The Great Uniter

It's been snowing the last couple days, but not enough to interfere with life. Just enough to be pretty. That kind of snow that clings tightly to the bare trees, making dismal old Shoreline look like a winter wonderland worthy of Currier and Ives.

It has occurred to me that Corgis are the world's great uniter. The big, the small. The good, the evil. The old, the young. Everyone takes the same joy in a Corgi. Corgis have even been known to stop an in-car argument between Matt and I. We'll be driving down the road and see one while in the midst of arguing, stop short, and in stereo yell, "Ohh, look! A corgi!" Corgis should be a part of every goodwill mission, and if they went out on the front lines, we could disarm our enemies with laughter at their impossible proportions. I especially love seeing corgis in packs--like the one that bustles around the Queen. If a group of geese is called a gaggle, birds a flock and fish a school, what is a group of corgis? How 'bout a quagmire? It's got good alliteration if nothing else.

Case in point: the other day, Gunthy and I were on a Big Walk and I see a guy coming toward us on the sidewalk. As he gets closer, it becomes increasingly clear that he is an...unsavory sort. Leather and metal jacket, long scraggly hair, cigarette dangling, carrying plastic grocery bags filled with bad, cheap food--and a can of Mad Dog if my eyes didn't deceive me. I was ready. I made eye contact to not-so-subtly inform him that I was aware of his presence. My left hand gripped Gunther's leash and my right had my cell phone, squirreled away in the pocket of my fleece. I could dial 911. Or just hurl it at his face. Gunther doesn't notice, just keeps stolidly plodding away, tongue lolling sideways. As he passes us, he looks at Gunther and gets this big grin on his face and said, "Sweet corgi!"



Even creeps and weirdos love corgis! They are the world's great uniter.