Wuff with the Smooth: Sniff another day

I was saying to a friend at work the other day that Waffle’s repertoire of tricks is coming along nicely. He can now play – of all things – rock, paper, scissors.

The downside for aul Waff is that, because he doesn’t possess opposable thumbs or any dextrous appendages of the hand – or indeed, hands – he can only achieve ‘rock.’ That means he loses more often than he wins, unless he’s playing someone with congenital, moronic stupidity who doesn’t know how to make ‘paper’ – or indeed, he’s up against someone who doesn’t have any hands.

To give Waffle his dues though, he is the most biddable dog 99 times out of 100 – which is mostly likely the reason behind his ability to achieve tricks.

Apart from rock, paper, scissors, he can also fetch, roll over, give hugs, bark on command and even (when the notion is on him) howl for his dinner. Personally, I like the howling for his dinner party trick the best, perhaps because the ‘howl’ is so unlike his usual teddybear-ish demeanour.

As I say, 99 times out of 100, he’s do as he’s bid. It’s just that one time when you have to be on your guard.

Last week, my sister-in-law, her family and their cousins came to visit and they had in tow, a beautiful girl cockapoo called Marley. Come to think of it, this was the first time Waffle had a visitor all of his very own.

“Can we bring Marley over to visit Waffle?”

“Of course. He’ll be on his best behaviour.”

Unfortunately, this was one of the times when Waffle was decidedly not on his best behaviour.

Marley the little girl cockapoo made herself at home straight away, strolling into the house for a sniff around whilst one of the little humans held onto the Hairy Fool. After checking out the house, Marley decided to sniff about outside, among the trees and along the lawn. Waffle too, when he was let down, decided that he wanted a sniff about, although he wasn’t interested in the trees or the lawn. Waffle wanted to sniff something – or rather, someone – else.

This was that fairly rare one time out of the hundred when, no matter how many times I told him to stop sniffing Marley’s butt, he wouldn’t give up.

“That’s not the way you go about courting,” I thought to myself. “You need to ease in gently there, Waff. You need a bit of tact. You need restraint. You need to woo Marley, not barge in like a gulpin.”

Waffle though, wasn’t to be told. He’d sniff a while, I’d gently reprimand him. He’d stop and then, as if drawn to Marley by an invisible force, away he’d go again.

Most of the time, Marley was running around with Waffle in hot pursuit and so his sniffing advances weren’t hitting the mark. However, now and again, when Marley would stop, Waffle was already on hand to be the gulpin.

It wasn’t that I was overly concerned, though. Waffle is what our forebears might have referred to as a eunuch. It was more that I didn’t want him bothering pretty little Marley.

This botheration went up a notch when Waffle, after yet another sniff, starting raising his paw – and I was pretty sure he wasn’t trying to have her play rock, paper, scissors.

I didn’t wait for the second front paw to leave the ground in anticipation of what would transpire and so Waffle received his sternest reprimand of the day.

In fairness to Marley, she received Waffle’s cack-handed (or rather, cack-pawed) ministrations with equanimity, retaining at all times a convivial dignity. She neither growled nor snapped when the Hairy Fool lost the run of himself.

Eventually, after roughly 99 reprimands (at least that’s what it felt like), Marley and the in-laws and their cousins bid Waffle goodbye and went about their business.

For his part, His Hairyness slunk back into the house as if heartbroken that his sweetheart had so suddenly departed.

“That’s the way it goes, pal,” I told him. “You’ll get over her eventually.”

“No thanks to you,” his forlorn look seemed to say.

“Well, what can I say: There were kids present. You can’t be going all Pepé le Pew in broad day light. Anyway, there’s plenty more fish in the sea. Next time try and play it cool, Rodney, OK?”

“Away you go,” his hang-dog expression seemed to say. And off he slunk.

Whether it was heartbreak or pure thran-ness, Waffle huffed in the kitchen for the rest of the day. Eventually I gave him one of his doggy biscuits with a pat on the head for good measure.

“Don’t worry, Waff,” I told him. “We’ve all been there. You’ll live to sniff another day.”