Ar! Arf! Sharfes S Arf!

Just before dinner, Max was lying on the living room floor, doing his school work, when he heard the Porsche stop in front of the house. Mr. Muller reached over to the passenger's seat and picked up a small cardboard box. He carried it to the house in both arms.

Max went to the window and called down to his father.

"Guten abend, papa!"

"Allo!" replied Mr. Muller.

Just then, a dog's head popped out of the box and yelped.

"Was ist das?" called Max excitedly. The dog yelped again.

"Ist eine hund, meine kinder."

"Ist eine Weimaraner," said Max correctly.

The puppy's silvery-gray hair shone in the evening sun. His ears were as big as his tiny head. His eyes were blue like the early autumn skies.

Max placed his hand over the dog's head as he walked beside his father. He rubbed the dog's ears all the way up to the house.

As soon as they entered the living room, Mr. Muller tipped the box forward as he leaned over. The dog sprang out and galloped around the house.

"What in heaven's name is this?" came a shriek from the kitchen.

Max and his father followed the puppy into the kitchen. The Weimaraner clawed at Mrs. Muller's apron. Mrs. Muller grabbed it by the collar, trying to keep it under control.

"The boys have been asking for a pet for awhile now..." explained Mr. Muller.

"If he's going to be living in this house, he better learn there will be no begging in my kitchen."

The puppy stretched upward, trying to lick Mrs. Muller's hands, which were smelled of freshly cooked sauerbraten.

"Will someone get this dog for me?" she begged.

Franz grabbed the puppy by the leash, holding him away from his mother.

"What is his name?" Franz asked.

"I was hoping one of you could name him," said Mr. Muller.

"I was hoping one of you could name him."

"How about we call him Bert?" said Max.

"That's a dumb name for a dog," said Franz.

"Can you come up with something better?" asked Max.

"Spot," suggested Franz.

"How can you call him 'Spot'? He's solid gray," said Mrs. Muller.

"He's not gray," argued Max, "He's bright and shiny, like a coin. Let's call him Silver," suggested Max.

"If he looks like a coin, why don't we just call him Deutsche Mark?" argued Franz.

"I think Silver is a good name," said Mrs. Muller.

"It's not as good as Spot."

"Let's take a vote," said Mr. Muller.

Everyone but Franz raised a hand.

"Silver it is," said Mr. Muller. He pulled a dog bowl and marker from the cardboard box. "You get the honors of writing his name on the bowl, Max."

Max carefully spelled the name on the outside of the bowl.

ß - I - L - V - E - R

“Max, you can’t do that,” said Franz.

“I can, too.”

“You cannot start a word with a Sharfe S. It only occurs after a long vowel sound.”

"I named him and that's how I spelled it, beginning with a Sharfe S."

"You've really done it this time, Max. That's an even dumber name for a dog than Bert."

“You said ßilver was my dog and I could name him whatever I want. I want to spell it with a Sharfe S.”

Mr. Muller heaved a sigh. “Josefine, please explain to Max why he cannot use a Sharfe S to spell Silver.”

"Maxie, you're right. It is your dog and you named him," reassured Mrs. Muller.

Max knew the hard fact of the matter. Words like straße and weiß (white), and even großmutter (grandmother) all had their sharp s in the middle or at the end. Its sound was pronounced like a double s, or a heavy sz sound.

"He chose the name and we agreed. Nobody ever asked him how he was going to spell ßilver. We'll just say S-s-s-ilver."

"ßilver it is," agreed Mr. Muller.

As soon as Franz set ßilver on the kitchen floor, the puppy took off again. He roamed from room-to-room for an hour or so, sniffing every corner until he was worn out. He then began searching for a spot to nap. Four squares of light shone on Franz's bed. ßilver stopped there, relaxing in the sunlight's warmth.

ßilver slept there until Franz shooed him off the bed. He went over to Max's bed, sleeping next to Max's feet. Max tossed and turned throughout the night, kicking the little gray dog out of his bed, too.

ßilver hopped into bed with Mr. and Mrs. Muller, resting his chin on Mrs. Muller's pillow.

"You again?" she asked the dog. ßilver opened an eye and closed it again. Mrs. Muller ruffled the pillow, pushing him from her bed.

ßilver searched the house for a new place to rest. He laid down next to a warm air vent in the kitchen and closed his eyes. Soon, he fell asleep again.

"Get up!" said a voice. ßilver opened an eye. The morning had come in a wink. Mrs. Muller shuffled around the kitchen, getting ready for breakfast. Pots and pans clanked as the dog laid there, trying to get some rest. Finally, the little gray dog decided this was no place for sleep.

ßilver went to the piano room and rested there, hoping he had finally found a place to call his own. Meanwhile, Mrs. Muller began cooking eggs.

The aroma woke Max first.

"Can we have pancakes?" he asked.

"If you fetch the pancake batter from the cupboard and mix it for me, I'd be happy to make some pancakes."

Max stirred the pancake batter while Mrs. Muller scrambled the eggs. She cooked pancakes on the griddle, one at a time. The aroma of breakfast awakened everyone inside the house.

ßilver smelled breakfast as well. Although he was tired, he returned to the kitchen to see what Mrs. Muller and Max were making.

"You just can't stay out of my kitchen, can you?" she asked the dog. The dog gave her a puzzled look.

"He slept with me last night," said Max.

"He also slept with your father and me," said Mrs. Muller, "In fact, I think he slept in every part of the house. Maybe you should have named him Kaiser Wilhelm."

"What do you mean?"

"Kaiser Wilhelm was the last king of Germany."

"He's not the king of the house," said Max.

"That's right, I am," said Mr. Muller.

"This is not a kingdom," corrected Mrs. Muller.

"It's not a democracy either, or I'd have my own room," argued Franz.

"It's a republic," said Mrs. Muller.

"What's a republic?"

"My dear Maxie, you control your half of your bedroom and Franz controls his half, right?"

Max nodded.

"A republic is sort of like that. We all share in the responsibilities of the house, yet we have our own 'states.' Each state has its own rules, yet each room still is part of the entire house."

"Isn't Germany a Republic?" asked Max.

"Indeed it is. But it wasn't always that way. Before World War I, we were led by Kaiser Wilhelm, the King of Germany. After he left the throne, his rule was replaced by the Weimar Republic."

"In a way we're Weimaraners?"

"We're part of the Republic, but not the one created in 1914."

"Why not?"

"The second World War. Germany had to pay for damages they did to other countries during World War I. This hurt the German people. People blamed the Weimar Republic."

"Then what?"

"Then Adolf Hitler," said father.

"Oh."

"But, after the second World War, people realized that a man like Adolf Hitler was not a good way to run the country. We returned to the Republic. All for one and one for all," said Herr Muller.

He dumped a pancake into ßilver's bowl. The little gray dog's tail wagged excitedly as he ate. After he finished, he pawed at Mr. Muller's robe.

"Looks like we've found the king's servant," said Frau Muller.

"Sometimes, a kingdom is not so bad."

All the princes and princesses of the Muller house gathered around the table for breakfast. Even the four-legged king found his place, resting near Mr. Muller's feet. He waited and waited, then finally laid his head on the cold tile floor. Soon, he was fast asleep, happy in his new kingdom.