I am looking at tiny houses for sale, and my heart quickens a little each time I see something in Wisconsin, ready to move, wheels attached. Heave-ho!
I keep thinking how cute Tiny Dog would be in a tiny house. We just couldn’t have a loft—this would cause chihua despair over non-accessibility.
I can’t help but think the chihuas are whispering in my ear when I sleep: itty bitty house, teeny weeny house-lette, eeny meeny abode… I think it’s part of the Chihuahua Plans for World Domination.
|This is Tiny Dog's Mini Me, made by vet student friend, Nora. I have a collection of photos of dog with food in NYC.|
The CPWD is still hazy due to a lack of clear and open communication. But one thing is for sure:
#1: Get many humans to carry you around all day.
This is proving to be true at work. The clinic has three doctors, six techs, and a bookkeeper. That makes 10 sets of arms, ready and waiting to carry Tiny Dog. At. Any. Time.
She has gotten sassy and bored in her cage during the workday. I try to keep her in there, so she won’t get stepped on, and so that she gets her full princess naps. But with the start of allergy season and my finally buckling under to her itching with low-dose steroids, she has become sad, lonely and demonstrative. Not outright barking, but this insistent, lower-pitched mumble of dissatisfaction.
And so we come over, open the cage door and she jumps in your arms. I often find one of the techs or occasionally my boss walking around with Tiny Dog. Those big ears and eyes centered on me, chihua-radar.
|My mother sent this soft dog bed, that the three adore. George chewed out the sleeping bag's zipper, so now she owns it.|
There will be likely other CPWD insights that will unfold, as discovered. But for now, I have to go zip through that house website and imagine a patch of woods, a night sky full of stars above, and a cozy dog bed packed, inside the small house, with a trio of chihuas.