I love our girls… all three of them are little cuddlebugs who make us smile every single day.
But Bree, the corg… she’s my shadow. She’s completely unlike any dog I’ve ever had or ever met- and I swear, she understands every damn word I say to her. And she really wants me to talk to her. She waddles, she’s sleeps 20 hours a day, she doesn’t like the heat, and she wants the TV to be on and for us to be on the couch, chilling. All the time. Snacks are good, too. Oh, and cheese? Cheese is best.
Bree might be the living embodiment of my spirit animal.
I do have to admit though, this time of year, there’s a facet of Bree that does make me sigh.
She sheds. Don’t let that lack of feathery floof fool you… there are corg tumbleweeds traveling through my house that no Roomba will ever be able to capture. Floofdrifts gather in the corners every day, and corgglitter covers my clothes after cuddletime.
I brush and I sweep and I Roomba and I bathe… and still. So. Much. Hair.
Even after doing all these things, Bree will come park herself on my lap, and I’ll see a little tuft of hair, like a cowlick, not quite laying flat. If I give it a tug, out comes a pound of hair, like she’s a teddy bear giving up her plush and going bearbald.
Inevitably, she’ll turn and give me that steady look that says, “Bitch. I was saving that for your pillow tonight. And could you please change the sheets? I’m tired of all the dog hair.”
Curiouser and Curiouser 