(Most dogs are loyal and loving – and, if you’re lucky, you will never have a better friend)
I never had a better friend than my yellow Labrador Retriever, Fred. He belonged to me and vice-versa. He sat beside me on my couch. He slept beside me on my bed. When I arrived home, however long I’d been gone, it was the greatest event that had ever occurred in his doggie life. And he showed it, in the most body-wagging, tongue-licking terms. Fred loved me, and that love was returned in manifold ways.
As with most of the dogs I’ve known and loved, I didn’t find Fred, he found me. I have a huge soft spot in my heart for lost and abandoned dogs. Fred came to me as a fluffy five-month old in the arms of a neighbor. Since I was out walking my Doberman, Duchess, at the time, she spotted me instantly as a “dog person”. That, and the fact that I paused and petted and received copious licks from little old Fred, who didn’t yet know that was his name.
The neighbor lady explained that she had found this yellow Lab puppy wandering aimlessly in the neighborhood, suspected he’d been abandoned, and could I take him in, just for a “few days”. “Well,” I said, “it’s okay with me. But I live right there, and I’d appreciate it if you’d knock on the door and see if it’s okay with my wife.” I went on my way with Duchess, knowing that when I returned home, I’d have two dogs, not one. Things were as I’d known they would be.
First, Cindy said, we had to name the dog. Without hesitation, and for reasons I still don’t know, I replied, “His name is Fred.” Apparently it was, because he answered to that name from day one.
Fred was never a problem. He had no taste for going to the bathroom indoors, and since we always left the back door open and I walked him and Duchess four times a day, there were none of the unwelcome surprises that usually come with house-training. The only trouble was that Fred immediately loved Duchess, as a mother figure I guess, and she abhorred this little interloper who was invading her territory. She never bit him, but there was the sort of snarling and showing of massive teeth that Dobermans are capable of. Fortunately, I had trained Duchess well, and a single harsh word from me put an end to the hostilities. Over time, Duchess resignedly accepted Fred and eventually came to regard him as something of a sidekick.
When he still young, Fred developed in interest in books. Not paperbacks, but those expensive, leather-bound volumes we kept in bookshelves. If Cindy and I went out, and were gone too long, Fred would select one of those books, delicately pull it out of its place on the shelf and engage in his version of reading, which consisted of chewing up the volume in question. It was his way of ameliorating stress, and punishing us for being gone so long. When he got older, and after many scoldings, he outgrew that habit.
Fred had a laundry basket full of toys, mainly of the soft, squeaky variety. He tended to regard any stuffed animal as his by right, so any acquired by my wife wound up in his basket. Fred had a favorite toy; a squeaky teddy bear. But it was not always his choice as “toy of the day”. It always amused and fascinated me to watch as Fred nosed through his basket and selected the toy that seemed to him appropriate. He would lie down and chew on it, making it squeak, but he never damaged it. Fred seemed to have an innate sense that he’d want to play with that toy at some later time. No sense in tearing it apart. Any visitors would be presented with it, and have to assure Fred what a good and superior toy it was before he’d be satisfied and go torture it some more.
But of all toys, Fred cherished the tennis ball most of all. A few times a day, I’d say “Ball?” and Fred, barely able to contain his joy, would go get one of his seemingly endless supply. We’d go out in the front yard, and Fred would chase and retrieve that ball until he was barely able to stand, always dropping it in my hand and sitting down until I threw it again. I taught him that. Fred was so eager to please and do things that earned him a “good boy” that it took me only two days to train him to go and fetch the paper every morning. He was, in all respects, a loving, loyal and altogether splendid companion. God, I miss him.
Fred died at the dignified age of 12. I plan to adopt another yellow Lab, whose name, I just know, will be “Charlie”. Among the many blessings God has provided us in this life, dogs must be among the first rank. Among the many tragedies that accompany our time on this imperfect earth, one of the greatest must be that we are almost always doomed to outlive our beloved pets. I believe we will be surrounded by them in the life hereafter.
Why I Love Dogs – and Yellow Labs in Partcular
(Most dogs are loyal and loving – and, if you’re lucky, you will never have a better friend)
I never had a better friend than my yellow Labrador Retriever, Fred. He belonged to me and vice-versa. He sat beside me on my couch. He slept beside me on my bed. When I arrived home, however long I’d been gone, it was the greatest event that had ever occurred in his doggie life. And he showed it, in the most body-wagging, tongue-licking terms. Fred loved me, and that love was returned in manifold ways.
As with most of the dogs I’ve known and loved, I didn’t find Fred, he found me. I have a huge soft spot in my heart for lost and abandoned dogs. Fred came to me as a fluffy five-month old in the arms of a neighbor. Since I was out walking my Doberman, Duchess, at the time, she spotted me instantly as a “dog person”. That, and the fact that I paused and petted and received copious licks from little old Fred, who didn’t yet know that was his name.
The neighbor lady explained that she had found this yellow Lab puppy wandering aimlessly in the neighborhood, suspected he’d been abandoned, and could I take him in, just for a “few days”. “Well,” I said, “it’s okay with me. But I live right there, and I’d appreciate it if you’d knock on the door and see if it’s okay with my wife.” I went on my way with Duchess, knowing that when I returned home, I’d have two dogs, not one. Things were as I’d known they would be.
First, Cindy said, we had to name the dog. Without hesitation, and for reasons I still don’t know, I replied, “His name is Fred.” Apparently it was, because he answered to that name from day one.
Fred was never a problem. He had no taste for going to the bathroom indoors, and since we always left the back door open and I walked him and Duchess four times a day, there were none of the unwelcome surprises that usually come with house-training. The only trouble was that Fred immediately loved Duchess, as a mother figure I guess, and she abhorred this little interloper who was invading her territory. She never bit him, but there was the sort of snarling and showing of massive teeth that Dobermans are capable of. Fortunately, I had trained Duchess well, and a single harsh word from me put an end to the hostilities. Over time, Duchess resignedly accepted Fred and eventually came to regard him as something of a sidekick.
When he still young, Fred developed in interest in books. Not paperbacks, but those expensive, leather-bound volumes we kept in bookshelves. If Cindy and I went out, and were gone too long, Fred would select one of those books, delicately pull it out of its place on the shelf and engage in his version of reading, which consisted of chewing up the volume in question. It was his way of ameliorating stress, and punishing us for being gone so long. When he got older, and after many scoldings, he outgrew that habit.
Fred had a laundry basket full of toys, mainly of the soft, squeaky variety. He tended to regard any stuffed animal as his by right, so any acquired by my wife wound up in his basket. Fred had a favorite toy; a squeaky teddy bear. But it was not always his choice as “toy of the day”. It always amused and fascinated me to watch as Fred nosed through his basket and selected the toy that seemed to him appropriate. He would lie down and chew on it, making it squeak, but he never damaged it. Fred seemed to have an innate sense that he’d want to play with that toy at some later time. No sense in tearing it apart. Any visitors would be presented with it, and have to assure Fred what a good and superior toy it was before he’d be satisfied and go torture it some more.
But of all toys, Fred cherished the tennis ball most of all. A few times a day, I’d say “Ball?” and Fred, barely able to contain his joy, would go get one of his seemingly endless supply. We’d go out in the front yard, and Fred would chase and retrieve that ball until he was barely able to stand, always dropping it in my hand and sitting down until I threw it again. I taught him that. Fred was so eager to please and do things that earned him a “good boy” that it took me only two days to train him to go and fetch the paper every morning. He was, in all respects, a loving, loyal and altogether splendid companion. God, I miss him.
Fred died at the dignified age of 12. I plan to adopt another yellow Lab, whose name, I just know, will be “Charlie”. Among the many blessings God has provided us in this life, dogs must be among the first rank. Among the many tragedies that accompany our time on this imperfect earth, one of the greatest must be that we are almost always doomed to outlive our beloved pets. I believe we will be surrounded by them in the life hereafter.
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