It Was Between Trixie Belden and Honey Wheeler

And we chose Trixie, since there are a lot of dogs out there named Honey (true fans of those old mysteries will know the origin of both names, however). Our newest family member is obviously mostly Pitt Bull, a breed I happen to adore (nothing says “pinch me” like the muscular thighs of a Pitt Bull). According to the shelter, she is part German Shepherd, but frankly, they’ll say anything to get you to take a dog, so they always bill the Pitts as being of mixed heritage. They also said that she was very quiet at night, and very shy, and that she was eight weeks, no, no, sixteen weeks, no, eight or ten weeks old. She’s a puppy, ma’am, okay?

She’s darn cute, is what she is:

  

And one to demonstrate that I like my dogs big:

 

 

That smallest of the fries is no small kid himself–often ranking with the second graders instead of the kindergarteners, if that gives you an idea.

We adopted Miss Trixie on Thursday, but couldn’t take her home until she had been spayed, which happened Friday night or Saturday morning. We brought her home Saturday afternoon (yesterday), and she’s adjusting to the new digs pretty well. The older dogs hate, hate, hate her, but do so quietly and to themselves, as they know perfectly well who’s in charge. The Chihuahua is indignant that the puppy (who is bigger than he is) thinks he’s her age and wants to -gasp- play with him. He is full of wounded pride, thoroughly insulted by her attempts to spring upon him.

At this point she seems to have decided that I am her mommy and she is my shadow, so that no matter where I go, there she is. She understands the dog door, has gone potty outside several times, and slept all night in her crate. Sadly, she was very quiet when, during the night, she had tremendous diarrhea, which resulted in quite the festive morning. I’ll be setting an alarm to get her up during the night, thanks very much. She has yet to bark, which we like, and when she is having crate time she howls, which we think is hilarious (that may change if she decides to sing all night, but last night, as long as she knew I was nearby, she was quiet–far too quiet, as it turned out). She has learned, TWICE, that if she tries to chew the bars on the crate, her nose gets stuck. It hurt. Both times.

She’s not a watch dog yet, of course, but I picked her in large part because when I walk her as a full grown dog, she will send a “Men Making Kissy Noises Will Be Eaten” sort of message. I like that message. A lot.