Shelby is a Pembroke Welsh Corgi. He was born 7 April 2001.

Yes, for those of you who know me, Shelby is named after my favorite car (1967 Shelby Mustang). Shelby is destined to be my Jeeping buddy. He already likes wind in his face and to go for rides. However, he is too short to get into any vehicle, including my Thunderbird, so we'll have to work out a solution.

A lot of my friends asked me why I picked a Corgi instead of another Labrador retriever. Labs are great dogs. Great big dogs. Great big dogs that go thru a 40-pound sack of dog food every week (mine was a 120-pound dog). I wanted another sturdy dog, but something smaller. A Corgi fit the bill. He reached a healthy 32 pounds, and unlike most smaller dogs, he's not fragile.

Something I've been working on with Shelby from the day I got him is getting him used to noises, such as thunder or power tools. The latter should be rather obvious with my life style, but the former I find to be very important. When I was a kid, I had a German Shepard that was extremely afraid of thunder, fireworks, or the big cannons at Fort Lewis. I'm talking jumped-thru-the-front-window, clawed-thru-a-solid-wood-door type of afraid. So far, Shelby's doing pretty good. When we hear noises like that, or when I play a thunderstorm CD on the stereo, I get him to ignore the noise and play with me on the floor.

Now, if I could just teach him how to weld, do laundry, and pay his share of the house payment...

All the pictures below are all of Shelby. As he's aging, his color is changing; the sable is gone, replaced first by a reddish-tan, and now by a beige-tan with some white highlights.

The World According to Shelby:

"You threw it. You go get it."

(Rolling over onto his back and looking around.) "What? You said 'stay'. I'm staying."

"If you didn't want me to eat it, then why was it on the floor?"

(Throwing his water dish at me.) "Hey! You! The dog's out of water here!"

(Throwing his food dish at me.) "Hey! Can't you see it's empty? You want me to starve?"

(Going thru all of his tricks.) "C'mon already. One of these has gotta be the right one to get the cookie."

"Of course I was barking. Why does that surprise you? I'm a dog."

(Grumbling and walking off after the seventh time I've told him to leave something alone.) "Well, that's stupid. I don't care what you think. It's still stupid."

(Giving me an indignant look.) "I don't care if someone is at the door. I was comfortable on your feet."

My World with a Corgi:

There's a lot of things about living with a Corgi that I wasn't warned of. He's smarter than most people I've worked with. He sasses back; walking away grumbling when he doesn't get his way. I've had empty dog dishes thrown at me from day one. For the first couple of years, Shelby spent every night in a dog crate, and when he wanted out, he rubbed a toy against the bars like a prisoner with a tin cup. He loves to be where the action is, whether it be yard work, people visiting, or something going on out in the shop. I've had to clean wheel bearing grease off of his belly, dirty motor oil drips off of his face and out of his ear, and spray paint off his backside. (He sits on things, including the head of Mom's cat.) I've pulled rawhide chew toys out of my shoes, out of my bed, and out of the shower. I can't count the number of times I've had to pull a green canvas frog out of things. Never have I seen a dog that sheds as much as he does; and it's all year long. He's bossy, opinionated, and likes to try to herd people around. The entire notion of why it was his responsibility to fetch the ball I just threw was something that eluded him for his first two years. However, he does silly things on purpose, has a great set of expressions, is a great foot warmer, and loves the beach as much as I do. His favorite outdoor activities are herding a soccer ball around the backyard and digging. Lots of digging. With the exception of his changing the station or the volume on the radio all the time, he's a good rider in the truck. He'll do just about anything for an ear rub or peanut butter. He can sleep thru the noise of power tools, but not thru the opening of a package of beef jerky at the other end of the house. When he sleeps, it's typically on his back, with a kind of buzzy snore.

All in all, he's turning into a great shop dog. Here's some things you might hear on a typical day with Shelby:

"Give me that screwdriver back!"

"What the heck does a dog want with a pair of Vice Grips?"

"Mom, a cleaning question for you. How do you get motor oil off of a dog's nose and out of his ear?"

"Okay, Shelby, just how did you get wheel bearing grease on your belly?"

"Shelby, how can you sleep next to the air compressor?"

(In the truck, going someplace.) "Will you quit changing the radio station?"

"Are you quit sassing me?"

"Just how much can one dog shed? I'm not feeding you that much."

"Okay, okay, I'll fill the dish already."

"Get off the cat!"

"Leave it leave it leave it leave it leave it..."

"What are you doing, you silly goof?"

"Shelby, wanna rub?"

Stuff About Corgwyn: