their pets all the time, which is why re-homing centres across the country have never been busier. Then there’s the question as to whether I could be so mercenary as to off-load a family member in return for simple goods and services (the three wishes).

Also, we’re not exactly millionaires and so a couple of wishes would drastically alter our collective life trajectory (fortune without the fame, a holiday house by the seaside, a car other than a battered Ford Focus, a never-ending jar of peanut butter, a golden goose… I was beginning to think that three wishes might not be enough).

Moreover, I was (and am) solidly aware that Waffle manages to send my head astray on a daily basis to the extent that I never forget to take my blood pressure medication.

Would I manage to live with a head astray for the next seven years? Would I make it into my 70s if Waffle’s genetics decided to do a Bobi?

Do they make blood pressure medication strong enough?

“Well?” Anna prompted once more.

“Is the genie Korean?” I asked, stalling once more.

“What?”

Despite all the complaining that I do about the Hound (and I know that I complain a lot), at the heel of the hunt, he’s still my Hound. Serendipity, the fates, provenance and destiny all conspired to have him shoe-horned into our lives in a beautiful but sometimes, brutal fashion.

For good and ill and everything in-between he’s still our dog. Plus the little humans adore every hair on his hairy head.

Then again, those three wishes would come in wile handy.

“Well?” Anna prompted yet again.

“Well,” I began. “As tempting as the offer might be, I think I’m going to have to decline the genie’s generous offer.”

“You’d say no to selling Waffle for the three wishes?” she clarified.

“That’s right.”

Anna burst out laughing as if I’d said the funniest/most stupid thing imaginable.

She threw her head back and cackled. Her face went puce and she slapped her knee.

“What’s the laugh?” I asked, mildly offended.

“Actually, what would you do then smart arse? Would you get rid of Waffle the Dream Dog for three stupid wishes?”

“Sure,” she said, suddenly serious. “I’d sell Waffle to the genie and then use one of the wishes to get him back. Duh! Geez, dad, for an adult, you can be so dumb sometimes.”

I bet Bobi didn’t have to put up with this kind of guff.