Who Has Known the Mind of the Corgi, and Who Has Been Her Counselor? (Act Three)

In my second-act posting about the unfathomable mind of the corgi, I told you about Valentine's newly developed fetish for attacking--and soundly trouncing--plants.  I reported that his enemies of the Kingdom of Flora and Fauna have included the following (outside our garden, which is now thoroughly trounced):

1. A freshly planted shrub in a garden up the hill from us, en route to the park, which he uprooted one day in a fierce lunge (and which we shamefacedly replanted); 

2. Several old roses overhanging a stone wall on the street to the park: 

3. Strands of ivy overhanging that same stone wall; 

4. Clumps of dried pampas grass in the next garden after the house with roses and ivy on its wall.

And now I regret to inform you that we discover the range of his garden destruction is increasing.  He continues to lunge for the shrub he previously uprooted (and for anything he can reach in that particular beautifully maintained garden).  But we have now developed the smarts to anticipate the feints and to curtail the range of his leash.

We can't so easily prevent the attacks on the roses, ivy, and pampas grass, since these are all right along the sidewalk we have to use to reach the park.  Said attacks continue, and continued right through our walk today, always with growls and yelps accompanying the pounce-shake-snap process.

And now there's this:

1. On the way back from the park to our house, we have realized in the past week, he quickly attacks an azalea bush along the sidewalk. 

2. And a forsythia. 

3. And a small tree I can't identify, since its leaves have fallen, which has a beautiful  weeping shape and overhangs the sidewalk (correction: it had a right pretty weeping shape until Valentine began clipping bits of it each time he passes it on our daily walks). 

4. A row of boxwood. 

5.  A row of hedge (which, for us, means Ligustrum vulgare and is everywhere in Little Rock, along fence lines and walls).

All of these are now suffering from his quick predations as we take the three dogs for their daily walk, at points on the walk where he can easily reach them as he passes by.  It's impossible to stop him from the predations, short of walking him in the street, because we can't anticipate what he'll decide to attack and clip on any given day.

It appears to give him great pleasure, a perceptibly smug sense of absolute triumph, to clip his plant-enemies as we walk.  For us, it brings great shame.

And the kinds of questions I know for certain my mother asked on more than one occasion as my brothers and I grew up: how on earth did we manage to raise such an ungovernable and shame-making child?  

The picture: me in the park today--a foggy cool winter day for us here.  Steve snapped it on his cell phone.