ODE TO FRED

ODE TO FRED

I’d like to introduce you to the late, great Fred who was a short, rotund kind of guy with tinges of goofiness. He was devoted to me and I to him. He passed away last August and it has taken me this long to be able to write his obit.

His background was hazy but he came into my life about five years ago and we fell in love immediately. He claimed to be a Chihuahua but I suspect there was more to him that met the eye. Physically his feet and head were the smallest part. His neck was bigger than his head which meant he had to wear a harness for walking as a collar and leash would just slip off. I alternately called him a honey-baked ham or a butterball turkey due to his torso shape. Yes, a diet was always in the future but it was hard when you’re short, compact and hate running.

If Fred were a human he would’ve been Fred Mertz. The best friend called him that routinely. He would’ve worn his pants halfway up to his chest and been considered grumpy with a side of loving.

Almost every day when I came home he would make this unusual sound…he honked like a goose 3 times and then hacked and spit like an old man. It was always 3 honks and a hack. The vet told me this happened when he got excited. Little dogs sometimes suffer from a smaller than usual esophagus, thus the honking and hacking. I just think it was just his bizarre way of telling me he was glad I was finally home.

At night I threw him onto the bed and he situated himself at my feet. More often than not, he burrowed beneath the covers and would slam himself up against my legs. There he would snooze away the night, happily dreaming.

Walking Fred was a challenge in itself. If I thought this was going to give me aerobic exercise I quickly found out that was wrong. Fred moseyed more than walked with many stops to “mark his territory.” Sniffing was also big on the agenda. So much so that a normal walk took twice as long so we didn’t get very far. I used to have a Greyhound and a Samoyed and walking them together was a marathon. Both are bred to be ahead of the herd and it came to a point I could not take them out together. I feared they would dislocate one of my shoulders and then were would I be? Walking with Fred was like night and day.

Fred’s temperament was unlike the typical Chihuahua. He hardly ever barked, (although there was a fair bit of snoring), he was not aggressive (didn’t have the “small dog syndrome”). Basically he was a friend to all; other dogs, cats, people (especially kids).

Contrary to his shape, he was a picky eater. Vegetables – no; most fruit – no; all carbs – YES. But when it came to crumbs he was the living equivalent of a Roomba. Just leave the table after dinner and you would hear snorting and snuffling as he ferreted out each and every crumb. He roamed around and through the legs so as not to miss a morsel. Perhaps this was why he loved children so much. With each child there came a world of crumbs.

He was far from dumb and sometimes you could see the wheels turning as he figured out his next plot in manipulating his family. As he gazed over the room he was constantly assessing who would be the best victim. I have to say, 9 times out of 10 it was me. I was his mom, caretaker and servant and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Rest in peace, Fred. You were adored, treasured and spoiled until the very end.