He’s long and low.

He has deceptive power and speed.

He’s 35 pounds of relentless personality.

He’s our Big Lug.

Introducing Jamie, a four-year-old Pembroke Welsh Corgi.

Most dog owners love their animals and are quick to describe everything that makes their canine companion unique and amazing. And why not? Most dogs definitely have their own unique and fascinating characteristics.

At the risk of sounding like I’m exaggerating, I’m here to tell you that Jamie takes unique and fascinating to the next level. At very least, there have in history been few sillier representatives of the canine species than Jamie.

I realize he hasn’t cornered the silly market, but he’s definitely a major share-holder. He’s like silly on steroids.

Doug Davison

When my daughter and I first saw him at an animal shelter in Oceanside, Calif., we knew there was something more to him than the average dog. When I went back to rescue him a couple of days later, it was as if he had always been our dog. He got in the car like he felt he belonged there and looked at me as if to ask “so, what’s for dinner tonight?”

He made a completely seamless transition from shelter castoff to comfortable pet. But we had to do something about that name on his papers: Carlo. No way – his name is Jamie.

Now that he has been a resident of Texas County for a few years, we’ve had ample opportunity to observe all of his behavioral patterns. What a character.

He speaks (OK, barks) in a deep, throaty baritone and when he wants to, he can make walls shake, apples fall from trees and cats run in 10 directions at once.

If Jamie spoke English, we’re pretty sure he would do so in sort of a low-key manner with a slightly high-pitched tone, laced with a bit of Forrest-Gump like drawl and a very minor lisp.

“Hey y’all. What ya doin’? Just let me know if there’s anything you need help eating. I won’t mind.” Sometimes he asks questions. It sounds almost like Tim Allen (the Home Improvement guy) joking about the cave man characteristics of men – “uuuhhh?” And when he speaks in a quieter tone, he’ll at times clearly put an “f” on his “woof.”

There’s a lot of power in Jamie’s wide shoulders. He’s shaped like a horizontal version of that Disney character Mr. Incredible; like a wedge with four legs.

If he played in the CFL (Canine Football League), I’m pretty sure he’d be a linebacker. If he were a weapon, he’d be a battering ram – or maybe a torpedo.

He’s like a land manatee with a turbo engine. Like a small walrus with racing fuel powered legs.

Jamie’s thick build definitely belies his mobility. The Big Lug can motor big-time for short distances and has truly perfected the “drop ‘n’ roll” move. When he’s having a running battle with another dog, he can get out of trouble almost like an F-18 pilot, rolling on the ground at full speed and popping up moving in a different direction, without so much as missing a step.

Perhaps one of his most notable and unique traits is that he is 100 percent omnivorous. Most dogs seem to agree that acceptable forms of human food include almost exclusively meaty and starchy fare, and being attracted to fruits and vegetables is more or less against species policy.

Jamie doesn’t adhere to policy. If it qualifies as food, he’s interested.

Raw broccoli stems, romaine lettuce, dill pickles, olives, squash, tomatoes, lima beans – it’s all yummy. And apples – “oh my, now those ARE good.”

Jamie’s so tuned into edible enjoyment that he can “hear” food, let alone smell it. He, of course, knows all the standard sounds of potential dining opportunities, like a can being opened or crunchies piling up in his bowl. But his keen sense of food sound goes way beyond that. His big ears perk up and he slowly walks into the room when my wife unscrews the top from a plastic container of nuts (he likes them all, but pecans are his favorite). He could be napping at the far end of the house, but if someone in the kitchen opens a zip-lock bag of cheddar cheese or pops the lid off of a container of leftover cole slaw, the telltale click-click-click sound of his claws making contact with the hardwood floor inevitably follows as Jamie gravitates toward the source of the food-related sounds in his own unhurried manner.

He knows the sound of cabbage being diced, carrots being sliced, and he quickly connects with the rustling of a bag of chips. Pretty much any time he hears food, he’s on it, pronto.

And speaking of ears, Jamie’s are basically huge, and at times seem motorized. They can move independently, almost like a chameleon’s eyes.

Reach down to pet him and his ears automatically go back against his head as if to offer your hand a smooth surface on which to slide. They’ll lie to the side when he’s relaxed, but at the sound of a pretzel being munched they’re immediately straight up.

Jamie sometimes acts like a bulldozer, and my wife even calls him that at times. If he thinks the ottoman is taking up too much space on the living room floor, he just lowers his head, leads with his shoulder (he seems to prefer his left side) and moves it.

One of his favorite positions when he’s chilling out is on his back, paws to the sky. And it works – he has plenty of back on which to lie.

Sometimes having Jamie around is like having a real-life cartoon. When he gets excited about going outside or is just generally acting silly in the living room, he’ll start to run, but it sometimes takes him a moment to get traction on the smooth hardwood floor and he ends up running in place just like Fred Flintstone or Yogi Bear. He’s also not a great judge of how soon to put on the brakes, and his momentum sometimes carries him right into furniture or walls.

Jamie has few fears. He’ll herd cows, bark fearlessly at unknown sounds coming from the woods at night, and lift his left upper lip at the biggest of canine rivals.

But he absolutely and unequivocally cannot stand thunder, and barks at all of the bigger booms.

“I don’t know what that sound is, but I just know it’s a baaaad thing.”

People seem to enjoy meeting Jamie and they love the feel of his thick coat of fur. That’s a win-win deal, because the Big Lug thoroughly enjoys them enjoying it.

A friend and his girlfriend were visiting our house a couple of years ago and the lady seemed fascinated by observing Jamie as he went through his routine. Finally, she just sort of blurted out the statement “full-size dog, little legs.”

I would add full-size silly and big-time funny.

That’s Jamie.

Look for a new addition soon to run every so often in the Herald. Jamie and I are going to do a new column together called “Doug and Jamie; Journeys in the Jillikins of a Dog and His Best Friend.”

We’ll travel places and I’ll write about our outings.

We might go to northern Arkansas, a Missouri state park or two, the national foxtrotter event in Ava, or down the road to a mile-away neighbor’s house, but we’ll always come back with a recap featuring snippets of both the human and Corgi perspective.

This was mainly Jamie’s idea and he’s really looking forward to it. I’ve given it plenty of thought since he brought it up, and I’m also thinking it should be pretty sweet.

This might not work with the average mutt at the end of the leash, but with the Big Lug at the helm it should at very least be worth a paragraph or two. And knowing Jamie, he’ll probably have plenty to say.

Should be interesting.

Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald.  Email:  ddavison@houstonherald.com.

Jamie and his sidekick Doug Davison.

Jamie exhibiting his classic Corgi look.

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