Being grateful

The more the sand slips from the hour-glass, the more I have come to realise how perfect Waffle is as both a companion and a family dog.

He is friendly to a fault (the fault being that he has to make friends with everyone who comes into the house despite my admonitions or personal preferences to the contrary). He is great with children and always has time for a scratch and a rub. Even at the end of a long day after a long walk, he will sit nicely, his tail a-wag as he is snuggled and hugged by any little humans who happen to come calling. Sometimes, I watch him watching me as these incidents play out and he seems to say, “I am a good boy, you know.”

I telepathically reply, “Take your oil, Hound.”

Waffle is also very biddable, he is as obedient as the day is long and he is also entirely bereft of bad form. Only once in all the time that he has lived at home has he ever growled at anyone in annoyance. I remember at the time Anna had been trying to pull the shaggy pup out from under the kitchen table when the growl sounded. Most likely it only happened the once since, after that curmudgeonly growl erupted he was unceremoniously booted outside, head over heels, into the yard, yowling like a wean with a slapped rear-end.

But seriously, Waffle is never in bad form. When each member of the family appears in the evening, Waffle is there, panting and wagging, as if we’ve just returned from a year-long sabbatical on Elba.

I know I habitually complain about his antics (I often have good grounds to do so) but I am also aware that he is only following me around because of his inherent devotion – and it is this devotion which elevates him to star dog status.

His devotion manifests itself in every waking moment: As he follows us around the house, as he nuzzles in to anyone with enough temerity to sit on the ground, as he repeatedly presents for attention (up on hind legs like a kangaroo) and as he remains, forever, in the best form as is caninely possible.

As a guard dog, I’d have to be honest, he is poor (he’d make friends with any intruder immediately upon their entry into the house). But as an early warning system, he is second to none. Anyone who has called to my house during the Waffle era will know how this works. If a person appears – even when I myself return from work in the evenings – Waffle chucks a wobbly and goes absolutely MENTAL. Not that it has happened, but I can understand only too well how this might help the situation if a ninja tried to gain access to the house in the wee hours. At least with Waffle on the scene, I’d have a few moments’ notice before I have to crack out some expert jujitsu on the would-be assassin.

After the wobbly, of course, Waffle reverts to friendliest-dog-in-the-world mode and the only threat to the ninja thereafter, would be if Waffle trips him up while following him around the house. Although, in fairness, that could happen.

The more the sand slips from the hour-glass, the more I tell myself that I have to be aware of these laudable traits if and when life throws a hairy curve-ball. As a priest friend of mine would say, it is impossible to be unhappy when you are grateful.

Therefore, I must be grateful for all the Waffle-shaped challenges yet to come.