Marnie Piazza

Dexter the Snarling Corgi Dog

"Does he have rabies?  Is he rabid?  He looks like he has rabies!"  This was not what I expected to hear from Alex, my eldest son who desperately needed a dog, a few days after welcoming our new Welsh Corgi puppy, Dexter, into our home.  But he did have a tiny point, since the 16 pound beast was snarling at my husband while bouncing back and forth on Alex's bed and generally acting like a crazed lunatic.

It all started innocently enough.  Because of our enthusiasm and inexperience, we'd gotten into the habit of carrying our little puppy around like a lap dog bred for life in and out of designer dog purses.   But we should have known better, because Corgis, while being adorable and small, are at heart spirited working dogs who don't generally relish that particular kind of pampering.  It's why I've always liked the breed, but it's easy to forget when it seems impossible for a puppy with legs that short to get around on its own.

So when the kids asked that the puppy join them on Alex's bed to listen to a bedtime story, we plopped Dexter right up there.  But instead of basking in the cuddle, he started eating the quilt.  We couldn't convince him to stop because he had decided we were not even approaching alpha status.  The puppy was also apparently done with being manhandled, because when my husband tried to lift him off the bed, we reached the snarling and bouncing portion of the story.

I did not intend to bring a slightly vicious puppy into our home.  In case you are wondering about the truth of this given his name, the children came up with Dexter for him.  We did not purposely name him after a TV serial killer, regardless of how much we like that show.  But predictive name or not, seeing a dog that size snarling at my husband and freaking out my giant nine year old was one of the funniest things I've ever seen.  His mouth is very small and it was clearly all for show, but it was so earnest, weird and utterly hilarious.

"I'll be right back," said my husband, as he gave up on cornering Dexter.

"Are you getting oven mitts?"  I asked, since it seemed he would need a little padding for this task, and I was too busy laughing to help.

He instead wordlessly came back with a fleece blanket, threw it over the dog, and sort of half tossed him to the floor, where Dexter landed, looking rather pleased with himself.

Drama over, we convinced Alex that the dog did not have rabies and would never get rabies because he was vaccinated.  My husband left with the now cheerful and perky puppy and we got back to our story reading.

And I called the dog trainer the next morning. 

I Need a Dog

"I NEED a dog,"  said my son Alex sometime in late November.  He had repeatedly told us he wanted a dog throughout the early fall, but when he upgraded from want to need, my husband and I knew we were in trouble.  The anti-dog resolve of the grown-ups was weakening as his pro-dog resolve was strengthening.  Little brother Jacob wasn't much of a factor, since he was fine with getting a turtle to live in the cardboard box house he had made, or a dog, whichever the rest of us decided was best. 

The thing was, we stopped being able to think of good reasons to say no.  My husband and I both grew up with dogs who we loved.  We thought it sounded good, in theory, for our boys to have a dog.  Also in theory, we liked dogs.  We just really didn't want one.  We knew how much work it would be: the walks, the training, the poop, the pee, the vet, the boarding, the barking, the ticks, the nail cutting, the shedding.  We were going into this with our eyes way too open.  Our kids were finally requiring less constant care, and now this?

But giving in was inevitable, and give in we did.  And since I am alarmingly efficient at times, we ended up with a dog within a week. 

I realized after some research that getting a rescue dog almost certainly meant getting a large dog, something that I found myself set against.  Every time I pictured a giant lab wagging his giant tail and knocking everything off the coffee table, I felt a little ill. 

So I got the kids on board with my childhood favorite breed, Welsh Corgis.  I called one breeder, who had two Corgi puppies available at her horse farm out on Long Island.  She sent pictures.  The puppies were cute.  She happened to be visiting a friend who lived 10 minutes from our house on Sunday, two days away, and offered to come by with the pups.  After some mulling, my husband decided he could live with a short legged dog who looked like a fox. 

So the Corgis came that Sunday.  The boy seemed to like us, the girl hid under a chair, so the boy stayed.  A check to the breeder and an expensive pet store visit later, and Dexter the Corgi dog was the newest member of our household.

He's usually very cute, sometimes extremely annoying and about as much work as we expected.  The children are not dancing around joyfully every time they see their puppy, and in fact have to be forced to play with him at times, which I find infuriating.  But we spend a bit more time together as a family now, doing things with our new puppy.  And he makes us laugh.  So overall, I'm okay with Dexter the Corgi dog. 

He's sleeping on his back right now, legs splayed, ears back.  Looking at that goofy dog is making me smile.  Though he better not wake up and start eating the rug again.