Wyn Drabble's dog waits patiently for a taste of icecream. Photo / NZME
Our girl really knows how to do icecream. She even knows the outlets which provide these iced treats so becomes a little excited when she sees that the car is nearing one.
The swirling tail provides air-conditioning whether or not it is called for.
But she's very good, very patient.
What flavour does she like? Her absolute favourite flavour is ... well ... anything, though we wouldn't allow her to have chocolate because it's not good for doggies.
That leaves her with vanilla, boysenberry, strawberry, green tea, salted caramel ... you know the rest. (Yes, I know none of them is good for a dog.)
She knows that, once the purchase is complete, she will still have to wait longer. She knows that the bulk of the icecream is for me and she will be offered the last few inches but the icy treat will fill it right to the bottom of the waffle cone's tip.
She's very good, very patient.
She watches me lick and savour but, because I am "pack leader" she knows she must wait. She watches me via the rear-view mirror. Sometimes I tease her a little and hold the cone up so she can get a better view. A bit naughty, I know.
But she's very good, very patient.
She certainly knows when I am approaching the limits of my portion and – assuming dogs can count – she knows (roughly) how long it will be until it's her turn.
I read somewhere that, if you want evidence that your dog can count, put three treats in your pocket then give it just two.
She's very good, very patient, but it's becoming harder.
Then comes the moment. The patience becomes less evident. Of course I have stopped the car (never deliver iced treats in a moving vehicle) and I hold it out.
She has a system and it is the same every single time. It's a proven system. It works a treat. The patience has evaporated and the system involves reasonable levels of vigour.
First the tongue. Away it goes but it always keeps pushing the filling into the cone. She knows that a too-vigorous upward lick could dislodge all the icecream and spoil the modus operandi.
Her long tongue can reach right to the apex and when every last trace of the creamy confection has gone, she folds her jaws silk-softly over the empty cone and takes it gently from me so she can begin the demolition of the texture contrast element.
This is never quite as tidy as the creamy part because cones are brittle and there is constant tidying up to do. But tidy up she does then spends a minute or two re-inspecting the area in case she has overlooked a crumb. It's not easy because the boot space of a station wagon tends to be lined with felt which seems to have been designed to trap tiny bits of stuff.
Then it's all over. Time to start waiting for the next one even though it could well be a week away.
She's very good, very patient.
Those who feel this is a little over the top might be interested to know that in July 2010 an icecream van for pampered pooches started doing the rounds in London. It offered flavours such as gammon and chicken, designed to appeal to dogs' tastes.
I don't know whether the business was an ongoing success but we're okay with our local sources, anyway. Even I admit that flying a dog to London for an icecream would be over the top but I'm sure that, during the flight, she would be well behaved.
She would be very good, very patient.
Wyn Drabble is a teacher of English, a writer, musician and public speaker.