You may be looking at this photo and thinking that you are seeing my parents with their cute little corgi named Maeve. That is not what you are seeing. You are actually seeing a picture of a Type-A corgi named Maeve tending to her flock. It happens the flock is comprised of my parents among others, and I too am one of the herd. Because I have documentation proving my residency in Massachusetts, I am given permission to leave the paddock when necessary. You probably don't realize it, but you are in fact, are also part of the herd. No, really. Just park your car long enough to say hello and you're, well, you'll see what I mean. In fact, if you are skeptical you can even try this: borrow a school bus and just drive it down the road past their house and back. You've been flocked! Or, pretend you're the mail carrier and leave mail in the box. Flocked again. Or, disguise yourself as a hawk and fly over the house. Flocked you!
Let's just put it this way: There is way more than a blog entry contained in this particular dog. There is a book series, possibly a movie, and a reality television series. And its necessary to include this photo that shows Maeve with her charges. No one would recognize her otherwise.
Maeve is a dog on a mission. She's bionic. She doesn't run; she rockets. She shoots out of the gate like she's been shot out of a cannon. Look out, look out! Here she comes! And when she whizzes by her pink tongue is curled back behind her in the rush of wind. Why it isn't frayed, I don't know. And she's smiling because she has Something Important at hand and she's taking care of it. She revels in her work. Why sit still when you can accomplish something? Might I add here that the members of the herd seem to mimic these qualities. Need 237 tomatoes? Check out the garden. It's art and earth in a single plot. Need storage ideas? Tour the kitchen. Every thing has a place. Every job hs been done and done well, at the time it needed to be done, and with great satisfaction.
Maeve can spell. She can tell time. If you ever want to know when it's 5:00, go stand in the kitchen. She's there, waiting for dinner. That means it's exactly 5. If one flock-ee is upstairs and needs to holler down to say something to the other flock-ee, Maeve becomes The Announcer and persists in sending alerts that there is an incoming message. She's so persistent with these alerts that both flock-ees must seek each other out to be heard over them.
My favorite trick of hers is "Not Jumping". When someone arrives to visit, Maeve understands "Don't Jump" so after about 6 or 7 shall we say cleansing "Jumps", she settles into what I call "Not Jumps". She somehow keeps her rear quarters on the floor but uses some form of yoga to stretch herself all the way up to your waist while setting her eyes intently on you, and then she smiles. And quivers. Wait. You're not looking. Quiver and stretch a little more. There. Now you see me.
Maeve does eventually wear herself out. She sprawls on her back in the sun in the middle of the hot driveway. No need for a pillow or shade or anything too comfy. She also curls herself on Dad's feet when he eats. She appears so mellow. But we chuckle because we know better.
Maeve is having exploratory surgery tomorrow for a persistent sore on her nose and in her mouth. Hopefully all will go well. In her absence the chain of command will shift. While there may be debate amonst flock-ees as to who will serve as interim chief and while they each will surely assign themselves to the role, let there be no doubt about it. The Massachusetts member has everything under control.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment