Phwew. The dog. He changed. When he got here, he was all submissive and quiet and laid down every time you petted him.
Don't get me wrong. He's still sweet. He's still adorable. And he's helping me to keep my house clean. And he's breaking us of our "drop our socks on the floor wherever we are" habit. Ahem.
Because he eats things on the floor. Whatever they may be. And he can climb on top of the patio table. And he does. And when he's supposed to go in his crate at night, he'll roll over on his back and make it impossible to pick him up and put him in his crate. But once he's there, he just lays down and goes to sleep.
And in the morning, there's not getting up and lounging around. No way. One must play ball to get all the dog's wiggles out. Because otherwise you will find a dog jumping like a jumping bean in your kitchen. And I'm not getting any time to sit around any other time of the day, because he demands to be played with and petted when it looks like I'm not doing anything productive.
And Maggie? The old dog? She's coming around. She might actually like him, except for the annoying little brother aspect of him. They've come around enough where they follow each other around most of the time. Until he starts licking her ears and trying to get her to play with him by nipping at her. Which usually she throws her nose up in the air and walks the other way. Sometimes she'll play. Sometimes she'll tell him to go AWAY. But I think, in the end, they're friends. She certainly came around WAY faster than I thought she would. Thank goodness.