Baby Fritzy and the Christmas Slippers

I gave my husband a new pair of slippers for Christmas to replace the warm wonderful sheepskin slippers my sister's family had given him on a previous Christmas.  Those slippers had cocooned and warmed his cold feet until Baby Fritzy had chewed them to smithereens, hence the need for new slippers.

My dearly beloved whined about his cold feet.  At which time I lovingly reminded him that had he put his slippers up out of "Her" reach he would still be enjoying the warmth and comfort of his slippers.  He would give me wonderful impersonations of the warm and heartfelt emotions that grace basset hounds and their more jubilant cousins the blood hounds.

So I set about choosing a new pair of slippers to warm his "tootsies".  Since Fritzy has a leather fetish, I rejected all slippers made with this material.  I selected a pair of isotoner slippers made with black corduroy fabric, plush cushioning, and fuzzy fake fur lining.  I chose slip-ons for added comfort.

I had hid the present until Christmas Eve – because he tends to sniff out the contents much too easily.  On our way out to spend Christmas Eve with family I handed him his package. He held it, examined it, shook the box. Then cheerily announced they were slippers. I harrumphed and put the package up after securing Fritzy in the crate.

When we returned home Dan opened his package and donned his pair of slippers.  They warmed his toes and gave him great delight.  He took off his slippers before heading for a soak in the tub.  I was busy in another room.  Looking over my shoulder Sammi was on the love seat, Max was lying by the heat vent, Lady was at my side and Fritzy was laying in his recliner.

A short term later Dan emerged from the bathroom and we visited in the dining room.  He saucily asked where I was going to put “his” slippers to keep Baby Fritzy from eating them.  I lovingly explained that was “his” responsibility!  I went into the living room – Baby Fritzy was still in the recliner the slippers were still on the floor.  As I picked up the slippers I noticed the heel was wet and missing a small chunk of the fabric.  I looked at my husband and said “To late. She already got them.”

I turned to the dog and in my sternest teacher voice held the slippers up and told Fritzy she was a “Bad Dog”.  I then turned my sites on my husband as the dog jumped down and headed to my husband for protection.  Both she and my husband looked at me with “sad contrite eyes”.

I informed Dan that he needed to scold her for chewing on his slippers.  What I hear was a soft gentle voice say. “Baby if you chew your Momma’s going to get after you.”  

“Ahhgh” I tried explaining that he needed to set boundaries or she will continue to “chew”.  He looked at me with big eyes and responded – “She didn’t mean to r-u-i-n them.  Did you Baby? I just can’t get after her.” 

Fritzy looked up beseechingly next to Dan’s legs.  Seemingly asking “Are we still in the dog house?” 

Dan smiled sheepishly, “She really couldn’t help herself.  She knew it was wrong – but she only nibbled a small piece.  She had time to totally demolish it.”

I do not know which is harder to train - my big teddy bear of a husband – who turns to mush when he is faced with disciplining her or Baby Fritzy our charming rogue with a penchant for chewing?  Do they offer husband training classes?

This morning I looked through the sale ads – there are some great buys on slippers.  I guess I better stock up!

Baby Fritzy - What did you do with the Glove?

There are days when Fritzy does not chew.  Then there was last week.  I came home to find the remains of my hair brush decorating the floor.  I looked at the chunks of plastic pieces and asked Dan, "What did she chew up today?"

"It was only your hair brush."

I explained calmly that if he's not going to supervise her, he'd have to start cleaning up after her.  At this point I'm not sure which one of the juvenile delinquents I most want to throttle.

When I went out on the back porch I found one of Dan's gloves lying on the floor.  It was still intact - just missing it's mate.  I asked Dan, "Where's your gloves?"  He answered that they were in the living room by his chair."  I just smiled and handed him the one I found.

Later I caught her playing with matches. Can arson be far behind?  She had hit Tom's tobacco stash and stolen a book of matches. My little thief didn't stop there.  She took two of his caps.  Moved her plunder outside under a bush in the farthest part of the back yard.  

Yes she has a designated site where she stashes her ill gotten plunder.  I found the remains of the two caps and a dissected box of Almond Roca Cookie Mix, previously sitting on the kitchen table waiting to be made.  Interestingly she didn't open the individual packages, just the outside box.  Did I say she might be ADHD?  She is very easily distracted - thank goodness.  But I did not find the missing glove.

I asked Tom if he had seen the glove in the basement.  He hadn't.  What he did show me was very upsetting.   She had eaten the corners off his pocket bible.  And chewed up his reading glasses.  Leather seems to be her flavor of choice.

For the next day and a half Dan would show Baby Fritzy the glove and asked her what she had done with the other one.  I see you shaking your head - I know you think our household has gone to the dogs.  On second thought you may be right.

Amazingly I found the glove on the back porch by the outside door.  She must have finally remembered where she hid it.  I was glad she returned it no worse for wear. 

I don't know why but it's really hard to stay mad at her.  There's just something about that dog.