Monica's Non-Blog

This piece was written by Monica Gransee.  Writer/dog lover extraordinaire.  I love this woman, her dogs and her writing.  Enjoy. 


I don't have a fancy blog. Nor do I want one. I just feel the need to tell you this story. So I'll write, you'll read, it'll be fine.

 I now have three dogs. I didn't want three dogs. I don't need three dogs, no one does. But sometimes things are beyond your control. And when God is calling you to do something, you are almost never in control. The reason I know this was Him and not me, is because it all worked itself out a little too perfectly if that makes any sense at all. Anyway, here goes...

 A week ago, yes I said a WEEK, my husband saw this sweet innocent corgi face on the corgi rescue site. The site is actually called "Corgis That Are Safe But Need Fur-EVER Homes". Right? I'm saying, we never had a chance. He had been rescued from an unsafe, unsanitary backyard breeding program. The owner had used him to breed multiple litters and all the while had kept him in a cage, untouched, for TWO YEARS. I know, but it gets worse. The owner was not breeding Corgis any longer because he wasn't able to sell them for the price he wanted, so the existing Corgis were to be hauled off to the shelter asap. Luckily for us, our heroic rescuer was there. And she decided to buy him from the villainous owner right on the spot.

She then posted him on her page for any sucker, I mean me, to haphazardly scroll across that angelic visage and fall hopelessly in love. Mission accomplished.

 This is the point where logic and reasoning TRIED to voice their futile opinions into my brain. I came up with numerous reasons why this was a BAD idea. A really, really bad idea. Unfortunately, when God is the idea man, your lovely inner voice becomes more of an angel's advocate. Here's an example of this totally unfair exchange:

Me: We already have TWO Corgis. Any more and we will really start to look like an intervention is needed.

Voice: Nah. Two corgis, three Corgis. I don't really see a difference.

Me: That's just more food bills, vet bills and boarding costs when we want to go out of town.

Voice: So you stay home a bit more. You won't die...will you?

Me: I don't need another dog. This is crazy!

Voice: He needs YOU. And a loving family who will give him the life he's never had. That's what's really important, isn't it?

Deep sigh. Okaaaaaaaaaa-YUH. Dammit.

Let's skip forward a bit, not much as I said, because things move quickly when you aren't driving. We arranged a meeting with our heroic rescuer and agreed upon a fair rehoming fee. After all, she HAD purchased him in his hour of need and seen to his basic medical care. God bless her.

I must've thought of 1256 reasons why we should cancel. We shouldn't go. What are we doing? Is this even happening right now? All of this going on while I packed an overnight bag and got in the truck.

We drove 5.5 hours to Conyers, GA to meet her halfway. This woman is the sweetest person you'd ever hope to meet so another part of me didn't want to let her down. I wanted her to think me every part the heroic rescuer she was. She arrived the next morning at our designated meeting point, a baseball field across the street from the hotel. As she pulled in, I looked into her truck window and saw two eager ears poking up. He was too short to see out the window from a sitting position. Eek! She went around to the passenger side and got him down. Our eyes met and I loved him immediately.

It was at this point I lost all sense of decorum and procedure. I handed our heroic rescuer the agreed upon, reasonable, rehoming fee in a wadded ball of cash before she could change her mind. She smiled at me and she TOOK it. There. Transaction complete lady! No turning back now. It took everything I had not to grab the leash out of her hand and bolt for the open truck door. I calmed myself. Breathe. Just breathe.

He began to play with Sierra and Winston. There was no fighting, no barking, nothing. All three of them just trotting around the ball field in a little Corgi conga line. You know how people talk about their "hearts melting"? YES. THAT. It was beyond my control. I was helpless. Completely lost in the thought of what this little fur angel had been through. How tough his life must've been up until this point. Up until RIGHT NOW. This little handsome meatball had just won the fucking lottery of Corgi loving idiot families and he didn't even know it. Yet.

So that's it. That's my story. Or should I say HIS story. History...hmm. He is called Theodore Maximus. As in, "All hail His Grace, Theodore Maximus. "First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

Or "Teddy Bear" for short. Double eek.

HRH in the middle

We brought him home and here we sit. I should point out that the first thing he did, his official first act as king, was to lift his leg on my 7 ft. inflatable Santa. Yup. He peed on Santa. If that's not a commentary on whom and what the true reason for the season is, well then I don't know what is. Whether he was brought here by fate, or divine providence or whatever you want to call it, all that matters now is that he's here. Let the royal spoiling commence!