Come gather round to speak of things,
Of dogs that walk on stubby springs.
A sturdy loaf of golden bread,
With radar ears upon its head.
A silhouette of strange design,
That defies the normal canine line.
The Corgi is our topic now,
The dog that bosses every cow.
A paradox of fluff and zest,
The paradox we love the best.

To start, we look at ancient words,
Before they herded flustered herds.
The Welshmen gave the breed its tag,
Within the valleys and the crag.
For “Cor” means dwarf, a tiny size,
A fact the Corgi will despise.
And “Gi” translates simply to dog,
Found deep within the morning fog.
So “Dwarf-Dog” is the literal name,
Though they possess a giant’s flame.
They think they stand at seven feet,
While tripping folks upon the street.

Now listen close and take good care,
To spot the difference in the hair.
For Corgis come in versions two,
A fact that’s known by very few.
Two tribes divided by the hills,
With different looks and different skills.

The Cardigan is old and tough,
With heavy bone and rugged stuff.
Three thousand years they’ve walked the land,
A Celtic dog, distinct and grand.
From Ceredigion they came,
Before the Romans knew the name.
Kin to the Dachshund, long and low,
With crooked legs that steal the show.
Their ears are rounded at the tip,
Like sails upon a sturdy ship.
But here is how you tell the tale:
The Cardigan keeps a sweeping tail.
Like foxes brushing on the floor,
They guard the farm and guard the door.
In brindle stripes or merle of blue,
The ancient brother, deep and true.

The Pembroke is the younger sort,
Who holds the Queen’s own royal court.
Arriving later on the boat,
With Flemish weavers and their goat.
Or Vikings brought the Spitz’s gene,
To make the dog we see onscreen.
From Pembrokeshire, the flat terrain,
They herd the geese in wind and rain.
Their ears are pointed, sharp and high,
Alert to pies that float on by.
A happy face, a foxy nose,
And fluffy pants where tail bone goes.
For Pembrokes have a tail that’s broke,
Or docked away by country folk.
A nubbin wiggling in the air,
Is how you know the Pembroke there.

**The Saddle of the Fae**

The science books are dry and cold,
So let the fairy tale be told.
The Welsh believe this dog was born,
To wake the Fae on early morn.
The “Tylwyth Teg” would ride them hard,
Across the mystic forest yard.
They pulled the coaches of the sprites,
Through muddy bogs and starless nights.
Look closely at the Pembroke’s fur,
And see the saddle, if you prefer.
A darker patch behind the neck,
A magic spot for you to check.
It marks the seat where fairies rode,
Before the Corgi bore a load.
The white marks on the collar bone?
The harness lines the elves would own.

But magic aside, they work for pay,
Or did back in the ancient day.
They are the “Heelers” of the farm,
Protecting herds from thief and harm.
A cow is big and likes to kick,
But Corgis possess a special trick.
They bite the heel and drop down low,
So hooves fly over like a show.
A pancake dog upon the grass,
They let the angry cattle pass.
The hoof goes swishing through the air,
Because the Corgi isn’t there.
He’s flattened out against the ground,
The smartest tactic to be found.
Then pops back up to nip again,
To drive the beast into the pen.
Endurance in a tiny suit,
A working dog, and not just cute.

They might have vanished in the past,
Until the Royals made them last.
King George brought Dookie to the hall,
A puppy loved by one and all.
Then Lilibet, the future Queen,
Made Corgis part of every scene.
From Susan came a mighty line,
Who dined on steak and finest wine.
They roamed the halls of Buckingham,
Creating quite a traffic jam.
They tripped the guards and bit the staff,
And gave the stiff-lipped Brits a laugh.
Because of Her, the breed arose,
With popularity in droves.
While Cardigans stayed on the hill,
The Pembroke ate his royal fill.

Now living with them is a chore,
With fur upon the kitchen floor.
“Welsh Glitter” floats in every room,
Immune to every sweep of broom.
They shed their coats in massive clouds,
That cover guests and cover crowds.
A double coat for weather proof,
That ends up sticking to the roof.

And then behold the famous “Sploot,”
A pose that is insanely cute.
Legs stretched behind like chicken wings,
Ignoring how the hip joint springs.
They drag their bellies on the tile,
And look at you with cheeky smile.
It cools them down, it rests the hip,
A truly classic Corgi trip.

**The Fun Police**

They are not quiet, tiny toys,
They bring a massive amount of noise.
A baritone within a chest,
That never gives the ears a rest.
It sounds like German Shepherds bark,
When guarding houses in the dark.
They bark at wind and falling leaves,
And imaginary household thieves.

They are the bosses of the home,
No matter where the children roam.
They herd the kids and herd the cat,
And chase the dust balls on the mat.
The Fun Police are on the beat,
Demanding order and a treat.
For food is what they love the most,
From kibble bits to buttered toast.
A Corgi eyes a fallen crumb,
And solves equations with his thumb.
To get the snack, he’ll learn a trick,
But only if you’re fast and quick.

So raise a glass to legs so short,
To dogs of such a noble sort.
Whether Cardigan with sweeping tail,
Or Pembroke hearty on the trail.
A big dog in a little suit,
Who rules the house with absolute
Authority and fluffy pants,
And leads the happy Corgi dance.
The loaf that reigns within the hall,
The biggest little dog of all.