Be like Waffle

One thing I have come to appreciate more and more, through writing this column, is that people luuurve their dogs.

Whether its comments from neighbours pertaining to Waffle or an after-effect from researching information for Waffle-related ramblings, I have come to the conclusion that dog lovers are a loving breed apart.

I wonder, now that I’m thinking about it, if that love that a master or mistress has for their pooch is somehow merely a reciprocation of the love originating from their pet. A dog’s love is unconditional, slobbery and infinite – and unless you have a bad-tempered little fiend at home, it’s a daily constituent of the relationship.

My father would say that a dog knows exactly what kind of form you’re in, as soon as you appear in the morning, although, in Waffle’s case, I’m not so sure.

When I drag myself out of the scratcher of a morn and haul myself to the kitchen in search of caffeine, it rarely matters what the form is like, as far as Waffle is concerned.

As soon as I open the door to the back hall where his bed lives, Waffle bolts upright as though plugged in and then with barely a moment’s pause, he’s on his hind legs looking for a scratch behind the ears. Should I be in the worst possible form or should I be grinning with maniacal bonhomie, Waffle doesn’t seem to notice – or care.

This uncrackable happiness is especially noticeable when I’m in bad form – if I’ve poked myself in the gum when brushing my teeth or, worse still, if I notice Waffle has had a dose of the chunders in the night, a hateful steaming mess that I know I’ll have to clean up before he steps through it. If either of those possibilities has come to fruition and the form isn’t the best, I find that I am not disposed to scratching ears or playing fetch or listening to yelps of pleasure. In fact, I find that I am diametrically opposed to such things and moreover, they make the form even worserer.

I realise, of course that I sound like a curmudgeonly old fart, suggesting as I am that Waffle’s bright demeanour is somehow aggravating but alas, that’s the truth of things. I also realise, of course, that this shouldn’t be the case and that if anything, Waffle’s sympathetic attentions should work as a catalyst for the gloom lifting.

Alas…

There is not one minute of any day when he wouldn’t want to play or have his ears scratched or follow me around the house like a Henry Hoover tied to my leg. Even if he and I are at opposite sides of the room, I’ll glance up and there he is watching – waiting and anticipating the nod or the invitation to bound over for some rubs and snuggles. Not a single minute exists when he doesn’t want to demonstrate his devotion. Not. A. Single. Minute.

I know too that this is not the case with all dogs. Some breeds prefer some time apart from petting and playing and can become annoyed if they are pressed into interaction. I know from having dogs as a kid that there were family pets that you couldn’t look at – literally couldn’t look at – or they were snarling a snarl like they wanted to bite your lugs off. Waffle is not one of those dogs and to be honest, I am thankful – or at least I should be; he is always available and willing for more rubs and snuggling.

The reality, it is plain to see, is that Waffle is not the problem here but rather, yours truly. Waffle isn’t the curmudgeonly old fart who is too quick to bark out rebukes.

Waffle isn’t the one rolling out of the wrong side of his bed and rebuffing good humour. Waffle isn’t the one holding another family member at arm’s
length. Waffle is the hero of the piece.

One thing that I have come to appreciate more and more, through writing this column is that dogs luuurve their families. And if families could reciprocate even half of that love, we would all be the better off.

Note to self: Be like Waffle.