Corgis are magic. You couldn’t convince me otherwise.
They are tiny, ridiculous puffs of energy – all heart and floof. And they are bright. Incredibly so. Minnie gently waited, nosed, and hung around our autistic son for a WHOLE YEAR, before he reciprocated. She didn’t give up; she won him over and now they’re thick as thieves.
Of course, now my boy is OBSESSED with her. If she’s away on a walk, he asks for her. When we’re driving to school, he talks about her. In that breathy moment, before he goes to sleep, he whispers her name.
She loves the attention and bosses him around, like the firecracker she is. Checks him with gentle nips when he’s too much in her space; smothers him with puppy kisses when he comes back from school. They scamper around the house and bounce on beds, the air thick with little-boy squeals and pitter-pattering paws.
“Minnie, can you play with me?”
“Bork Bork!”
” Minnie, can you lick me?”
“Shlop Shlop!”
“Minnie can you cuddle on the bed?”
He talks with her, argues with her, not knowing and not caring that she may not always understand. In his eyes, she’s everything, and if that isn’t pure, inclusive love, I don’t know what is.
A year ago, before she arrived, our life was so much darker. She nurtures him with his big feelings, his anxiety and probably a dozen things we don’t even realize he’s battling.
In conclusion?
Corgis are magic. Just ask my little boy.
