My husband, Greg, is a wonderful man, great father and loving husband. We have three boys that are young men now, with my youngest a senior in high school. My husband made sure my boys had a dog to grow up with, Foxy, who was never allowed in the house. According to Greg, dogs were meant to be outdoors. Greg thought having a dog would teach our boys responsibility. That being said, he was the one that would have to get out and clean up after her, take her out to the dog park to run and was constantly making sure she was feed and watered properly. When Foxy died, he said”no more dogs!” Well, one day a friend of mine, who had a cute little Chihuahua, was given another. They decided that their little dog Ruby did not want a companion, and asked me if I would like the most adorable short haired doe eyed, caramel colored, two pound female Chihuahua. I was absolutely thrilled! Just the thought of this precious sweet little girl coming to live with us gave me such joy! Think about this now, I live in a house full of men. You bet I jumped at the chance to have a charming little dog to dress up and be able to buy cute little dog dresses for. Yes, I could be one of those fancy little ladies that carry their dog around in a purse! When Greg came home and found me with my new found love, he said, “You need to march back over there and give that dog back. We don’t need anything that we have to take care of; you got enough to do now without having to worry about a dog!” He was not as thrilled at all. I told him he didn’t have to worry about a thing that she was going to be my dog. He firmly stated his dislike about me keeping her with a grunt. I kept my lovable Chihuahua, and I bought her a pink fuzzy little princess bed, a princess dog dish and a pink collar with diamonds. One evening as I was playing with her on the couch, my husband kept looking at her and asked, “So, what did you name her?” I told him that I had not found the perfect name for her yet, and asked if he had any ideas. He thought a minute and said “well she is Mexican, so she should have a Mexican name.” Then he said, “I know you like margaritas so why not Rita?” I thought it was perfect! Now, Rita was my center of attention. In the evenings, I would have her in my lap or in the floor playing with her. If I would get up and leave her, she would casually stroll over to my husband and sit beside him like she belonged there. Greg would just let her sit there, I’m sure when I was not looking, he would pet her. Finally, one day when I was putting on one of her outfits my husband spoke up and “said that’s enough.” He picked her up and said,” she’s a dog and she doesn’t like you treating her like she’s a doll.” He took her and started talking to her, telling her that he would rescue her from that crazy lady. This is when my sweet little Rita became Greg’s Rita, Mo Pita. Every evening around four o’clock, Rita Mo Pita sits at the door waiting for the Terminix truck to turn in the driveway. That’s when I hear her crying with anxious whimper trying to claw her way through the storm door. When the truck comes to a stop, I open the door and she runs like lighting to see her daddy. When he sees her, he reaches down and she jumps into his arms and then jumps back down. She then proudly escorts him into the house, straight to the mud room where she stretches her paws on the wall trying to reach her leash. She knows she and daddy are going for a walk around the block. Greg and Rita Mo Pita have the kind of relationship most married couples should have, they know what the other is thinking. When we have dinner, she always stands by for a handout. My boys hate it and say we should not let her come around the table when we are eating. My husband just tells them when they are finished to let her lick the plates; by the way, we use paper. They always have something to say, and he just says she doesn’t have thumbs and she’s not able to get what she wants. They should be thankful that they have thumbs and not have to beg for someone to feed them. After dinner, they retire to the den and she sits contently, sleeping or watching TV with her Daddy. When she is ready to go out, she doesn’t have to make a sound, she just gets up and goes to the floor. She puts her paw up on the chair, as if she is saying “come on, I need to go out.” Bedtime is crazy, my husband talks to her in the funniest voice calling “come on my Rita Mo Pita time to go to bed.” Then, they get into bed and wrestle a little and he continue to talks to her. He will say “I know girl, our love just is not natural!” Then, he tells her to tell me that daddy needs his feet rubbed or back scratched. I simply say “well, Rita you better get those paws loosened up and start rubbing and scratching.” Needless to say, bedtime is pretty much comical here. I asked my husband the other day how my cute little Rita became his Rita Mo Pita. He said, “Because he saved her from a crazy lady who wanted to play dress up.” The truth is, I wouldn’t have any other way. I enjoy watching Greg and Rita Mo Pita, they are like two peas in a pod.