KIERAN HOWARD: What a relief it is that Louie doesn't have my clown feet

That was the position we found ourselves in on the latest feet-measuring exercise with our boy.

The assistant must have questioned why we hadn’t finished dressing our child.

We did, it’s just that Louie’s really not a big lover of socks.

No sooner are they on, than they’re off.

If he’s indoors, he just think he’s walking on a warm, sandy beach.

Then, when he’s outside and in a non-sock mood, we can disguise his hatred for the cotton toe warmers with shoes.

It’s all about picking your battles too.

If he doesn’t want socks on and we’re already late leaving the house, then he doesn’t wear socks.

Incidentally, how long should it take and how much should it cost to simply determine the distance between your two-year-old’s heel and big toe?

Call me overly-optimistic, but my estimate prior to our Clarks visit was no more than five minutes and zilch to pay-out.

How wrong could I be?

It ended up taking half and hour and costing upwards of a tenner.

The measuring itself was relatively rapid.

They haven’t grown since we last checked them.

It seems he’s not destined to have clown feet like his dad – a massive relief.

He’ll actually be able to wear the shoes, rather than the boxes they come in.

On completion of the measuring, we returned the borrowed socks.

The little man, still bare-foot and with no intention of putting his shoes back on, then proceeded to amble around the shop like he worked there.

Usually I wouldn’t have minded the ambling.

I wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere and we still had an hour on our parking ticket.

The reason I was eager to exit the shop, though, was simple.

I knew Kerrie would use the opportunity to eye up new footwear for the little live-wire.

I wasn’t wrong either.

Despite him having another 20 pairs back home, the shop’s till was forced to register another sale.

The lad’s only got two feet. The maths don’t add up to me.

The boots she found had been reduced to £15.

Apparently, anything marked down has to be bought. It’s the law, or something.

Now, I don’t mind applying that principle to a pie in Morrisons, but not anything which isn’t edible.

Anyway, I lost and the shoes were bought.

DON’T RISK THE WRATH OF A TOT

Don’t dare steal, or even attempt to steal, a child’s food.

And if you ever do, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

If the thought does ever cross your mind, and it’s as little as a crisp or carrot stick, please let it quickly uncross your mind again.

If our dogs could talk, they’d tell you what can happen and why the risk is greater than the benefit.

They still occasionally try making off with Louie’s breakfast, lunch, dinner or snacks, but not nearly as much as they once did.

Canines are as highly intelligent animals – our Rupert and Rosie are proof of that.

They quickly learned the wrath of a toddler is not worth the gain of half a breadstick.

They’re so tentative around Louie’s food they barely even run the gauntlet anymore.

They’d rather go hungry than contend with a vengeful two-year-old. I can’t say I blame them.

A hungry toddler who’s just witnessed their food disappear is not a happy person to be around.

I saw a video clip the other day of a pigeon in China that found out to its cost what can happen when you take food from a toddler.

The bird swooped down to grab a snack from the hand of the one-year-old girl’s mum.

Extremely annoyed, the tot snatched back the food from the animal’s mouth, before promptly putting it in her own.

Final score: Toddler 1 Pigeon 0.