Hi, I’m Dr. Karyn! Read my introduction to learn more about me and my five funny dogs, Poppy, Bailey, Kodah, Ned, and Fred.

One of my (many, many) favorite things about my teeny, tiny Chihuahua, Ned, is how helpless he is. Having grown up with cats, and previously lived with larger, more independent – but still affectionate – dogs, I’ve never truly experienced the feeling of being completely indispensable, apart from at meal times, of course! But when Ned entered my life, I learned what it must feel like to have an infant child (without the dirty nappies and crying). There are so many things that Ned needs and demands help with. Some that he can do if I’m not around, and others he really struggles with.

One of Ned’s daily struggles is jumping up on the sofa. Now, he can get up there on his own, and if there is the slightest possibility that he will get to eat something, he somehow manages to launch himself up without a moment’s hesitation. Without the motivation of food, Ned suddenly reverts to a helpless, pathetic state, turning his begging eyes and tragic sounds to one of his human slaves until we dutifully help him up. Only to have him jump back down after 2 minutes.

Ned the Cautious

Ned is a cautious jumper, usually considering his method and trajectory carefully when ascending or descending, unless he is blinded by the thought of food, that is. To reach the lofty heights of our bed, he uses a box I have kindly provided to get up and down, but even then, he will ask for help if the pillows and blankets are not optimally positioned to aid his ascent. By comparison, Fred has a more free-spirited ‘jump first, think later’ approach to life. Although he needs the box to get onto the bed, he disembarks by simply launching himself from whichever edge is closest. He has a similar approach to the sofa, which has occasionally resulted in a failed launch that sends him bouncing off the edge of the seat and sprawling on the floor with a surprised look on his face. For better or worse, the idea that a jump might not succeed does not seem to enter Fred’s mind, unlike Ned, the cautious overthinker.

Based on the rocking back and forth as he prepares for launch, it is clear that Ned is worried about falling embarrassingly to the ground if he doesn’t manage to stick the landing. Recently, I was surprised when, rather than aiming for the large target of the sofa cushion, Ned launched himself through the gap in my crossed legs and up into my lap. How could jumping into this narrow tunnel be preferable to jumping on a clear patch of chair?

Ned’s Workaround

Like most things about him, Ned’s paws are tiny. Although his claws grow quicker than either of us would like, they don’t afford him much grip, nor do his itty bitty toes. So when he jumps onto the smooth surface of the sofa, there is nothing to grip onto. When he jumps into the tunnel created by my legs, his body is surrounded, giving him stability and security on his journey upwards. Since discovering this little trick, it has become his favored approach, meaning I have to make sure I keep my legs in the appropriate position. Which, given the reward of a snuggly Ned on my lap, is a demand I am more than happy to accommodate.

Chihuahuas: they may seem about as far removed from their stealthy and strategic wolf brethren as a Persian cat is from a Tiger, but their ability to problem solve and get what they want shows that there is plenty of intelligence in those big heads of theirs.