Fourteen Things a Chihuahua Gets Away With

I watched my chihuahua growl at a delivery driver through the front window yesterday and noticed, with mild structural alarm, that I was finding it endearing. If a German Shepherd had produced the same behavior at the same threshold, my response would have been, on any honest accounting, completely different. I want to walk through the household-level double standard, item by item, because I am, on careful examination, guilty of every single one of these and I think most chihuahua households are.

I am writing this column with the full benefit of having been the household I am about to describe. The list is not, in any sense, an endorsement. It is closer to a self-audit.

The fourteen items, in approximate order of household disregard

1. Growling at delivery drivers through the window. A four-pound dog growling at a stranger at the perimeter is, on the household's accounting, "alert work." A 65-pound dog at the same threshold is "a problem we should address."

2. Refusing to walk when it rains. A chihuahua refusing the walk produces, in our household, a brief negotiation followed by a reschedule to later in the day. A larger dog with the same refusal would produce a different conversation.

3. Selecting a specific cushion as her own. Doris owns the left cushion. The household has accepted this. A larger dog claiming the same cushion would produce a household-level intervention.

4. Demanding to be picked up. A small dog standing at your feet looking up is, on the household's reading, a request. A medium-sized dog doing the same thing is a different request and would, in many cases, be politely declined.

5. Sleeping in the bed. A small chihuahua in the bed is a small chihuahua in the bed. A 70-pound dog in the same bed is, on the household's bed-real-estate accounting, a different question entirely.

6. Eating from the human plate. Doris does not, formally, eat from my plate. She has, in many specific cases, eaten the small piece I left on the edge of my plate "in case she wanted it." A larger dog would not, in any version of this household, have the same edge access.

7. The selective recall. Doris comes when called approximately 80% of the time. A larger dog's 80% recall would, in any reasonable training framework, be considered insufficient and would require additional work. Hers does not.

8. The barking at the doorbell. A specific repeating pattern that lasts approximately ninety seconds and has, in nine years, shown no measurable improvement. A larger dog's ninety-second doorbell bark would, on most household readings, be addressed.

9. The carry through the supermarket parking lot. Some chihuahua households carry the dog from the car to the store, into the store, and back. The dog does not, in any sense, need to be carried. A larger dog, of course, walks.

10. The selective hearing during dinner prep. Doris is profoundly attentive when food is being prepared and substantially less attentive when the dishwasher is running. The selective auditory engagement is, on her accounting, a feature.

11. The 3 a.m. stare. Doris occasionally wakes the household by sitting two inches from my face at 3 a.m. and staring without specific purpose. A larger dog producing the same behavior would produce a different conversation.

12. The "this is a fashion item" outfit. The fleece sweater is functional. The small bow on the collar is not, on examination, functional. A larger dog would not, in this household, wear the small bow.

13. The 4 p.m. demand for the sun spot. Doris has determined that the dining room rug receives optimal afternoon sunlight at 4:32 p.m. and the household is now asked, by some combination of staring and small repositioning, to ensure the spot is unobstructed at that time. A larger dog requesting the same accommodation would produce a different result.

14. The expectation that I will, on a small available margin, write a column about her. Doris is, in some sense, the implicit subject of approximately 40% of the columns I have written in the last three years. A larger dog would not, in honest accounting, produce the same proportion of editorial output.

Why the double standard exists, plainly

The honest reason, on examination, is mostly about consequences. A 65-pound dog growling at a delivery driver could, on the available physics, produce a serious injury if the driver came inside. A four-pound dog producing the same growl produces, on the same physics, a less serious situation. The household's risk assessment is, in this sense, accurate.

The double standard is not, in itself, the problem. The problem is when the household uses the lower-consequence math to skip the behavioral work that would be done at higher-consequence threshold. A separate piece on chihuahua bites covers the case where the consequence math turns out to be wrong; the bite happens, and the household discovers, late, that the behavior was worth addressing earlier.

The sincere paragraph, planted on schedule

I will plant the sincere paragraph here, because the column requires one and because the fourteen items above are, on careful reading, mostly fine and a few of them are not. The fine ones (the cushion, the bed, the carry through the parking lot) are household-level accommodations that come with the breed and that produce no observable harm. The not-fine ones (the growling at delivery drivers, the doorbell bark, the selective recall) are behaviors I have, by accepting the lower-consequence math, declined to address. Doris is, on most measures, fine. She would, on the available training literature, be even more fine if I had run the protocols on items 1, 7, and 8 a few years ago. A separate piece on training tips covers what those protocols would look like; a related piece covers the household-authority drift.

I am, on the available evidence, planning to address items 1, 7, and 8 starting next week. The other eleven items are, in my view, structural features of the household I have, with my chihuahua, built. The cushion is hers. The bed is hers. The 4 p.m. sun spot is, on her accounting, also hers. The household, on the available evidence, runs.

The end of the column, briefly

If you are reading this and recognize a number of the items in your own household, the relevant question is not whether to feel guilty about the double standard. The relevant question is which of the items have downstream behavioral consequences worth addressing and which are, on examination, fine. The cushion is fine. The growl at the delivery driver is, on careful reading, a behavior worth addressing. The math is item-by-item.

Doris, as I write this, is on the left cushion. The 4 p.m. sun spot is currently empty but will not be in twenty minutes. The system, on the available evidence, runs. The AVSAB position statements cover the underlying behavioral logic for the items that warrant intervention; the cushion is in a different category and is, on every available reading, structural.