Translated byKeith Michaelfrom the original Pembroke Welsh Corgish, an unwritten language characterized by complex interactions between vocalizations,body gestures, facial nuances, and spatialdynamics apparently intensified byproximity to food.
Why does he take so long to put on his shoes? Treat? Treat? Thank you. Quick. Snap on that annoying long strap.Why does he never let it go? Now he (slowly) fillshis pockets. First,the jangly things that open the doors and the white paper things (so fun to rip up)that he uses to pick up what I go outside to do.Next.That folding square thing that comes out of his pocket (taking time away from me) when we go to that place [the wine store]where I get the treats, and the shiny thing that rings; he puts it by his ear, then talks to himself (not to me). And finally. Finally. He puts on his coat and hangsthose two black gadgets around his neck. One that he points at me and clicks and he seems happy when I look at it and less happy when I don’t. And the other double gizmo that he holds up to his eyesto look at trees (not at me).Weird.Let’s go!
We’re out! My block. Mine. A garbage bag smashed in the street. Heaven. Breakfast? Criminy. What are those big black flapping things [crows] making a racket? Like garbage bags jumping around.I’ve never seen those down on the street before. And a few of the smaller even noisier bobbling black ones [starlings]. Those gray ones [pigeons] are usually further around the corner, but can I chase them anyway? Can I? Can I? And a whole bunch of the small brown fluffy fluttery ones [sparrows]. I’m small, brown and fluffy too (maybe not so fluttery) yet they get to eat all they want, and he keeps pulling back on my neck so that I can’t even get in a lick.
“Millie, leave it!” I’ll get to that garbage when we come back around the block. I know that I can distract him next time. Oh. He’s stopped right on the sidewalk, swingsthe black gizmoup to look at the trees(predictable) and then he just stands there, swaying slightly. At least it gives me time to smellthe tree trunk to find outwhich of my buddies have come by here recently.
A red flash [Cardinal] flies across the street. A sigh from him and then we move on. He walks too fast. Doesn’t he know how rushed I always feel? Except at dinnertime,whenrather than just letting me go out the door, do what I need to do if I need to do it, and go back in for dinner, he insists ongoing all the way around the block.Though I do like when he breaks into a run, but then I forget to bark at the*&# [skateboards] or #&@$ [rollerblades] or @#$ [bicycles] or &*^ [other dogs] that always seem to be around when he does that.
Another quick stop. At the gate through the wall. There’s a high whistle-like sound in the grass [White-throated Sparrows] and a couple of other quick flying chipping sounds [Yellow-rumped Warblers]. I only hear theseat this time of year when there are leaves on the ground. Now it’s the clicky thingamajig that he brings up to look through – clickclickclickclick. (Again, not at me.) Hey, this wall is boring. Sit. Head scratch.
Home stretch. Morning nap soon. What’s that on the sidewalk? He holds me back. Black and white spotted. A bit of red. Not moving. He stoops down with one of those white papery things from his pocket, “Oh Millie, a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. What could it have run into? Too bad.” He wraps it up. Carries it. But doesn’t throw it away like when I leave something on the sidewalk.
Next stop, breakfast.
