Life lessons

Waffle has developed two very bad habits of late and, understandably enough seeing as how I live in a house with three females, I am the one getting all the flack.

That’s right, dear reader, I am the one being victimised – erroneously and unjustly – for the shortcomings of the Hairy Fool.

If you read and/or remember last week’s instalment when Waffle puked up half digested grass and then rolled around in it during the night, you might reasonably consider that I would be a mite aggravated when having to clean up said puke and wash said Hairy Fool. This wasn’t the first time either, that my days had been interrupted by having to deal with whatever has erupted out of that clown’s mouth – or other associated orifices.

You might therefore imagine my further scunderation when, not two days after the green bile debacle, I returned home to work to find that Waffle had puked on the sofa.

“Keep that H of a dog off the sofa from now on,” I informed one and all, wagging my finger around like a conductor with his baton.

“He’ll get the message eventually and then he might have the sense to chunder on the tiles if he needs to red his guts out.”

Obviously Waffle hadn’t been listening to this new decree because no sooner had I cleared away the offending boke, he tried to jump up onto an armchair for more canine relaxing.

“Get your hairy face outta there!” I barked, thumping the armchair with the palm of my hand to emphasise my point.

Waffle complied but not without developing an aul hateful head on him.

“Don’t be giving me side-eyes, dog,” I told him, as he slunk off towards his bed. “And you can stay in there too,” I called after him. “He’s just a dog,” one of the little humans tried to explain. “He doesn’t know he’s doing anything wrong.”

But I wasn’t listening.

Other than climbing onto the soft furnishings when no-one is looking, Waffle’s second bad habit is inserting himself underneath the dinner table at dinner time. This is something I have never been completely fond of and I might have mentioned as much a time or two.

However, the same day that the puking on the sofa took place, just as we were all taking seats to enjoy a meal I had lovingly prepared, Waffle once again inserted himself underneath the table. Initially, I hadn’t been aware of this but as I pulled my chair out in order to take a seat, I somehow managed to trap waffle’s tail and there resulted an explosive, high-pitched squeal of alarm. As people from this neck of the woods are fond of saying, I thought I was sent for. As a consequence of that shock though, I correspondingly wasn’t one bit pleased when I realised just exactly what had happened.

“Back to your bed, dawg!” I thundered, gesturing towards the back hall with a rage-quivering digit.

“He’s just a dog,” the other little human said, trying to diffuse the situation. “Maybe you need to calm down.”

I don’t know about you, dear reader but if someone tells me that I need to calm down, exactly the opposite happens.

“How is it that I’m the problem?” I asked in astonishment. “I’m not the one barfing all over the sofa and then creeping about underneath the dinner table like a hungry rat when we’re trying to have our dinner in peace.”

“You’re the only one getting annoyed about it.”

Suddenly, I had no answer to that and my rage melted like butter in a hot frying pan. My appetite wasn’t exactly effervescent by then either so I resolved to eat the rest of the dinner in a silent huff.

“That’ll show them,” I thought silently.

“That’ll show everyone!”

It didn’t show anyone anything, of course and the only thing that I achieved in doing was creating an unnecessary gloom for the duration of the meal. Life serves up new lessons all the time but the main thing is to be open to new insights when and if they arrive.

I realise now of course that the little humans love Waffle so unconditionally that it doesn’t matter if he bokes on the sofa.

They love Waffle so completely that if his tail is trapped under a chair at the dinner table, they don’t give a dang about the person who is shocked but rather, they only care about the injured party’s well-being.

Waffle’s habits are Waffle’s habits. Perhaps the only thing that is missing from the equation is a comprehensive coping mechanism on my part.

Also, the next time he goes a-puking, I’ll make sure to get the little humans to clean up the mess.