Six O'Clock Zoomies in a 32-Square-Metre Apartment

At six in the evening, exactly, a switch is flipped inside my corgi. Moo Ping leaves her bed, takes a corner at speed, jumps over the sleeping pillow, skids on the tiles, and disappears behind the sofa. Three laps, sometimes five. Then she stops by the door and looks at me with her tongue out and an expression that says, "Well? The canal."

Our apartment in Ari is thirty-two square metres, and the building has a no-barking, no-noise rule printed in three languages on the lift. When Moo Ping arrived as a small ball of red and white fluff, I was nervous. I now know that corgis are herding dogs in a very short body, and they need a plan. So we made one.

First, the morning walk is long, along the canal under the trees before it is hot, and she gets her sniffing time. A tired corgi is a quiet corgi. Second, I put a thick yoga mat on the main running path so her paws do not slide and the neighbour below does not hear a tiny thunder. Third, a snuffle mat and a rubber toy filled with a little dried sweet potato for the afternoon, when I am working from home. She loves dried sweet potato from the pet shop on the corner. It is the only thing she will do an indoor puzzle for.

I also learned about her back. Corgis have long spines and short legs, and our vet in Ari said to avoid letting her jump from the sofa all the time and to keep her at a healthy weight. So there is now a small pet ramp by the sofa, and I count her treats. The first week she ignored it. The second week she walked up it with enormous dignity, as if she had designed it herself.

The shedding is another story. In the dry season there is red and white fur in everything, my coffee, my laptop, my sandwich. I brush her every evening for ten minutes and she leans into the brush with her eyes closed. That small ritual is, honestly, the best ten minutes of my day.

At seven we walk the canal together. The monitor lizards stay in the water, the old gentleman on the bench says hello, and Moo Ping trots along like a tiny fox on a very important errand. Then we go home, she crashes on the mat, and the whole apartment goes quiet.