We have had a corgi since I was a little girl, and the last , the one-eyed Tuffy (the lost eye scratched by a visiting cat), went to her happy hunting grounds (one hopes) many years ago. I can't deal with puppies said my mother peevishly. NEE! snapped my father.
I kept needling. My mom could take them for walks. She didn't like taking big black Ben because he tends to behave in various embarrassing ways (this is why I really like cats) and got into fights to boot. They would be alarm-dogs, I ventured...NO!
So last year we visited a corgi breeder in Somerset West and checked out her squirming little balls of fur. A few months later two larger balls of fur were dropped of at No. 9. Everyone is in love. My father, the small dog hater, says you feel better just looking at them. My mother walks them and plays with them on the lawn at night with a seriously offensive squeaky ball, before they go to bed. And yesterday I took them on their first mountain walk, with Marijke and her two dogs, young swift Mickey and old, doddery Tigger. Ben was allowed along and everyone had a blast. My mom's fears of having to have the small dogs Medivac'ed from the mountain were groundless, though last night the corgis both passed out early and this morning slept through their wake up call.
Off to the unknown...help Ma! Ben's like, Can we leave?
... on the lower reaches in the bluegum forest
The alien deforestation programme. If it didn't originate here, it's destined to be firewood. An admirable sentiment but perhaps makes some South Africans a little nervous...