What is it about these lovable rogues which allows people to ridicule them, or to talk about them as if they are some toy-like pooch, the result of an evil breeding program between a dad joke and a foot stool?

The Bushwhacked household is addicted to this remarkable little breed of dog. Indeed, my Dad was even more besotted.

He had about nine or 10 of them – one after the other – and to save confusion, he called them all Cindy.

Of late, I have been publicly pilloried because of my affection for corgis, notably Max and Marly.

It doesn’t seem to matter what I say, or what evidence I present, corgis are Joke-du-Jour.

Now, hopefully for the last time, I present the case for treating these remarkable dogs with more respect.

Yes, they were bred as working cattle and sheep dogs.

Yes, from the British point of view, they were bred mainly in Wales.

There are two varieties, cardigan and pembrokes.

The pemmies are probably better known for their red and white coats, while the cardigans have more variety, from a black-and-white through blue-ish grey to a tiger-striped red colour.

They are intensely loyal. Immensely protective.

They will not let any intruder anywhere near the house without raising hell and sounding like a hunting pack of demented wolves.

There’s a reason for that. They were bred for it.

A major theory is the breed goes back to the Viking ventures to Britain.

The Vikings liked them because they acted like big dogs, but fitted better onto the longboats and did not eat as much as, say, a wolf-hound or a Great Dane.

They share a lot in common with an older breed, Västgötaspets or Swedish cow dog.

I suspect the derision began with the Welsh name for the breed – Corgwn – meaning “dwarf dog”.

The Welsh could have been a bit more respectful; they are little only in the leg department.

For the rest, they are about the size of a kelpie, but heftier.

They are classified as herding dogs of a particular kind, called heelers (like the Queensland blue heeler) because of their brave ability to get cattle going by nipping at their heels and then nimbly dropping to the ground to avoid the inevitable hoof in the snout.

You should see Max and Marly playing with their favourite toy, a tattered old canvas frisbee, and you would never again question their ability to move with astonishing speed, leap with more precision than an AFL full-forward, and to work out in nano-seconds where a high-curving frisbee will be in the next five seconds.

Max is a woolly little bloke who sheds a chaff bag of hair every month, while his half-sister Marly is clearly the apex dog.

She does, however, take full personal responsibility for ear cleanliness of Max and the two cats. She would probably clean the chooks’ heads if they would let her.

Beyond all that, they are the most wonderful companions, full of good cheer, a constant source of good humour and better than an expensive home security system.

So, go on, yuck it up.

What do your get when you connect a corgi to a battery? A short circuit.

Why don’t people tell corgi jokes? Because they’re too short.

What do you name a corgi that can’t stop running? Forrest Stump.

It doesn’t matter. We love them, whatever you say.