My "Heart Dog"

Among dog folk there's the idea of your "heart dog," that one dog that captures your heart and ensorcells your spirit.

Walker at eight months.

Walker is that dog. I knew it when I met him, a gorgeous little tricolored hunk of Corgi puppy about five months old, the grandson of a Westminster Best in Show-winner named Carbon Blue. He came to us permanently at six months old, joining our brindle princess Rosey (née Pawcific Postit of Penrose) and adding a spark of spunk to our sedate household.

He's certainly not perfect, by any means—hyper vigilant, barky, dog reactive—but sometimes you just can't help who you love. As I said to a friend recently, "He may be a butthead, but he's our butthead."

Walker with Rosey.

At nine years old now, he was recently diagnosed with a malignant tumor called an adenocarcinoma, an aggressive cancer around his anal gland. It was only discovered by accident when I noticed that he'd been drinking lots of water, more than was normal even in the summer heat. Thinking it might be a urinary tract infection (UTI) or problems with his kidneys, I took him in to a vet new to us, Heartfelt Veterinary Hospital, to be tested.

Walker and Kitty.

In drawing the urine sample—non-dog owners can stop reading right here—they found a swelling around his anal gland and did a biopsy. It was, as noted above, a malignant tumor. X-rays were done that indicated no metastisis of the tumor to his lungs or lymph nodes and blood work showed the same, so surgery was done.

On the beach.

A large (2" by 2") tumor—in situ, with no rupture—was removed, and he's resting next to me on the couch as I write this. It'll take a couple of weeks for the healing process, with lots of pain relievers and ice on the wound, but with luck he'll live a full life and have many more squirrel chases, ball retrieving and walks on the beach to look forward to. None of that is guaranteed, of course, only fervently hoped for.

Our Princess, Our Rosey

Rosey, our first Cardigan Corgi—the clincher, in her case, the one who spoiled us on any other breed, odd since we're not the purebred types, being mutts ourselves—aka Rosey Toes (or just Toes), Miss Rose, Our Princess, Rosey Roo…the list goes on.

After our first dog, a lovely Husky mix named Nikki, passed on at an advanced age, I was ready to downsize. I'd met many Corgis of the Pembroke persuasion, the smaller, docked-tail dogs that are the familiars of the Queen of England and, while I liked their size, I (no offense) was put off by what I perceived as their yappier, snappier personality. I met my first Cardigan, a dashing fellow named Tai, with a jaunty flag tail and generous nature and thought, "This is the dog for me."

Rosey was born, amazingly enough, in Australia, with the fancy and somewhat ridiculous registered name of Pawcific Post-it from Penrose, from a long line of champions and a delightful little section on her mother's side of non-champions like Lees Black Heckle of Gorthleck. She came to this country as a mere pup, shipped over in a crate that was flooded in transit, the poor thing sopping wet up to her nose in standing water. (To her receiving breeder's credit, she never flew again, one near-drowning being enough for any dog to endure.)

It's odd, as a family of mutts, to be thrown into the world of a dog who has had a "career," especially one as storied as our Rosey's. She apparently raced through her show career, achieving champion status in record time. Her breeder remembered she always got quite excited in the ring, and at one show in particular she jumped three feet straight up in the air, leaving quite an impression on the judge. (She was known to do the same thing at dinner parties, popping up behind our astonished guests.)

She went on to bear four litters of pups, many of whom then became champions in their turn and bore champions of their own. Her longterm lover, and, in dog terms, her husband of long standing, was the superstar Carbon Blue, the first Cardigan Corgi ever to win Westminster. Seeing them together and so besotted was a thing I'll never forget, a lifelong love affair that continued until he passed on four years ago.

Despite the monikers enumerated above, I always thought of her as a bustling house manager in a Downton Abbey-type manor, all petticoats and black skirts as she kept the youngsters in order and the house running smoothly. In her later years she settled into dowager mode, still able to keep up with the younger set on long hikes in the woods, pointing out squirrel nests and bird species, but not above a romp on the beach (her favorite) or digging a den in the dirt at a campsite.

Today was a sad day at our house as we said goodbye to this most graceful and fun-loving of her breed at the ripe old age of fifteen-and-a-half. Ten years with her was not enough, and we will miss her mightily.

A House Guest Appears

As I've asked more than once, what's the point of having a blog if you can't post gratuitous photos of your dogs?

For the next few days we have a house guest of the furred variety, bringing the total canine population of the household to four: Rosey (our senior member at the venerable age of 15 years), then, in descending order of age, Walker, Kitty and Miss Thimble (left), our guest.

As a friend remarked, "I can't imagine being so thoroughly herded."

Word.

Photo at top, left to right: Walker, Thimble and Kitty. Rosey declined the photo opp, as she was napping soundly on her pillow.

Gratuitous Friday Cuteness

Pander: verb 1. to act as a pander; to provide gratification for others' desires. Especially: "pander to the basest emotions." noun 2. Pimp.

Like a great meal occasionally calls for a touch of sweetness to cap it off, some weeks need a bit of the same to draw them to a suitable close. And there are few things sweeter than a passel of sleepy six-week-old Corgi puppies.

And no worries, they're all spoken for, so you don't have to worry about definition number two, above.

Are 4-Week-Old Corgi Puppies Cute?

Why, yes. Yes, they are.

Fortunately both of Kitty's puppies are spoken for, so I can play with them and smoosh them to my heart's content, knowing they're going to loving homes when they reach 10 or 11 week of age. And I'm thrilled, too, that their mom is coming home to us when they're about eight weeks old, to retire in the comfort that she so richly deserves.

Can't think of a happier ending to the story!

Our Kitty Had Puppies

And two bruisers they are! The biggest puppies Coedwig Cardigans has had in 30 years of working with this breed, these as-yet-unnamed little dudes weighed in at 17 and 19 oz. each. (Normal birth weight for this breed varies between 8 and 12 oz. each.)

They were delivered by Caesarian section, and Kitty and pups are all doing well. She'll stay with them for eight weeks until they're weaned, which means I'll be making many more trips over there, so expect lots of updates to come. And don't worry, they're already spoken for, so feel free to enjoy them to the fullest!

(These shots were taken a little over 24 hours after they were born.)

Miss Kitty Regrets

My mother agreed with Ben Franklin, who said something like, "Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days."

While I'm sure that's true of some guests, this little lady has been a house guest for more than a week and we're starting to think of excuses not to send her home. Most of these wouldn't, to extend the fish metaphor, pass the sniff test. Especially since her owner, who allowed us to babysit while she was on a trip out of town, is a pretty sharp cookie.

Still, she just might go for the abducted by aliens story, wouldn't she?

The Monster Under the Dishwasher

It's probably time to stop calling Walker a puppy. He is, after all, closing in on the five-year mark, even though he still acts like a doofy puppy much of the time.

For instance, ever since he was just a little guy, his favorite spot in the house has been underneath the dishwasher door. The moment he hears the hinges creak as we open it to stow the odd cup or plate, he comes scrambling from the other room to dive under it. Of course, it was a lot easier for him to get under there and half of him wasn't sticking out, but to him it still provides a nice dark cave to find refuge in.

So if you come over, don't be surprised to find the dishwasher door down. There's bound to be something more substantial than dust bunnies lurking beneath it.

Puppy Love

One of the joys of having two dogs, at least for me, is that I have my hands full and don't suffer from puppy lust when I visit my friend Kim from Coedwig Cardigans. The other is that her dogs are so spectacular that she has a waiting list a yard long for her puppies and I couldn't have one if I wanted one.

So lucky me! That's not to say there's no temptation to tuck one of these little guys in my pocket and casually sidle over to the car, especially when he's as cute as Wave, above. So far I've managed to make out of there alone. But believe me, if that changes you'll be the first to know.

The Darling Dozen: Ready to Fly?

It's almost like they do it on purpose just to make you feel old. You get together with friends you haven't seen for awhile. You ask about their kids and they start hauling out pictures (or their iPhones), regaling you with stories about taking Bobby Sue and Jimmy Joe to visit colleges. And you think, "Wasn't this the kid who was just starting grade school a couple of years ago?"

It's like that with this litter of puppies. It seems like only a couple of weeks ago they were little wiggly things the size of a large cigar. Then today I visit and find myself suddenly surrounded by a dozen fat little bears all eager to lick my face and gnaw on my exposed feet (a dicey proposition unless you feel like giving them their first taste of blood).

At seven weeks their ears are going up and down like elevators, though some have definitely taken a stand. They're all spoken for, some going to "show homes" and some to "pet homes" but all of them thoroughly vetted. (I checked credentials…after all, I am their Auntie.)

But even though it made me feel like time is flitting by, I can't seem to stay away. And by the end of next week most of them will have flown the coop.

Corgi Death Match

I have to apologize for the lack of posts in the last few days. No, I haven't been standing in line to get a (non-existant) Wii for the big guy for Christmas, nor have I been indulging in too much pre-Christmas cheer of the liquid variety. Suffice it to say that between having a puppy trying out to be a new member of the family and moving my mother into her new garden apartment, it's been just a little wacky around here.

For those of you who have yet to venture into the land of double-dog-dom, be aware that it's not just twice the work, especially if one of them is a puppy. Albeit a very sweet and happy one who's (almost) house-trained (and no, you're not going to get the blow-by-blow on that one). It just means that you can't leave the house for more than three hours at a time and you've got to know where the little guy is at all times unless you feel like risking the aforementioned house-training incident, or a shoe-disembowelment, mentioned below.

The good parts, though, are so far outweighing the frustrating ones, though Dave's lawn-mowing shoes are looking a little the worse for gumming. Any others have been moved up out of prowling range. And Chester still rules the roost, having done a little intimidation of the glare-and-cuff variety.

So, how are they two canines getting along? Judge for yourself:

Little Devil

I apologize in advance once again for taking advantage of my readers, but, you see, I have this weakness for dogs with (virtually) no legs. And don't get me started on those sad people who buy sundresses for their pugs or the retailers who prey on them by selling such abominations. But by golly, can I resist a Corgi in devil horns all ready to go out trick-or-treating for biscuits on Halloween?

No, I cannot. Sorry.

Thanks, Loo, for the photo...and Tai for being so understanding.