The Wuff with the Smooth: New priorities

‘To change your life, you need to change your priorities.’

– Mark Twain

Priorities are very changeable, I’ve discovered. They are also subjective.

As a younger man for example, my priorities were not what they are today. Back in the day, the world revolved around parties and holidays and beers and Galaxy Caramels and McCoys crisps and in general, having the craic.

These days, those priorities feel as though they were important to a person in another life, a character in a movie, a ne’er-do-well who had yet to fully comprehend the true vitalities of life.

Having kids helps, of course and consequently, that Grim Reaper-like realisation that appears at your shoulder to inform you that you were sadly mistaken and that no, you’re not immortal and no, a leprechaun isn’t going to one day hand you a crock of gold.

However, my new priority for this winter is far more mundane – yet no less important – than those erstwhile significances of yesteryear.

Basically – and I have pondered long and hard about this in recent weeks – my new sincerest of wishes is that Waffle will just hurry the heck up and do his dump so that we can get back into the warmth of the house.

I understand that this sounds like a very trivial thing but it’s not so inconsequential when I’m feeling like a bereft brass monkey on a rainy Monday morning and His Hairyness is more concerned with sniffing along the ditch than getting the job done.

One of the upsides to Waffle’s breed is that he doesn’t need much in the way of exercise. That means that short walks in the morning and evenings are usually sufficient. In winter, the duration of those short walks is a direct result of how long it takes Waffle to do the business.

The cold being as it is, as soon as he answers the call of nature, we high-tail it back to the house.

Therefore I am consistently finding myself hunched in my hat and winter coat silently pleading for the hairy dump truck to sort his toilet out before I descend into the depths of hypothermia.

“Come on dog!” I breathe quietly (for I have long ago discovered that any admonitions on my part can result in a breaking of his concentration and then it takes even longer for the poo to materialise).

“Come on dog!” I repeat. “You can do it! Get that poop outta ye. Pretend it’s poison. Imagine you’ve got diarrhoea. Better out than in!”

Priorities are very changeable, I’ve discovered. They are also nebulous. However in those moments when Waffle is faffing about sniffing when he should be pooing, there is nothing – NOTHING – I would appreciate more than a nice, steaming round.

“Please, dog.” I whisper. “It’s so cold. I just want to go back inside. Don’t you care about me at all?”

Of course, Waffle is always entirely oblivious to my plight and seems to have no issue stepping about in the frigid air for as long as he likes, pretending to pee every now and again for good measure.

“Right!” I eventually said last week after a protracted stroll in the freezing morning air with zero poops to report and then I stomped off in the direction of the house. After a few stomps, I turned to see that Waffle was just standing there staring at me from a distance. “Do whatever you want, clown. I’m away home.”

After another few minutes of stomping without turning I was pleased to see Waffle at my heels, tongue out and panting. Had he quickened his toilet so that he could come back to the house with me? I hadn’t waited around long enough to see. Unfortunately, I soon learned, that was not the case.

Back at la maison, as I was turning the house key in the front door, I craned my neck to see where Waffle was at. I didn’t have to crane too much in all honesty, because there he was in the front garden, pinching off a big, wholemeal loaf.

I considered firing my bunch of keys at him until I remembered that that would likely break his concentration and – God forbid – the poo might get stuck halfway.

Still, whilst it wasn’t ideal to have a steaming round on the lawn, it’s better out than in.

And conversely, in my case, it was better to be in the house than out.

Priorities being changeable as we age, my next immediate concern of paramount importance was finding a poo bag that wouldn’t break when I had to go a-lifting.