All posts tagged: Corgi

Job wanted for newly graduated smallish black dog of limited skills.

Last Tuesday evening the WideEyedSpouse and I marched down the block with Miss Tibbit to her training final exam and graduation, belching the happy taste of Sahlen’s hot dogs and a reasonable lost-grape-of-Chile Carménère red wine. We were all nervous. Miss Tibbit had been nervous all day with an upset stomach which she emptied explosively on the side of the bed, the bed post, and the floor. Miss Tibbit passed the test with what might be considered a C. Maybe a C+ with a special commendation for savant treat catching. She walks beautifully, sits like a dream, and will not/can not resist throwing herself on people to demonstrate her love. She escaped her leash during Cooper the standard poodle’s walking exam. Mayhem. Demerits. She won a ribbon for showing the most improvement during the course. Which means, of course, everyone recognized her remedial start state. Yesterday the WideEyedSpouse stood gazing down at Miss Tibbit, who was lounging across three remotes, the Xbox controller and the WII wand on the living room sofa. He asked when …

Hamish Believes He’s Been Cheated.

Hamish the Corgi is guest writing this week. I, WideEyedFunk, bear no responsibility for the opinions expressed below. I am disgusted by recent household events and I am done with sulking. Miss Tibbit was forced to attend dog training classes a couple of weeks ago because she is mildly disobedient, and in my opinion, really obnoxious. She is a toy-stealing, leash pulling punk. I believed Dog Training was a punishment. I have recently become aware of some facts that have made me rethink that notion. I now believe that I have been cheated. Here are the top 10 reasons I believe I have been cheated. 1. Miss Tibbit gets fed treats one after another for an hour during training class. 2. Miss Tibbit gets fed treats one after another for an hour during training class. 3. Miss Tibbit gets fed treats one after another for an hour during training class. 4. Miss Tibbit gets fed treats one after another for an hour during training class. Sit? Stay? Come when called? Ridiculous to treat for these. I sit …

Why does Miss Tibbit smell like meat?

I crouched down so I could see under the table. Hamish was worried and had squeezed himself under the low shelf of the stainless steel prep table in the kitchen. He looked across the floor at me and asked again, “Why does Miss Tibbit smell like meat today?” I sat back. “Well, you know Tibbit is a Bad Dog most of the time on walks, right?” Hamish just looked at me. In his opinion, being a Bad Dog was no reason to smell like meat, unless the Bad Activity had been stealing a packet of meat from the counter. No dog has ever perpetrated this act in the WideEyedHousehold. Hamish would have known. He kept staring at me, waiting patiently for an explanation. “Hamish, remember when we all left the house last night and left you upstairs in your room?” He blinked. “We went to dog training school.” He stared at me some more, still not clear on the meat connection. “Apparently Miss Tibbit is so bad, that the Dog Teacher said to give her …

Hamish Rides Console

He’d ride shotgun but he is too small to see out the window. So he rides Console. Riding Console in the trucks we’ve had over the years is easy. The space between the driver and passenger seats is huge. The console is a big padded platform that looks like it was designed to provide mattressy respite for beefy man arms. There’s enough space that a passenger beefy man arm would not accidently touch a driver beefy man arm already using the console. Hamish the Corgi fits on truck consoles with room to spare. His panoramic view of traffic, countryside, and snacks being eaten by the passenger is unparalleled from the console. However. When Hamish cruises the urban scene with me and the Mini Cooper S, he struggles to maintain the attitude of superior contentment. You can see that he is smiling, but maybe his back teeth are clenched. Smile and clench your teeth – then say “this is great”. That’s exactly how Hamish looks riding the Mini console.The Mini console is low and he mainly …

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 …

The Dog Has An Opinion. Why Do I Listen?

Hamish just told me he thinks it’s more than time for morning walkies. It was simply his opinion. I didn’t care. Then he expressed his opinion to Miss Tibbit and she got all excited about it. It is now her opinion, also. Evidently, we will be having walkies soon if I am to have any peace in my day of Big Thinking. Hamish has an opinion a little too often in the course of a day. He believes that Wiggins The Cat should not be wandering around the house at 5:30am. He tells the cat so. We all must listen as a captive, bed-ridden audience. He strongly believes that nasty looking, ancient, fuzzy dog should not walk on our sidewalk or wee on our flower beds three times a day, every day. He cries his thoughts on the matter in full voice, telling the block, telling the scrappy dog. As far as I can tell, only Miss Tibbit cares. Hamish is entrenched in the notion that toys are his, and he graciously allows Miss Tibbit …

Thinning seedlings: I think they scream as I tear them out…

I think the baby plants scream when I ruthlessly pluck them out of the ground. I know it has to be done. It is my job as a gardener to be a creative, even divine force. The choices I make about which of the little seedlings get to swell into tastiness, into full fruit and seed producing maturity, are irrevocable. My choices shape the future of plants in my garden through pollination and seed harvesting. The lucky ones spaced properly apart for effective growing survive. The particularly lovely, big, and cheery looking guys make it. A lot of not-yet, never-will-be plants will die though, and their unique random genetic mutations die with them. It pains me every time I tug on their little bodies and feel their tiny roots rending. I have already this spring killed baby radishes, peas, tomatoes, carrots, peppers, eggplants….and it isn’t just the vegetables who get it either. Zinnias, poppies, nasturtiums, wild bergamot, calendula: no one is safe. My seedling book says that I am doing no one any favors by …

Debating Obedience and Disempowerment with Dogs

“Miss Tibbit,” I addressed her hindquarters as she strained away from me with all the power in her small frame. “Miss Tibbit,” I repeated and shortened her leash during a brief lull in the pulling. Her head snapped when she hit the end of her lead sooner than expected. She gave me a dark look that clearly said, What do think you’re doing? I reeled her in and asked her to sit by my foot. She refused. Flatly. “Miss Tibbit, do you know what obedience means?” She glanced at me from the corner of her dark eye. No. She was not being truthful. She watched a squirrel in the tree above us. She heaved at the leash in dog rampant, front paws flailing toward a submissive Golden Retriever across the street. Over her shoulder between choking gasps and yips she said, But I do know what disempowerment means! I gasped. The audacity. Disempowerment indeed! I asked Hamish to join us. He was illicitly rolling in a moldering worm and finished up before coming over. He, …