Downton Abbey

In anthropomorphic terms, Waffle is now dining exclusively from the M&S Best Ever range.
That is not to say that Waffle is actually eating pre-packed M&S meals (I haven’t lost my very last marble just yet), but rather, he’s been shifted onto the doggy equivalent, a brand of pet food called, Royal Canin and long-story-short, it’s costing me an arm and two legs.

This sorry but luxurious tale began last month after Waffle visited the dog groomer for yet another short back and sides, followed by a blow dry and styling – only the best for Waffle.

“Master Waffle is currently sporting a most unsavoury ear infection,” the dog groomer quipped (or something to that effect, as I must admit, I wasn’t actually present at the time of diagnosis).

“Oh dearie me, that’s perfectly awful!” Herself replied (or something to that effect) all a-swoon with concern.

“Oh, yes, awful indeed and it’s sure to be causing poor Master Waffle the most unsatisfactory discomfiture. You have probably noticed him scratching his ears quite a bit as he is relaxing in the drawing room,” added the groomer.

“I must say!” Herself exclaimed.

This was actually quite close to the mark, so much so, that I had taken to calling Waffle ‘Scratch Face’ for a time during his bouts of itching.

In short, his food allergy madness has returned.

“Oh, dearie me,” Herself continued. “He certainly has been scratching most vigorously. I declare, whatever shall we do to remedy this dreaded malady?”

“You must surely convey Master Waffle to the closest veterinary surgeon, forthwith,” confirmed
the groomer.

“Post haste and in a jiffy!” confirmed Herself.

Back at the country pile, after the groomer had done the grooming and we processed the fact that that Waffle’s allergic reaction to food had once again resurfaced, it was up yours truly, the Jeeves of the piece, to convey Master Waffle to the closest veterinary surgeon, forthwith.

I won’t bore you with the details of the visit to the veterinary surgeon, except to say that £130 later (examination, tablets, cream for his ears and a new dog food), I was back at the country pile wondering if keeping an elephant might prove less corrosive on the finances.

“What-what, old bean,” I addressed Waffle as I poured some of his top of the range dog food into his bowl. “Would one prefer a gold plated bowl from now on, sir?

“Perhaps, one would rather be spoon fed this most exclusive gastronomic delicacy?”

Waffle – sorry, Master Waffle – spared Jeeves not a glance as he tucked into his new portion of Royal Canin Anallergenic.

“I must say, old chap, the scent of that new repast is most exquisite. Might I sample a nugget?”

As Master Waffle munched and crunched – he was certainly enjoying the new food – I took a moment to read the bumf on the side of the bag.

I was informed, “Royal Canin Anallergenic is a precisely balanced, nutritious diet that is specifically formulated to meet the needs of adult dogs with a nutrient intolerance.”

Capital!

However, had the back of the bag read, “This food is so good, King Charles himself has it on toast in the mornings when breaking his fast,” I wouldn’t have been one bit surprised.

The upside for Master Waffle – apart from the fact that he adores his new food – as well he should – is that Royal Canin Anallergenic has worked wonders for his allergies. He no longer launches into vigorous scratching fits and I no longer have to call him, Scratch Face.

The downside for Jeeves is that Royal Canin Anallergenic comes with a whopping price tag and is more than twice the price of the stuff he had previously been munching.

I won’t say how much a bag of this gilded grub costs (I don’t want to give you a heart attack, dear reader), but what I will say is that it’s so expensive, I couldn’t resist eating a nugget.

Put it like this: I’m glad Master Waffle enjoys it.

What-what!