The Story of Mouse.

[Clogs]

My first real experience of corgis came about when my mother got a corgi pup. This was some fifteen years ago and at the time, I didn't like corgis one bit. Nasty, snappy, yappy little dogs! I can't remember having had a bad experience with a corgi as a child, but maybe I did, as I've always been a dog lover. But my preference was definitely for big dogs; German Shepherds, rotties, wolf-hounds etc.Corgis were just a complete waste of space as far as I was concerned.

Anyway, on with the tale. Mum and Dad were visiting my cousin and her husband. The guy's corgi had recently had a litter of pups, and Mum expressed a desire to have a dog. Dad was not at all keen, not being an animal person at all, but Mum had recently recovered from a major operation, and I guess she caught him in a weak moment. They came home with "Cindy" as she was named, that very day. She was round nine weeks old.

Mum loved that little dog to bits, but in her love, was very over-protective. The pup wasn't allowed outside on her own, never walked off the lead, never had any contact with other dogs and seldom saw any other people except for the immediate family. Mum also had less stamina than she had thought, and that small ball of energy soon became more than she could handle. The illness also returned and by the time Cindy was 18 months old, Mum was looking for a new home for her. In the meantime, Cindy had became the "top dog" in the family, and was a bossy, snappy, growly anti-social little thing with anyone but Mum. The only physical contact she would permit from anyone other than Mum was a light stroke on the top of the head. Anything else was met with fang displays and growling. However, she was clearly super-intelligent.

It was suggested that I might take Cindy over, and to be honest, I really, really didn't want to do it. I had no desire whatsoever to care for a dog I didn't like, that was of a breed I had no time for. But....being a dutiful daughter and with some persuasion from my husband, I did so.

The first few weeks were sheer up-hill hell. She wouldn't come, she wouldn't sit, or stay, despite being trained in those commands; she growled almost every time I touched her; she ate children's shoes; she glared defiantly at me every time I spoke and as for meal-time - she wouldn't eat with anyone else in the room, but would simply stand hunched over the bowl, ears flattened and snarling, until we all went away. Poor dog; I'm sure she was just as unhappy as I was!

The one fine day, about three weeks in, when I was seriously thinking that it just wasn't going to work, we were outside doing some fencing repair and she was sniffing around nearby. Suddenly, she bolted away through the paddock, which was full of thigh-high grass as it was late summer. You couldn't see the dog at all, just her passage, as she raced and zoomed invisibly through the grass.
'She looks just like a mouse!' I commented. And from that moment on, Mouse became her name. She learnt it very quickly and within a couple of days would come to me when I called "Here, Mouse!" She would sit when told to and stay. She began to tolerate a stroke on the back - then one on her side and soon began to roll over for a belly-rub. We worked on the mealtime snarling, insisting that she sat before the meal was placed on the floor, until it got to to the piont that I could take the bowl away once she had started to eat. She learnt to walk to heel, although she would never obey the "Heel" command. If that was given, she would shrink away and refuse, but if I said "Walk by me" she would do so without a problem. Funnily enough, Clogs is the same in that regard.

The only time Mouse really got a spanking was one day when we had had her for about a year. She was going through a wee rebellious stage and testing the limits. We needed to go out rather urgently one day and I called her to come. But would she? No way. And being under pressure to leave in a hurry, I lost the plot somewhat and began chasing her. We went round and round and round the house until she tired of the game. I was pretty steamed by that stage and when I eventually caught her gave her a little shake as I voiced my displeasure. She promptly flashed around and sank her teeth into my hand. That was the last straw and although I'm not an avocate of smacking, in that case it seemed to turn the tide. She seemed to know exactly what the spanking was for and never bit anyone ever again. Her behaviour generally also improved tremendously and she finally became a canine friend.

And so the years rolled on. Mousie never became a truly affectionate dog. She would tolerate, rather than welcome, physical affection, although she quite liked to sit up on your knee, as long as cuddling wasn't involved. But one thing she really loved - and this is going to sound daft - was to be told a story. It really was the oddest thing. You could natter away to her in the way that lots of us do when we talk to our dogs, but if I said "Would you like a story?" and put on a story-telling voice, she would lie down on her tummy and listen with such intensity that it was as if she understood every word. If I stopped, she would quickly bang her front legs on the floor and give a little growl until I started again. Her favourite was The Three Little Pigs.

She was virtually fearless. Thunder, guns going off at close proximity didn't phase her in the least and we could take her to fireworks displays without any worries that she would be afraid. She never took food from strangers and at one barbeque we went to, she sat, surrounded by offerings of steak and sausage pieces that she had politely taken in her mouth and then dropped, much to the amazement of the other guests. She loved to chase sticks, but not balls and playing Hide-and-go-seek with her raggy was a nightly game.

One day, just before Christmas, I booked her in for a teeth cleaning. Her back molars were very discoloured and her breath was getting bad. When we went to pick her up, the vet had a strange expression on his face.
'I've got a bit of bad news," he said. "I had to remove one of Mousie's teeth as it was rotted, and when I took it out, I found cancer in the jaw bone." It was an absolute bolt from the blue as she had not displayed any signs of illness at all. We took her home and all she wanted to do that night was to sleep. She slept and slept and slept, no doubt as a combined effect of the anasthetic and the illness. We went off to bed, sad and worried, leaving her tucked up on her favourite sheepskin.

It was Christmas Eve.

The following morning, I woke early and went to see how she was, expecting to see a sleepy, but recovered dog. She was lying totally inert on her bed. I could see no signs at all of breathing and her body felt very cool to the touch. I truly thought she had gone, but when I put my head down on her chest, there was a very faint and slow heart-beat.

It would have been better, I think now, to just have let her go then, but we didn't. We patted her, picked her up, called to her repeatedly. She was completely floppy in our arms. Eventually, my husband went to the fridge and got a little left-over gravy from our meal the night before, and held that under her nose. In true corgi fashion, that was what she eventually responded to. Her toungue came out, she licked the gravy and slowly began to wake up.

We had another six months with her, but knew that it was only a matter of time before we would have to make that decision that all dog owners hate. And, like so many others, we waited too long. She would lie in her bed in the living room at night and just look at me. A steady, unwavering look that spoke volumes. Her respiration rate was too high and I felt sure she was in pain. I took her down to the vet for an examination, but he could find nothing to indicate that anything was wrong. He dismissed my worries about the increased breathing rate as my imagination. But inwardly, I knew.

One day, we were outside just after lunch. She brought me a stick to throw, but when she raced up the steps to retrieve it, she suddenly fell on her side. She just lay there, panting, eyes staring, for three or four minutes. I rang the vet and he said to bring her at four. That afternoon, she asked for cuddles for the first time. She spent almost the entire time left lying on my knees with my arms around her. At one point, she sat up and leaned towards me and laid the side of her face against my cheek. It just broke my heart. In fact, it must still be broken somehow, because I suddenly find that typing this, the tears are pouring down my face.

We buried her up in the kowhai grove that overlooks the house. I swore I'd never have a dog again, the pain of loss was too great. I grieved and grieved and was astounded at how much I had loved her.

One day, about four or five months after she had gone, my darling husband gently suggested we get another dog.
And guess what breed we chose.....

[red headed stranger]

Your story is wonderful, but I cannot write more now. My tears are making it impossible

[Clogs]

<<hugs>>

She taught me so much about the human heart.

[corgimom]

What a lovely, heartwarming story. I am sorry for your loss. They touch our lives so deeply. I put my last Pem to sleep a bit over a year ago and spent my last day with her much as you did with your Mouse.

[ZdogZ]

That story has just choked me up! I'm so sorry for the loss of Mouse. I had to put my 17-year old cat to sleep last summer and it killed me. I knew I'd be putting her down, so the night before I held her tight, cried, scratched her, and told her over and over how much I loved her. I've got to stop...the tears are really flowing now.

[Clogs]

Linda and Christie - hugs to you guys, too. Having to make those decisions is just the hardest thing. They give us so much, in so many ways, don't they? Our lives are so much richer because of them.

[ColColt]

Oh, that was heart wrenching!! So sorry, Clogs, for your loss. It's stories like this and my own experience that makes you think you'll never get another just as you said. Time will heal many things, but; love is forever in our hearts for those who have passed on-no one can replace them. We somehow have to go on and continue the pursuit of hopefully helping another in need which will ease the pain of a previous loss. I'm just preaching to myself now so, ignore the rambling.

[Bayoucorgi]

I felt like I was reading a James Herriott story. What a wonderful story.

[Philbiker]

Thanks for sharing.

[milles2]

They really are individuals, a different personality every time.

Sounds like you gave her a good life.

[Cardiguy]

Excellent touching story that was very well written-straight from the heart. sorry for your loss.

[Jane Austen]

I too read your story with tears in my eyes. To me it seemed like a heart-warming story. You came around to love her and she became more respondsive to you and your family.
I sometimes think that going through a lot with an animal makes them more special to us. My dog, thirty years ago, got his leg under my moving car once and he had to wear a cast for a week or so. We had to lift him to take him outside and then later to help him over obstacles in the woods. He eventually got hit by a car on the main road. But stupid and silly though he was we think of him more than any other pet we have had.

[tandemgal]

Clogs,

You have also brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for telling Mouse's story.