By 
In South Korea, instead of saying, ‘once upon a time’ when starting a fairy tale they say, ‘back when tigers used to smoke.’
I suppose it’s a fun way to suggest that the story in question took place in a mythical time far, far away in the past.
Personally, I prefer this opening gambit if only because it immediately depicts a legendary milieu where anything can and will happen. It also drips of fabulous magic and as we all know, fabulous magic is badly needed in today’s topsy-turvy world.
One evening last week I watched Waffle sleeping in front of the fire. He was dreaming. I knew this because he was twitching and kicking and growling. Was this a dream about chasing birds out of the garden? Was he remembering his life as a puppy when he roamed the house chewing everything at eye level? Or could it have been set in the way, way back … when tigers used to smoke.
So buckle yourself in. This tale is called, ‘Waffle the hero.’ Here we go…
Back when tigers used to smoke, there lived a young dog who loved to chew bedroom slippers in the morning when his master was having a shower. The puppy, whose name was Waffle, was as loveable as he was fluffy and his master’s two children loved him dearly and without bounds.
One morning, as Waffle gnawed happily on a tartan slipper, he heard a soft “ahem.” At first he thought it was his master, but the voice was too soft and far too polite. Waffle looked up to find the slipper gazing back at him, its buttons blinking like sleepy eyes.
“Good fellow,” said the slipper, “might you ease up a touch? I’ve only just been broken in.”
Waffle was convinced that slippers were enchanted creatures that only came to life when humans weren’t looking. This, he explained to his master’s children (through interpretive tail-wagging), was why he had a moral obligation to keep them in line. Left unattended, who knew what a rogue slipper might get up to?
Strangely – inexplicably – Waffle’s master was never pleased when the slippers were marshalled into obedience through chewing. Not even Waffle’s interpretive tail-wagging could convince the master that his ongoing work was wholly necessary – vital, even.
Content, that morning, that he had gnawed the slipper into submission, Waffle found himself staring into the darkness beneath his master’s bed. The Underbed Kingdom! What a magical realm this was! He could see a slippery serpent – or was it a belt? He could see lost Spanish doubloons – or were they buttons? Waffle’s eyes were suddenly drawn to an oddly-shaped object.
Crouching, Waffle scooted into the Underbed Kingdom to gain a better look. Upon closer inspection the young dog realised that the oddly-shaped object was none other than his arch nemesis: A toilet roll. Immediately, Waffle knew what he had to do; at all costs, he must save his master and his master’s children from this papery scourge. He must stop its enchantment from spreading throughout the house.
Waffle grabbed the evil toilet roll in his mouth and coursed from the room. He took it to the living room where he wouldn’t be interrupted and there, he set about ripping it, limb from limb.
“Be gone, Evil Paper!” Waffle growled, as he shredded the toilet roll.
Job done, Waffle sat back on his haunches and basked in the glory of his heroic conquest. Surely this would please the master immensely.
As if summoned, the master took that moment to enter the room. Strangely – inexplicably – he was not pleased. In fact, he seemed perturbed, angry, even. Had the master wanted to vanquish the foe on his own? Waffle didn’t know. Nor did he really care.
Later that evening, Waffle curled up in front of the fire. His eyes fluttered closed but in the corner of his mind, the Underbed Kingdom shimmered. Slippers whispered secrets, toilet rolls plotted mischievous schemes, and somewhere, tigers puffed quietly on intricately-carved pipes, chuckling at a world where a small, fluffy dog could change the fate of an entire household.
And so Waffle dreamed on, hero of both the seen and unseen, in a universe where magic is always just a wag away.
