It's a good thing it looks like Dexter has been adopted because he's getting entirely too big for his little
Someone who has other chihuahuas wants to adopt him, but Ashley wants to make sure that first he has gone a month without recurrence of his Demodex and that the family make an appointment with their vet to discuss his (hopefully cured) skin condition. She wants to wait until after Christmas before releasing him. But it's a good thing his departure is in the foreseeable future.
He has become too comfortable here and he is starting to rule the roost. Lizzie and Sheila are better at ignoring him than I am, I fear.
He's got the schedule--his schedule--down to a science and when things don't go according to his timetable, he lets you know. He'll sleep a long time in the cage where he's made a bed for himself, but when he's had enough of sleeping alone and wants a lap he stands outside my office door and barks. And barks. And barks. I almost always get up, sit in the recliner, and put him in my lap for awhile.
A spoonful of sugar may help the medicine go down for kids, but with Dexter (as with the other dogs) it's peanutbutter. I let him have a bit of peanut butter after he takes his liquid medicine so whenever I'm in the kitchen he starts barking and leaping at the counter (which is pretty silly since it would take a miracle for him to make it halfway up the cabinet, let alone all the way to the counter). So that's when I give him his medicine. Ivermectin with a peanut butter chaser.
He has to check the dishwasher for stray bits of food.
It's when I climb into the recliner that he really takes over. I am not permitted to sit in the recliner alone. He must be with me. First he tries to look cute.
Then he begins to get more insistent.
Finally I lift him up to the recliner, grabbing his body with my legs.
As soon as he gets into my lap he immediately grabs my hand with his long nails and I still haven't figured out exactly what he's trying to do, but we have a long disagreement about the pain factor, as he seems to be trying to dig a hole in my hand.
Then he begins licking the fabric of my pants or my shirt or whatever he can get hold of until he finally tires of that, buries his head in my shirt and goes to sleep.
If I get up to do something frivolous like going to the bathroom or loading the dishwasher, he burrows into my chair and woe to me if I challenge him to get my place back.
It's a good thing he's cute.
We're taking him to Santa Barbara with us, rather than try to find him a short-term foster home. He's so little he shouldn't be a problem (and since he prefers to be plastered to my body than anywhere else, it should be easy to keep track of him!). I'm going to buy him a Christmas sweater to wear. I don't like dressing dogs, but with his fur not completely grown in, he gets very cold and he really need to wear a sweater--so he might as well wear a holiday one.
"Yeah, I'm in charge--wanna make something of it?"