That was the question Joyce Shepherd posed, figuratively speaking, as she welcomed Dargo into the pen with three of her sheep.
The answer, it turns out, is yes.
Dargo was one of about 30 corgis present at Shepherd’s farm on Sunday for the Golden Gate Pembroke Welsh Corgi Fancier’s Club annual Herding Instinct Test.
Dargo was being a little bit bossy yesterday evening as we strolled along the neighborhood streets. I was a little irritable myself; but generally speaking nothing in the walk was outside the ordinary. Nothing, that is, until Dargo began making heaving sounds, and became demonstrably incapable of drawing in enough air.
Friday wasn’t the first time I’d run into a coyote while walking my dog in the hills of the Fremont Older Space Preserve, but I’d never seen one trot so confidently towards me and my pup across the open field.
He was moving pretty fast. As soon as I spotted him coming our way, I turned my body to face him, picked up Dargo and stared right at the wild dog, making low, loud gutteral sounds — a cross between a cowboy’s hollering “Whoa!”, and a growling Tom Waits song, circa the Rain Dogs album.
I could feel Dargo’s heart thumping powerfully against mine. He stayed still and quiet in my arms.
Dargo loves the beach.
Water, digging, running. What’s not to love?
The great thing about running on the beach, like herding, is that it wears him out completely. He’s been napping all afternoon, which is why I’ve actually had time to post this!
And if you’re curious to know what it means to have a high energy dog, take a look at what he runs like when he’s tired.
See the difference?
Exactly!
He wouldn’t know when to stop. We have to put him in his pen so he remembers to sleep. But once he’s out, he’s out.
Christine kindly opened her home and her pigmy goat pen to her extended corgi family and friends last weekend, and Dargo couldn’t have been happier.
It was his first time encountering goats, but he knew just what to do. I could barely keep up with him.
Dargo is all corgi, so he was born hating getting his nails trimmed. I tried the recommended technique: sitting down, dog on your lap, with his back against your belly while you work on his nails.
I failed miserably. Dargo howled like he was in profound despair, and wiggled so much I couldn’t get a single nail clipped.
It started very early, the training that was intended to teach Dargo some impulse control. One of our tricks was to ask Dargo to sit-stay outside his crate while we put down his meal. And he used to do pretty well. When we’d ask him to stay, he’d wait until my arm would be well inside the crate before rushing in.
Once he’d gotten that far, I upped the ante. I’d pickup the food again if he went for it before I put it down. Sure enough, four days ago, Dargo waited until the dog dish was on the floor of the crate and I had withdrawn my arm. Then he looked up at me.
“Okay!”
What I really wanted to say of course was “I just love you my wonderfully smart puppy! Look at you, waiting for breakfast! You’re just the smartest one of them all!”
But “Okay!” is the cue to get food, so that was the one he was listening for.
It helps that I’ve been doing two of these sit-stays at once. I also ask him to wait when I open the front door for our morning walk. He’s figured that one out, too.
It’s amazing to me that a young pup of five and a half months is doing so well.
Five days! Five vomitous days! Five terrible, vomitous days that began after 2 days of diarrhea! Our poor pup’s been on some combination of rice and medication for over a week now!
Welcome to the joys of puppyhood.
It turns out, puppies will eat anything. Add to that the incontrovertible fact that corgis, also, will eat anything, I guess it was inevitable that I should see my pup eat a cash register receipt, a little piece of red cellophane from a Christmas cracker, a cigarette filter from the sidewalk, dirt in the back yard, horse poop on the hiking trail, and pretty much anything else he can fit in his mouth.
The diarrhea started ten days ago, on Wednesday. We switched him to a bland diet and thought we would wait it out.
By Friday he was puking up bile, so we rushed him to the vet that evening. “Dietary Indiscretion” was the diagnosis. After a stomach X-Ray revealed nothing, we left with a prescription for Famotidine (Pepcid) and Carafate (another medication to soothe the stomach).
The vomiting didn’t stop, and within 2 days had progressed from consisting of mere bile to including the complete contents of his undigested and apparently un-masticated meals. The washing machine was working overtime, processing all his crate blankets, and I was getting increasingly concerned.
The “Get your toy” command is not a classic like sit, down and stay, and I added it to my roster of early tricks on a whim.
A friend of mine who has a Border Terrier recounted to me how he had taught his dog to tell his toys from one another. I thought that would be a fun thing for Dargo to learn, and I started on it when Dargo was about 3 months. I did not anticipate how important it would become to help me manage my corgi as he grew.
Corgis were bred to think and work independently. Dargo is true to his breed, and has a strong, willful streak and a desire to be the boss. When things get out of whack, he’s sure to let me know, but that doesn’t mean he gets to be, or wants to be, CEO of the home.
Ultimately, I think he sees himself as a pro-active middle-manager. Sometimes he’s very rude about it, and it warrants a time out. But most of the time, he just needs what I call a “redirect”.
” Maybe its much too early in the game,
But I thought I’d ask you just the same.
What are you doing New Year’s…
…New Year’s Eve?”
- Ella Fitzgerald
Dargo’s been a wonderful addition to our daily life. I actually enjoy waking up at 6am, because I know I’m going to get two to three solid hours with him before I head to the office.
Later, as the workday draws to a close, I sometimes catch myself doing 80mph on the highway beause I’m so excited about getting some playtime with Dargo in the evening.
But of course, all this doggie-time means other things get neglected, things like … say… husbands. At least one husband. My parents noticed this when they visited us for the holidays, and they pulled me aside and asked “Why don’t you and Sean go out tonight? Go out to dinner, go see a movie. We’ll look after Dargo.”
It seemed like a great idea. So headed on New Year’s Eve, all dolled up and debonair, for a movie & dinner. With our phones on vibrate, we settled into our seats for a two-hour cinematic rollercoaster.