Ay, Perrito

While we're celebrating milestones, Perrito is now a hearty, 45-pound six-month old. He can walk on-lead without eating his leash and he sits like a champion. As you can see, he is happiest demolishing rawhide bones and plotting for that glorious day in the offing when he outweighs Dogzilla and can have all the rawhides for himself.

I learned yesterday that the small scabby area on his back that we'd thought was from horseplay with Dogzilla is actually demodectic mange. Caramba. I'd ignorantly assumed mange was a disease of filth and neglect. Turns out there's an assortment of manges, and this kind has an autoimmune component. The vet thinks P's neuter surgery last month may have been enough of a stressor to spark this outbreak.

With luck, a month or two of treatment will clear it up. If not, I'll just knit him a tiny toupee made from yarn spun from his own molted fur. I swear I will. Look at that face.