Fritz is my adorable french bulldog. OK, actually, he's my husband's. But I love him so I claim him. Even though he is so gross compared to my perfect, rock-star-esque pug named Pippa (we hate that Middleton chick; she stole Pippa's name).
Fritz likes to pick fights with dogs that are bigger than him. He's a complete embarrassment in public. He has to walk in front of Pippa, because otherwise he can't stop lunging for her legs.
He RUNS to get under the covers at night. And the first thing he does when emerging is burp.
He is the gassiest critter. I remember reading that characteristic in a book about frenchies but thought, oh, those people just don't feed nice food. Nope.
I've been sick the last few days. It's not unusual for Pippa to stay right beside me - that's where she always is. Fritz has been velcro'd to my side. I think he's happy I'm sick.
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