Fritz
Fritz is a small overweight orange mutt with a deep and abiding love of hotdogs. He’s our middle dog and the one who is—to put it kindly—the least smart. When we first got Fritz I watched with concern as he’d jump onto chairs, miss the seat, and go falling off the other side. Repeatedly. Poor thing, I thought. He must have a vision problem.
Then I took him for his post-adoption physical.
“Perfectly healthy,” the vet said as we both watched him nearly fall off the exam table. She looked at me with significance. “There’s nothing wrong with his sight.”
Was the vet insinuating that my dog was—gasp!—dumb? Surely not! Just because he’d been known to eat tin foil, just because he was deathly afraid of thunder, the vacuum, and loud trucks, just because he ran into walls once or twice a day—surely this was not a reason to label him dumb.
And, hey, anyone could’ve gotten their head stuck under the bookcase while looking for a ball that was right behind them. Anyone. |
