Since 1998 or so I’ve wanted a Pembroke Welsch Corgi. I blame Cowboy Bebop.
So in early 2021 I decided to finally fulfill my 20+ year unhealthy obsession. I didn’t just want any old Corgi, I wanted one with a tail, as all Corgi’s have thier tales removed at birth.
It made me think back to my immensely sized penis, and how much I hated my parents for removing parts of it. We’re not Jewish, there was never any reason to remove it you fucking bastards. I hate them to this day for disfiguring me.
That being said, after calling 4 breeders, the last one did not practice circumsizing dog tails. Around August of last year, we brought home Beatrice.
From an early age she sowed signs of being a data dog. Here she is just 3 months later, knowing a menagerie of tricks.
She was smart, too smart. She would only do tricks for bribes, or when she wanted to. She quickly learned it was her world, we were just in it.
This headstrong attitude progressed, as she began to bully her older sister, a 120lb chocolate lab named Pickles.
Yet despite these shortcomings, the training made me confident she would listen. One day my wife said, “SHE’S NOT THAT WELL TRAINED” and in the arguing she mentioned, “SHE’LL RUN OUT THAT DOOR IF YOU KEEP IT OPEN!”
I wasn’t going to let her dog shame B.
I opened the front door, and B came following. “STAY!” I commanded like only a beastmaster could do.
Beatrice followed my command, smugly I told my wife “SEE! I HAVE TRAINED HER WELL !” It was at that moment, demons posessed B, and with her small speedy framed darted around me, out the door and into the street. Quickly I gave chase, but it was dark, and not seeing the curb I tripped and planted my hand on one of my neighbors river rocks.
I heard a squish, felt some moistness. As I picked my hand up, my ring finger fell limp. I turned my hand over and it flopped the other way, blood gushing out with every beat of my heart. I saw a white bit sticking out, “Is there a pebble stuck in there?” I thought as I picked at it. To my horror, it was the bone.
Beatrices bloodlust compelled her to follow the screams of pain and trail of blood as I walked back to the house cradling my hand. “BABE I GOT TO GO TO THE ER!” Beatrice was already back inside, tongue wavering, with a smile on her face for the mayhem she created. Kaiser stitched it up, the next day I had surgery and 2 pins inserted. 6 weeks later my cast came off, and my finger was rotated 7 degrees out of whack. A week ago I had corrective surgery, and again I sit here typing with one hand, pins inserted. Beatrice had taken me down for a total of 3 months this year.
Over the next few months though, Beatrice would become a totally different dog. Constantly staying by my side, always snuggling me. I might be crazy, but I think in some way she understood what had happened. Now when I open the door, she takes a few steps back, and won’t go out unless I tell her too. Finally, she doesn’t go crazy running into the street, She’ll stay close, as if she’s protecting me.
Before or after the accident, I never got angry with her, always treated her with gentle kindness. She still fat shames her sister, stealing her food. She still gets mad when the scritches stop, but overall she’s become cognizent that without me to open that can of food, she’ll starve. Her love and affection isn’t given for free like her whore lab sister, it’s earned. Despite this though, she listen when it counts now.