Fritz was met with mixed reviews back at my house. Max, our eighty-pound big black dog, sat on Fritz a couple of times to establish his dominance and after that was cool. Pickle, the sixteen-pound (she needs to diet) rat terrier, figured she had another subject to rule over, so she was pretty happy. My kids thought Fritz was cute, but kind of whiny. And my husband thought Fritz was very whiny. In fact, he took to calling Fritz a panty-waist and Mama's boy.
And then we had our first thunderstorm.
My other dogs could care less if it's thundering outside. Fritz, it turned out, was terrified of thunder. He trembled all over and hid. And the one place in all the house that Fritz, that not-too-bright dog, figured he was safe was under my husband's chair. That's right, the man who called him a panty-waist was going to save him from a lightning bolt.
It's been a couple of years since Fritz joined our family. My husband doesn't call him a panty-waist anymore. The other day I nearly tripped over Fritz. He was standing directly behind my husband gazing up at him worshipfully as hubby got a glass of water in the kitchen.
Hubby turned and caught me scowling down at Fritz. Hubby got a insufferably smug expression on his face. "I think he likes me."
And then he left the kitchen . . . trailed by Fritz.