I don’t know if I’ve made it clear on my blog or not, but I really like corgis. In fact, I have a folder on my desktop titled “Cute pics” which is full of photos of corgis, pugs and pandas that I’ve collected over the years.
Maybe if I “secret” (read the book/watch the movie “The Secret”) hard enough, a cute corgi puppy will appear in my mailbox. (Although that might be hard… in Kentucky our mailbox is connected to a bunch of other boxes at the end of the street, and in London the post comes through a slot outside the door and lands on the floor in our flat. But I’m getting sidetracked here…)
If Squirt, our Chihuahua, knew how much I liked corgis, he would be even more crabby with me than he already is.
According to my parents, there is a corgi named Murray who lives in “the other neighborhood.” Whenever it’s a nice day or Squirt is being particularly stubborn, he goes for a walk in the neighborhood across a major street from ours, dubbed “the other neighborhood.” I hate dragging Squirt across the main road and waiting for the traffic to clear, but my mom always cons me into walking with her over there with the prospect of a Murray sighting.
“Murray sightings are really rare,” my dad warned. “We’ve seen him maybe four times over the course of 12 years.” Murray the corgi likes to stay inside and rarely goes for walks. My parents met him and his owners once on an “other neighborhood” Squirt walk. One time my dad even took a photo of Murray on his cell phone and sent it to me because I was beginning to think they invented Murray just to get me to walk farther.
So yesterday my brother was home for the day and the weather was relatively pleasant. “Let’s walk Squirt in the other neighborhood!” my mom suggested after lunch. Full of cookies and brats, my brother and I groaned. “Maybe there will be a Murray sighting!” she added, as she always does, knowing full well we had a greater chance of being struck by lightning and it wasn’t even storming, but we went along with it. When we got near his house I noticed a boy playing in his yard.
“Look, his owner is out!” I said. “Maybe Murray will be out too!”
And then I saw him. He was sitting on the steps outside, just chilling out, like he was expecting us.
“Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap!” I started to spout. “He’s out! Murray!”
At first my mom and brother thought I was joking because they didn’t see him, but the minute Murray caught a glimpse of Squirt he came barreling over on his stumpy little legs.
“Murray!!” I shouted like a giddy 5-year-old and started petting his thick hair. It was almost like petting a baby panda. He said hello to Squirt and lavished all the attention.
“I want to take him home!” I said, probably a little too loudly, because before I knew it the boy appeared and started pulling Murray away. I didn’t even get a chance to try to pick him up!
The entire walk home we talked about Murray. I may have asked several times if we could go back and see him again. My brother and I talked in detail about how we could have kidnapped him, so much that my mom asked us if we were serious. If only Murray were small enough to fit in a carry-on under the seat…
When we got home I immediately gushed about Murray on Facebook and texted my dad about the Murray sighting. He wrote back “cool,” but I knew he was jealous he missed it. It’s been 24 hours now and my family still talks about the Great Murray Sighting of 2012, which is probably an indication that we need a life… or a corgi. I would get one in a heartbeat if my life weren’t so up in the air, literally and figuratively, although I’m convinced there’s some kind of royal edict that only the queen can have corgis in London because I never see them anywhere. Perhaps I can find a way to be the Official Caretaker of Her Majesty’s Corgis.