Being mean to Tyson Fury

“You’re always mean to Waffle and it’s not fair.” This was Anna (9) and she wasn’t happy that I’d shouted at Waffle when the hound had started up a barking session after the postman arrived.

“If Waffle could shut his hairy face from time to time, he wouldn’t get shouted at,” I replied.

“It’s not fair,” she repeated. “If you shout at the TV when the football is on, Waffle doesn’t bark at you to tell you to keep quiet.”

This was only partly true. I didn’t want to fan Anna’s flames but if I shout at the TV when the football is on – the passion for the beautiful game stoking the fire within – Waffle sometimes finds it necessary to join in, thinking, no doubt that the sky is falling down or the house is on fire – or both.

“It’s not Waffle’s place to be shouting at me,” I said instead. “Last time I checked, Waffle wasn’t the boss about here.”

“You’re not the boss either. Mam’s the boss. You’re the cook.”

At the time of this confab we – Anna, Waffle and I – were in the kitchen luxuriating in the aftermath of lazy Saturday brunch. After the cook quip, I could have risen from the kitchen table to give chase but to be honest, I couldn’t be bothered. Also, the longer I waited at the table there was more of a chance the ‘boss’ would land and clear away the dishes.

“I am so, the boss,” I said.

“Are not.”

“Am so.”

“Are not are not are not are not…”

Anna was still in the throes of her concluding statement when Waffle started barking again.

“Shut your face, dog!” I barked in return.

“See!” Anna said, folding her arms as if the fates themselves had conspired to bolster her argument.

“Maybe you could suggest he doesn’t bark at… whatever he’s barking at,” I tried.

“He’s just trying to protect us.”

“Protect us from what? As far as I can see,” I exaggeratedly glared out the kitchen window to illustrate my point, “there aren’t any bad guys trying to break down the door.”

Anna raised her eyebrows: “You never know.”

Waffle growled and hopped up to place his front paws on the window sill to better see, I assumed, the baddies flooding into the front garden.

“Now, Waffle,” Anna said in a soothing tone.

“Now Waffle, my back end,” I scoffed. “He’s probably growling at a butterfly or because he thinks the grass is too green.”

“He’s probably growling because he can sense something out there that wants to harm us.”

“The baddie buttlerflies?”

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t have Waffle’s special senses.”

“Special senses, my back end.”

Waffle’s growl returned and lengthened into a high pitched bark.

“For godsakes, dog! What is your major malfunction?” I again glanced out the window only this time to ensure the postman hadn’t returned or the baddies hadn’t built a lean-to next to the flowers. There was nothing and nobody there.

“WAUWAUWAUWAU!”

Biting back another admonishment, I looked at Anna and raised my eyebrows. She shrugged her shoulders and then seemed to think better of silence.

“He’s obviously seen something that our human eyes can’t see,” she said. “Or maybe his special nose can smell something we can’t.”

“Maybe he’s seeing and smelling that dump he done in the flower patch last night.”

“WAUWAUWAUWAU!”

I’d had enough.

“Dearest daughter, could you find your way to opening the front door to let our esteemed family member outside? Maybe if he chases the baddies away, we’ll all sleep better in our beds the night.”

“Sure.”

Anna duly complied, slipping off the chair and heading for the door. “Come on, Waffie!”

His growl deepening, Waffle didn’t have to be asked twice.

What happened next almost made me swear in surprise.

After Anna opened the front door, the hound bolted, making a bee-line for the garden and the trees beyond. I was dimly aware of the door banging closed as Anna came back to the kitchen. However, the whole episode was over so quickly, she didn’t see the action.

No sooner had Waffle left the front door step, a little Sika deer sprang from it’s position under one of the Alders. With its white dappled coat matching the dappled sunshine it had been entirely invisible until it moved.

I know I’ve mentioned this before but we see the deer all the time at home, although perhaps not the baby ones, alone and in broad day light.

And then, in a flash, it was gone.

“WAUWAUWAUWAU!” Waffle chased it out the gate and away down the road.

Sensing something was up, Anna went to the kitchen window to see what the barking was about.

“What happened?” she asked.

In hindsight, I understand only too well that my next comment was completely childish. Perhaps it was a response borne of bitterness following the ‘cook’ comment or maybe it was the result of a lingering annoyance from Waffle’s persistent barking.

“Nothing, really,” I replied.

“Nothing?” Anna wasn’t convinced.

“Aye, Waffle chased the Big Bad Butterfly out of the garden. Good job he did too, otherwise he’d have eaten us all up.”

Anna rolled her eyes.

“Actually,” I added, seeing Waffle trottling back to the house. “Gone let Tyson Fury in there before he blows the house down.”

The end.