Wuff with the Smooth – Joining the navy

As I have already mentioned in the past, people tend to enquire as to Waffle’s well-being quite often. This could be as simple as, “How’s the dog?” or as convoluted as, “What about wee Waffle? I think you and him are getting on better. Do you love him now? I think you do.”

Honestly, my reaction when someone enquires about Waffle is dependent on how healthy our relation is at that precise moment. If, for example, Waffle has that day chased a herd of deer out of the garden before they could hoof the place up and dump all over the grass, then he and I are fine friends and I’ll say as much to the inquirer.

If however, Waffle has that day tripped me up as I was on the way to the hen house with a scoop of hen food and the trip caused me to fall and fling the scoop of hen food to the four winds, he and I are not fine friends and what is more, I have likely retrieved the plastic hen scoop and then fired at him in an attempt to knock him insensate. Like enough, I would correspondingly relate such a sorry tale to the inquirer and then ask them if they’re in the market for a new dog.

By consequence, a simple question such as, “How is the dog?” usually has a relatively short answer but how peppered that sentence is with expletives is determined by the current health of our relationship.

Last week, I was on the phone to a friend and he asked after Waffle’s well-being. Unfortunately it was one of those times when me and the hairy fool weren’t friends and so I told my friend as much.

This friend, who might best be described as ‘a wile man’ if you were being subtle, is good aul craic and likes a laugh.

After I had recounted my tale about how Waffle and I weren’t currently friends (I can’t remember what exactly Waffle had done on that particular occasion to hamper my mental health; maybe I’ve blocked it out), my friend suggested that Waffle should join the navy.

You know sometimes when you’re chatting to someone and they say something so out of the ordinary that you think you’ve gone mental?

Well, that was the case when my friend suggested that Waffle should join the navy.

“The navy?” I clarified. “What the..?”

“Aye, the navy?” my friend confirmed.

He thereupon recounted a tale from once upon a time and it went something like this…

“Years ago, me brother J’s weans brought an aul dog back to the house – I don’t know where they got it outta but J didn’t want it. He didn’t want it so much, one day when the weans were away at school, he put the aul dog in a bag with a stone, tied up the bag and throw it over the bridge into the river. As sure as eggs are eggs, that day when the weans came home from school they asked J where the dog was. J told them, ‘He went away to join the navy.’

“The best of it is,” my friend continued. “For years after that the weans were going about tellin’ people that they used to have a dog but he left to join the navy.”

Despite the tragic nature of this tale, I couldn’t help but picture Waffle in a sailor suit – not the flap collar and bell-bottoms – but rather, a heavy duty black bin-liner.

I’m joking, of course but my friend wasn’t and so I can only assume that the story is 100 per-cent legitimate. Didn’t I tell you he was a wile man.

ADDENDUM

Waffle is still a landlubber.

For now.