Wow, I am so eighties. Caleb's growing like a weed. He is also the most stubborn little cuss on the planet. I mean that in the nicest way, because he's a sharp little cookie and I know he'll be one of those dogs who will push and push and suddenly it will all click and he'll be a hundred percent. However, where Simon was 'yes'm, what can I do for you?' from day one, Caleb happily pretends he's deaf. Tonight, I put them out, whistled them in, and he literally turned tail and ran off to give me the Corgi 'f-you, talk to my tail' remark. That did not fly with me at all, and he thought about it again a few minutes ago when he went out... but decided that coming inside might just be a much better idea. Good dog!
So far, it's a battle of wills. I'm willing myself not to eat tender, pudgy Cardigan puppy with roasted garlic, and he's willing to see just how far he can push me before I pop him into the crock pot.
Edit: Of course, now he's totally curled into an adorable ball next to the sofa and offering me his felt bone. Guess it's not Cardigan Stew tonight!