We belong to us

We belong to us

He sits and begs, he gives a paw.

He is, as you can see,

The finest dog you ever saw,

And he belongs to me.

He follows everywhere I go

And even when I swim.

I laugh because he thinks, you know,

That I belong to him.

But still, no matter what we do

We never have a fuss;

And so, I guess, it must be true

That we belong to us.

– ‘Chums’ by Arthur Guiterman

Waffle didn’t appreciate this poem by Arthur Guiterman, when I read it aloud at the weekend. He just sat there and stared at me with an unblinking ferocity and contrary to what Arthur might postulate, he was not, I considered, the finest dog I ever saw.

And yet, he is my dog and there remains a certain power in those four words: He is my dog.

For all his faults, Waffle, I do believe, thinks that I belong to him. He follows me everywhere I go, even when I swim – and then I have to swim back to the shore before the hairy fool drowns.

And still, no matter what we do, he always causes a fuss – an idiosyncrasy which I also believe is hard-wired into his canine raison d’etre. He is my shadow whenever I am at home and even when I’m not at home, I imagine him jumping at other shadows.

If Waffle could talk it would likely go something like this…

Waff: Where go?

Me: I’m just going to the toilet.

Waff: I come.

Me: If you have to. I won’t be long.

Waff: I come.

Me: Grand so.

Waff: Door open?

Me: I think I’ll close it, buddy. I don’t want to give you any ideas and as well, there is the small matter of my personal dignity.

Waff: Door open.

Me: (slams door).

Waff: Opeeeeeen dooooooor.

Me: Cheese and crackers, dawg. Give me five minutes.

Waff: Where at?

Me: I’m in the ruddy toilet! Give me five fuppen minutes.

Waff: I wait.

Me: Fill your boots.

Waff: Where at?

Me: (opens door): Here I am. Happy now?

Waff: Happy now. I was wait.

Me: I know. I could hear you whining.

Waff: Where go?

Me: Back to the sofa, the exact spot I was sitting at five minutes ago.

Waff: I come.

Me: Grand.

Waff: What doing?

Me: I’m just closing the bathroom door.

Waff: I halp.

Me: You’re standing in the doorway.

Waff: I halp.

Me: Get outta the road then, dog!

And so it goes. I move. Waffle follows.

I also find it strange sometimes that Waffle has attached himself to me, strange as in, I’m the person in the house who gives him the least amount of affection – which is not to say he receives none whatsoever. Put it like this: He is not spoiled.

And yet I understand all too well that despite the challenges, if he wasn’t around I would miss his hairy ways.

Waff: What noise?

Me: That’s a crow cawing at the back door.

Waff: I chase.

Me: It’s grand. It’s not doing any harm.

Waff: I bite.

Me: What are you on about? You can hardly bite yourself. Chillax.

Waff: I defend. Open door.

Me: Of course, Your Majesty. (opens door).

Waff: BARK! BARK! BARK!

Me: Happy now?

Waff: Happy now. You bark?

Me: I’ll ruddy well bark at you. Get in here clown.

And so it goes…

I guess, it must be true, that we belong to us.