Making memories

I remember when, as a person of younger years, one of the preferred pranks at school involved stealing a fellow pupil’s belongings and firing (throwing) them into the nearest bin.

The belongings could have been a pencil case or a pen or even a jacket – the type of item didn’t really matter so much as the fact that it had to be something of worth.

After the precious item was fired (thrown) into the bin, the victim obviously had to retrieve said item and it was at this juncture that the punchline of the prank was hammered home. As the victim struggled to relocate their item, the chorus went up from the prankster and his cadre of cronies…

“Bin-hoker!”

Admittedly, I was both the perpetrator and also target of this prank from time to time. Although I recall only visiting the prank on someone as per revenge after it had been bestowed on me. However that tact backfired on one occasion and in spectacular form.

I recall we were in maths class at the time and the teacher was out of the room. After my pencil case had been fired (thrown) into the bin in the corner of the room beside the door and after it had been retrieved, I decided to return the favour, my friend’s jacket being the missile of choice. I soon snatched the jacket and launched it at the bin but as the coat was flying through the air, the teacher, a Mr McGartland took that exact moment to enter the room. The jacket hit him full in the face.

I even remember – it’s amazing the detail the brain retains – the line that I was tasked with writing out 100 times as per my punishment for the misdemeanour. It was thus: In future I will conduct myself properly in the maths class.

Do you think if I had Waffle genetically modified to grow opposable thumbs that I could teach him to write out lines as punishment for not conducting himself properly in the house? It could go thus: In the future I will not be a hairy fool.

I doubt it though – not the opposable thumbs element of task but rather, that any sort of punishment would have the desired effect.

After Waffle first entered out house back in 2020, I remember reading that “a strong hand” would not work with this hound, given his breed and temperament. In other words, he would have to be treated with kindness and restraint, even when misdemeanours occur, like taking a dump on the kitchen floor – a development which actually came to pass on that memorable first night in the house. So many memories!

Actually, Waffle never really stops making memories for his family members. He lives to give.

I was recently reminded of my coat-firing (throwing) transgression when Waffle and I were in the garden on one of those rare warm evenings. I was trying to clean the lawnmower while Waffle was trying to give me a heart attack – at least that’s what I considered his motivations to be when he landed at my feet with a mouse.

I wouldn’t be the world’s biggest mouse fan, you see. It’s not a phobia, so to speak but rather, I fuppen hate the wee baxters. So when Waffle spat out the half chewed mouse at my feet, I felt my gorge rise.

“Thanks for that,” I said after the shock had subsiding, remembering the motto of kindness and restraint. “Why didn’t you just eat the whole thing and be done with it?”

Then I remembered that Waffle shouldn’t be eating anything which isn’t previously prescribed – given his allergy thang – not least a diseased, maggot-ridden mouse.

Then I realised that I was going to have to dispose of the mouse before Waffle ate it, a realisation which also made my gorge rise. Still, as I always say, when there’s a job to do, it’s better to do it than live with the fear of doing it.

Pausing with the lawn-mower maintenance, I went into the shed, found a spare carrier bag in which to wrap the mouse and then set about the gory task. After embalming the mouse in plastic, the funeral service consisted of the remains being unceremoniously dumped into the black bin, “Remember mouse that thou art dust…”

Moments – literally moments – after I’d returned to the lawn-mower, I heard a loud bang. I turned only to find Waffle standing on top of the wheelie bin lid, sniffing, I presumed, after his deceased new friend.

Sighing the sigh of Job, I remembered my motto of kindness and restraint and therefore I did not point and shout, “Bin-hoker!”