The Art of Living with a Chihuahua

Laramie riding bikes on Middle Bass Island

 I'll admit it's my fault.  My Chihuahua, Laramie, has been ruint* by the way I've pampered her for the last two years.  We adopted her when I was going through a rough spell, and she was very grateful, being a small dog who was discovered wandering down a very wide, noisy highway.

Laramie has different barks for different events, but this morning's was the best bark of all.  She'd been outside twice.  She'd been offered and had several drinks of water.  I'd hand-fed her her share of canned dog food.  (Okay, fine!  I know if I would stop hand-feeding her, she'd no longer be a dog that needs hand-fed, but that's a story for another day.)

The story for today is that she wouldn't settle.  She kept tracking me down and offering short barks.  She wanted something.  I offered dry dog food, and she ran into the living room.  I followed, sat down on the couch, and offered her a few morsels.  She looked toward the kitchen, sat down, looked expectantly at me, and waited.

A moment later, Koko, our yellow Labrador retriever, came into the room and accepted the three pieces of dog food on the palm of my hand. I picked up a few more and offered them to Laramie.

Yes, that's what she was waiting for:  Koko.

So that's what I've created: a prima dogga - but a prima dogga which knows how to share.

*ruint.  origin: deep South.  definition: you might as well forget trying to change her now