On canine regency
As I trudge through past LJ entries updating tags, I cannot resist the urge to comment on the absurdity of comparing the apparent perceptions of the humorless assholes who hampered my mother's early attempts at dog adoption with the reality that is the puppy's life
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Well, the trick there is that she was using that argument to support adopting a purebreed, where we had a chance of predicting the final size of the dog. Instead, she ended up (as we always do) with a mutt, which of course brings with it a greater degree of unpredictability in final dog sizing seeing how no one even knows what breed(s) Chloe's father was.
In the end, she's probably larger than is ideal for the purposes of picking up, however, she is, despite any pictures you have seen, reasonably small. She is actually on the large end of small, according to whatever inch-high-shoulder-measurement is used when going to agility tryouts. She is small enough that she can sit in someone's lap, though it may be slightly less comfortable than is ideal.
I don't know her actual weight but I can get it for you. It is reasonable for anyone (other than an old woman with a bad back) to pick her up.
Regardless, my mother's fantasies of having "a therapy dog" (that sits in the laps of the elderly and retarded to make their last moments less grueling) pretty quickly migrated into having "an agility dog" (that wins ribbons for being able to navigate obstacle courses). So no harm, no foul.
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