Joan Dorsey
Contributing columnist
I read this week where Queen Elizabeth’s Pembroke Welsh Corgi, had passed. She was 13 years old. She has one remaining Corgi named Willow.
I am a fan of the Queen, and for the past 26 years I have been the wait staff of three different Corgis.
The first Corgi was Holly. She was a Christmas gift to me years ago.
I was to get her on Christmas morning, but as I had a broken leg, her arrival was delayed for a short time. She was chosen from a litter of puppies that a family friend was selling.
A small floppy eared red and white bundle of energy. She scrambled her way over her brothers and sisters to be first into waiting arms and was chosen immediately.
My kids were little, and you might as well house break puppies and kids together. Holly was their other sibling, only she had fur and didn’t speak. She helped raise my children. She listened to my son as she slept in his room. She chased butterflies and bubbles with my daughter as they played in the back yard. She napped in the bean bag chair with them and made sure they were safe.
Corgis are long backed dogs, and as it often happens, they end up with spine problems. I carried her in and out of the house for two years when her back legs wouldn’t work any longer.
I discovered that a house without a dog is just a house. Our second Corgi was named Elizabeth. Lizzy for short. She was a quiet little puppy from a litter of 10. That was short lived however. I was too old for puppies at that point.
From day one she was on the run. No napping for this one. This girl has an agenda and a plan. I go home and walk her everyday at lunch.
On one particular day I had gotten a Big Mac and was planning on a fast food feast. I had the lunch on the table when I noticed a squirrel on my deck ravaging the bird feeder. Well I got up to shoo the squirrel— leaving lunch well back from the edge of the table, but unattended. Two steps onto the deck I knew I had been had. I heard the click of the door, the dog feet slide down the frame and then….. I watched as a small short legged dog nimbly reached up and removed a Big Mac from the table.
We made full eye contact as I yelled “NO! Bad Dog!”
I had to run all the way around the house to the garage to re-enter. When I finally got back in, there was no dog in sight. She was peacefully lying in her kennel.
Eyes closed, and I swear she was smiling.
One Corgi apparently wasn’t enough, so another was added after hurricane Katrina. She was a rescue with not much time left when I found her online. She came from a local police department. Petite, well mannered and beautiful tri-colored fur.
You always wish you had known the back story on rescues. She watched school busses very closely and certain types of trucks perked her ears up.
Lizzy became second in command, as Zydeco, named for Cajun music, took over the residence. There were skirmishes and disagreements. But all in all it was a good twosome.
Zydeco started having seizures in her later years. We never knew her actual age.
Was this why she was found wandering? Or was she just too clever to keep outside in a fenced yard?
She is gone now. She was a Daddy’s girl and took a long time to trust women.
Lizzy is 12 this year. She hasn’t slowed down much at all.
I don’t allow her to do stairs or jump on furniture. Fourteen is old for Corgi’s, so we enjoy our walks and our talks.
She hasn’t much patience for the cats anymore; her fur is old dog looking.
But we will traverse the middle years together.
She, I believe, is hoping there is still another Big Mac out there with her name on it.