Times Norman The Corona Corgi

By Scottie Knollin

When a call for dog fosterparenthood reached Scottie Knollin's ears, he answered with enthusiasm. Warming Knollin's heart and lap, fostering soon turned into adoption as Norman the corgi filled this Fargo man's need for quarantine companionship.

Maybe it was the way he curled up just so under my chair while I worked that first day I brought him home. Or, maybe it was how a supposedly quick walk to Island Park turned into a two-hour lunch break because he had to sniff every single tree. Or, maybe it was when he finally felt comfortable enough to roll over on his back and snore through an entire movie.

Like many people, the second week of March introduced a new way of life. When I wasn’t talking about the pandemic with coworkers, I was reading and watching about it. When I wasn’t glued to my computer, television or phone, I was making plans to either isolate alone in my Fargo apartment or pack up and head South to be with family. Summer in Atlanta wasn’t really something I’d been hoping for (if the virus didn’t kill me, the humidity might), but if it was the end of the world, I’m sure my mom would rather I be a little closer to home.

As that first week of working-from-home came to an end and I knew I had a decision to make, I did what anyone else would do in my situation. I spent the evening scrolling through each social media app. Newsfeed after newsfeed was full of jokes about toilet paper, posts with opinions of every political flavor, and the occasional smile of a kid or dog. In a moment that I’m still determining was purposeful or emotional, a post from a friend about dogs in need of fosters struck a chord.

His short stature was exactly what you’d expect. His face exuded confidence and curiosity. It was in the late-night moment when I knew I had to meet him. Norman, the corgi. It was love at first pixelated sight.

Introducing him to his new life was pretty standard. He explored my one-bedroom apartment. He pulled and tugged the entire way down Broadway, smelling smells and hearing sounds he’d never before encountered. We met a neighbor dog. He marked lots of territories, including the couch in the living room and the closet door in the bedroom. He fell asleep with his head on my leg, perking up every so often to noise from an adjoining unit or the street. By our second day, he’d learned which elevator door opened in the direction of the outside world and which door in the hallway led to his water bowl and the treats.

It didn’t take long before Norman knew his way around Fargo. If I told him we were going to the park, he knew we’d head left once we got outside. If we were just doing a quick bathroom break, he knew his target was the flower bed by 46 North. If it was his first walk of the day, he got excited to say hello to the security guard in the lobby who never seemed as excited to see him, but still shared a little smile. If it was the last walk of the day, he’d try to get me to let him walk near the tree down the street where a family of birds was always chirping.

In the four months since he’s gone from foster dog to adopted dog, he’s become adjusted to a new routine at the same time I, too, have adjusted to a new routine. We sense each other’s ticks and the looks in each other’s eyes to communicate certain things, like time to go for a walk or time to go to bed. He still has to check behind the shower curtain at least three times each morning to make sure I haven’t disappeared while bathing. He licks my legs once I’ve gotten out of the shower, perhaps hoping it will speed up my morning routine so we can go for another stroll before I turn on my computer. He’s learned how to roll the windows down in the car and will defiantly do so despite the weather. He gets embarrassed by the raincoat I bought him as a joke when I went through my pandemic-online-shopping phase. I continue to make him wear it when it rains because it’s disgustingly cute. It’s the kind of cute that makes you sick.

Work calls have become more entertaining having him around. The tip-tap of his feet as he zooms from wall to wall, room to room, has become a soundtrack to every virtual conversation. One of his favorite things to do is to hop in my lap and tilt his head back and forth as coworkers call his name in their highpitched dog-and-baby-friendly voices.

He’s learned who my friends are, succinctly inching his way into friend territory every chance he gets. Even with their masks on, he can sense their happiness as we run into familiar people at Youngblood or the Red River Market. We’ve both become great at spotting a smiling, masked face in Roberts Alley of someone hoping to get the chance to greet him. I can see his ears perk up when we pass a group of kids whispering to each other before one of them politely asks if they can give him a pet. Which, of course, he relents to before I can even nod yes. I can also tell how his pace significantly slows down as we approach Scoop N Dough as if he’s hoping this will be the time we actually go inside.

Like many, I’m still unsure what each day will look like. Did I buy enough groceries? Should I get tested again? Did I remember to wash my hands? Where did I put my mask? Should I feel guilty for having an unproductive day?

I still have moments, mostly in the evenings, when I contemplate whether I’ve made the right decision to stay here and battle the isolation or if I should have gone back home to Atlanta. For this corgi, though, he is home and I can’t imagine he’d pick any other place in which to be stuck. For this corgi, the word "pandemic" means nothing. For this corgi, he’s found his family, even if it’s just a guy who keeps his apartment too cold, drinks too much coffee, never shares enough little bites of human food, stays up too late watching movies, and takes too long between the moment the word “outside” is said and when we are actually going outside. For this corgi, the past two years of being passed from family to family had to have been rough and the emotional scars make an appearance from time to time, but at least it led him to the couch on which he’s currently laying at this very moment, on his back, stuffed alligator within reach, snoring. For this corgi, he’s never known a better life.

And, for this human, the feelings are mutual.

Welcome home, Norman.