We're settling into a routine and Trixie has figured out what our walks are for. She's made it clear that she doesn't do rain, so my mother is searching her fabric stash for the length of water-resistant material that she knows is there. (Anyone who sews or lives with a sewer knows that "She who dies with the most fabric, wins.")
Actually, we've temporarily added another source of laughter to the house. Trixie walks underneath Indy when he stops to drink from the decorative bird-bath stone beside our front walk. He isn't fazed in the least and Trixie doesn't even have to duck. Trixie discovered a faux sheepskin "dog bone" toy that doesn't interest Indy. She rolls onto her back as she hugs and flips it with her feet (she broke the squeaker within the first minute of play).
Her Highness Princess Trixie has staked a claim on my mother and me. She barks and snarls at Indy when she catches me giving him some loves, and chases him away from everything in the house she now considers to be hers.
Quite the education for me in dog breed personalities. Indy learned within a day or two to ring a bell to signal his desire to go outside. Trixie stubbornly refuses to pick up on the signal. Such is the difference between a herding dog bred to work with humans, and a go-to-ground dachshund bred to face a badger alone. :-)