- Intermezzo -
I took care of our friends' corgi for an entire month.
Along with our two boys, that makes it the most corgis this house has ever had.
I’ve always wondered if three corgis would be too much to own.
The answer is yes, three is a crowd.
For that matter, even two might be too much.
Two was the answer to the previous question:
'Is one corgi enough?'
Next question please.
But I think this is mostly because Kingston Felix is like two corgis wrapped in one.
Double the trouble.
Big Trouble in Little China (great movie).
He’s the smallest out of the three, but certainly doesn't act that way. The way he runs amok about the house, it doesn’t feel that way either.
When he's not by my side, I can locate him by the sound of my wife's voice:
'STOP IT!'
Won’t stop. Can’t stop. Don’t stop.
He’ll never stop.
If he worked for a company, he would be head of both the sales and marketing departments.
He would be the entire sales and marketing departments.
But Winston, our first corgi, would be the CEO.
He's much more balanced—just the right amount of asshole.
He loves attention, but is weirdly selective when it comes to people, as illustrated by the many disappointed faces he’s given the cold shoulder to.
There's no in between, he seemingly likes you or does not (unlike Felix, who likes everybody a bit too much).
I think it's because I trained him out of his social anxiety, without leaving enough behind.
When you consider I basically raised him, you would think I'm at the top of his favorite humans list.
Nope, number two. That’s what I am.
I try harder though (like that rental car company).
Mama's boy, that's what he is.
Comes whenever she calls, while he comes to me whenever he decides.
This brings me to Meeku, our friends' corgi.
He would be my top pick for CFO—you can always trust the quiet guys with the numbers.
I like having him here, a calm corgi in our house of none.
He stays close to my side, because introverts stick together.
He listens to me. Whenever I call him, he comes of his own volition. Unlike the other two runts, he doesn't need an edible reward to do this.
His mom is Dry Mom (godmother) to our two, which makes me Dry Dad to her one.
Or is it goddad? or ... goddogdad? or ... doggoddad? or ...
... stop it, my wife is telling me.
The situation can be best summarized by that famous line from Forrest Gump, except that I would change the first part:
'Life is like a box of corgis' or ... 'Life is like a box of chocolate corgis' or ... 'Corgis are like a box of chocolates' or ...
... I’m getting confused.
Well, at least the second half of that line is perfect the way it is.
