The Wuff with the Smooth: La revolution

OUR eldest went to Paris last week. It was a school trip and as such, there were 39 other students (all studying French, I presume) as well as a dedicated cadre of educators to keep the budding linguists on the straight and narrow.

It was a three-night escapade with quite a packed itinerary – sightseeing along the Champs Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame etc – and there was also the obligatory trip to Disneyland thrown in for good measure.

“Don’t forget to bring me back quelque chose de bien,” I called, as we waved away the eldest little human. I harboured imaginings of a round of cheese coming home or une bouteille de vin or maybe even une saucisse Corse. What I hadn’t banked on was that Sarah’s departure would thus leave me with yet more jobs to do – to wit – feeding the Hairy Fool for the days when she wasn’t around.

Our previous arrangement of Sarah feeding Waffle twice a day came into effect last year. I’d had quite enough of it and anyway, Sarah loves him so it was only right that she take up the mantel.

In her absence, I considered making the other little human take on the job and then I decided to man up and do it myself.

It’s amazing the things a person can forget in a short period of time. As I hadn’t fed Waffle in a while – possibly a year – I had forgotten how much he takes for his breakfast and later his supper. Also, because he has to have special non-allergy food, it gets a little water but I couldn’t remember how much water to mix through.

“Stupid dog,” I sighed and fired out a quantity of food I thought he’d eat and with a guess-timation of the quantity of water mixed through.

When Waffle didn’t eat his breakfast on that first day, I sighed again: “Stupid dog,” and went about my business.

Later in the evening when I discovered he hadn’t eaten his breakfast I resolved to try a little harder with dinner. The old, now stale food was binned and new, fresher kibble distributed – a little less this time, with a little less water.

The following morning (or le lendemain, if you’re reading this in France), I was astonished and slighted annoyed to notice that he hadn’t touched his previous night’s supper.

“Stupid dog.”

Once again, it was out with the old and in with the new and yes, there were different quantities of both food and water.

That evening, when I noticed that he hadn’t touched his breakfast I mentioned as much to Herself.

“That stupid dog isn’t eating his food,” I said.

“He’s probably missing Sarah,” came the reply.

Belatedly (tardivement), the light bulb lit up. It wasn’t that I had been prepping the food incorrectly but rather, he was off his food because the usual chef / waitress wasn’t around.

“Stupid dog,” I thought once more.

All told, our eldest was away for three nights and returned on the fourth day and in all that time, Waffle only began eating on the third day. In the end, the need to eat trumped his feelings. He had also taken to his bed for much of the time, despondent that his routine had been so usurped by chaos.

On the night Sarah returned – you guessed it – the usual chef / waitress served up his dinner and he tucked in with much gusto and without delay.

“Stupid dog.”

And what fine gift was brought home to me from the City of Light?

A t-shirt featuring Grumpy the dwarf.