Wuff with the Smooth: Don’t look back in anger

To wind me up, the little humans have started dressing Waffle in clothes – my clothes.

At first, undeniably, this was little bit funny and I laughed along with the rest of them as Waffle shuffled and stumbled his way down the hall in my old Steven Gerrard Liverpool jersey. If I hadn’t known any better I’d have said he was drunk.

However, I didn’t really appreciate the gesture when he turned up in that Oasis T-shirt I bought in 1994 and never wear.

“I don’t wear it for a reason, people,” I qualified. “It’s not going to live forever if it jumps out of the wardrobe every five minutes. Get it? Live Forever?”

But from the looks on the faces around me, only Waffle seemed amused.

The worst one though was when they squeezed him into a pair of my boxer shorts and then took him outside to play fetch with a tennis ball.

“That’s the fastest those pants have ever moved,” Anna quipped.

“Tell me,” I said. “How am I supposed to wear those nags again after his smelly arse has been in them?”

“That’s pretty much what Waffle said when we were putting them on him.”

“Smart arse. Why don’t you put some of your clothes on him, if you’re trying to be so fancy?”

Anna laughed and her freckles glittered. “My clothes are too vibe-y, bro. Your clothes are, well, kinda old and… broken?”

As much to deflect the little humans away from my wardrobe than anything else, I then suggested that we should buy the hound a costume ahead of Halloween. It was as if I’d set off a box of fireworks.

“YESSSSS!”

Much discussion immediately ensued – as well as innumerable searches online for the perfect costume – and, smiling inside, I congratulated myself on having such a large brain. My old and broken clothes might live to fight another day.

“What about this one?” Anna said, waving a a phone bearing a picture of a Pug in a tutu.

“Hmmmm,” I said, as an alarm bell started tinkling.

There were floppy ears to make him look like Dumbo. There were wigs, wings (bat and butterfly), postman uniforms, Superman capes, lion’s manes – as well as wacky get-ups featuring dinosaurs, peacocks, spiders and even a bishop’s frock and mitre.

The final costume pick has yet to be puck, although I now realise that my bright deflection idea has entirely backfired: This is gonna cost me money – which is doubly vexing seeing as how I also need new cacks.

“I think we should get him the angel costume,” Anna suggested.

“Not sure that’s the best one,” I said. Also, I thought, “That’s almost 40 bucks for something he’s only going to chew up anyway.”

“What about the gingerbread man one?” she continued. “Or the SpongeBob one?”

“Maybe we could make him a costume,” I tried, although this attempted U-turn was instantly shot down.

“Out of what?” Anna scoffed. “Old hole-y pants and a Liverpool top?”

“Away you go – my pants are not all hole-y!”

“They are now.”

Ever regret suggesting something, dear reader? Suddenly Waffle stepping round the house in my jeans and T-shirt doesn’t seem like too much to thole.

“What about this one?” Anna exclaimed.

The ‘one’ in question was an ‘Action Hero Dog Costume,’ complete with camouflage trousers, gun belt, bullets and semi-automatic pistol. In fairness, it looked grand – if it were being ordered for me and not the hound. Also, it would cost 36 of my hard-earned buckaroos.

“Waffle would look awesome in that,” Anna continued.

“Waffle would look awesome in a bin-bag – in the bin.”

“Don’t be so mean.”

There is no happy ending to this story, dear reader. The little humans are still searching for the perfect canine get-up for All Hallows’ Eve and I am now resigned to the fact that Mr Big Brain shot himself in the clown-shoe and will have to spend money – money I should have been spending on replacing those nags.

What did I achieve? Absolutely nothing.

Last I saw him, Waffle was wearing two pairs of my socks and the little humans were trying to entice him into an old and broken white shirt and dickie-bow.

“You gotta roll with it…”