wideeyedfunk

Tag: Corgi dogs

  • Aimless

    Aimless

    Yesterday evening I was lying on the front livingroom floor alongside the recently reupholstered Victorian settee. Alongside, and on the floor, because the settee was occupied by Hamish the Corgi. Hamish peered down at me happily, big ears casting wide shadow. I was staring up at the ceiling light and thinking about Hank. Hank owned a warehouse that he called an antique shop but the rest of us knew the truth. You could go in and shop, but the likelihood of leaving with anything was slim. Hank’s stuff was N.F.S., despite the inviting OPEN sign on the door.

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    Hank sold us that light. We stood under its near eternal hanging place in the rafters of the warehouse, the three of us, necks crinked, eyes raised, and commented on its probable age. Hank reminisced about his acquisition of it. We listened. Hank talked at length about its probable value – far in excess of the modest price on its tag. We listened. Hank walked away to talk with someone else. We waited. Hank wandered back. Matt talked about our old house. Hank listened. I was skeptical of the lamp’s age, value, and material composition. Hank listened. I named a price. Hank was amused.

    After a period of time, Hank firmed up a price and gave us a pay slip. We were to hunt down his wife to exchange fungibles for luminaries. No one was more surprised than Hank’s wife that he sold something. She took our check quickly, ink undried.

    Yesterday evening I was lying on the floor with dog ear-shadows and light-memories and a Yeti mountain bike rode by, Sweet Tibbit trotting along behind. I waited, listening to the squeaky sound of rubber tires on hardwood, negotiating tricky turns in the kitchen. The bike, the WideEyedSpouse aboard, went by again. As did Miss Tibbit

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    Such is the WideEyedHousehold on a Wednesday evening in November. Such is the WideEyedLife.

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  • Hamish the Corgi is Embarrassing.

    Have you ever heard of display urination? No? Neither had I until Hamish the Corgi came into my life.

    Evidently dogs, male dogs most of the time, like to lift their legs nice and high to wee when other dogs are around. Hamish is keenly aware when an unfortunate is locked inside, watching from a parlor window as Hamish prances across this other dog’s front yard. Hamish will take a moment to be sure he is in the ideally, most obnoxiously centered viewing position, then he will lift his tiny, 5 inch leg as high as dogly possible to wee on that other dog’s property. Usually you can hear the barking change from alert to berserker during the display.

    If that were all, I’d probably get over it. However.

    And mind you, I’m going to have to be indelicate here.

    Hamish, my furry pal, my buddy who is napping next to me now, well, he’s a display dooker too. Don’t be coy, you know what dog dookies are. The problem, if we can stretch our minds past the initial, unavoidable catastrophe of me having to carry tiny plastic bags to clean up warm dookies, the problem is that Hamish unequivocally prefers to dookie in front of homeowners, on freshly sodded, well-watered, carefully groomed lawns. Sure, who wouldn’t – the grass is soft and cool and deep. Probably it is very nice.

    But.

    There are many lawns in this condition. Many without an owner in sight. Hamish likes the ones where the owner is sitting on the porch with an evening glass of wine, enjoying the end of the day. Or even better, the ones where the owner is actually STILL out there working on the lawn. It is embarrassing. Heh, heh, Hi, I say, making it Very Clear that I have a dookie bag at the ready. Awful.

    The absolute topper, the dead most humiliating display dooking didn’t involve a primped lawn though. Instead, it included an entire multigenerational family reunion. Oh god. Folks were clustered on their front porch, iced teas, family albums, smiles in much evidence. Ahh, they said almost in unison when Hamish hove into view, what a cutie! People pointed him out to others. Someone ran inside to get Auntie Clara to see the cute Corgi.

    Hamish looked at them with his goofy smile and paused. He does like to be admired. Then, in a careful, smiling pirouette he turned his hind quarters to the 30 or so happy people. And he dookied.

    I think I heard Auntie Clara – whoever she was – gasp. One older grampie was wheezing with laughter. Otherwise. Silence. Long seconds of silence. Hamish didn’t mind. He took his time. I cleaned up and we walked on.

    That dog is completely embarrassing. And there’s nothing I can do to change him.