Some dogs have a way of making themselves part of your life without even trying. Fred was one of those dogs. I didn’t own Fred. Rather, he was my Grand dog who lived on a farm in Northeastern Nebraska with my daughter and family.
My first impression of Fred when I saw him running across the lane to greet my husband and I? A big, handsome, mixed-breed fellow, primarily German shorthaired pointer, with a slobbering mouth, a wagging tail and a swagger that left little doubt he was a well-endowed male. He had a way of welcoming you that was hard to forget with slobbering moans, jumping into the truck cab and looking for treats. It was his own special greeting, and you couldn’t help but smile.
Fred’s best buddy was Joey, a mixed Corgi. This little guy was so low to the ground that when he wagged his tail his whole body wagged with him. Fred showed his affection toward Joey by licking and laying a paw over him when they bed together. They had their own bond while wandering throughout the farm and watching them together was a reminder that dogs have friendships just like we do.
Over time, Fred and I built a friendship of our own. I looked forward to our walks along the country roads and sitting on the front porch with him while he whined for a back rub. Dog baths, on the other hand? Let’s just say Fred and I did not see eye to eye on that activity! He’d dart away once he saw me with a pail of soapy water and a hose.
During the summers up north, we lived near the farm so after I paid a visit and returned to town, Fred would sometimes run alongside the truck, hopping over the soybeans as if he wanted to come home with me. Other times, he’d put his paw in my lap, letting me know it was time for a good scratch. And he had a surprising talent for listening. Ask him to pose for a picture in front of the flower garden, and he’d settle right in. You’d think he knew he was a handsome subject or the next male model.
I found myself looking forward to those little moments. There was something comforting about Fred’s company, the kind of connection that doesn’t need many words. Maybe that’s why I felt so in sync with him. He seemed to understand my mood, and his presence could make an ordinary day feel a little bit brighter.
Fred died in the early winter of 2019. I felt the sadness and loss even from afar in Florida. I thought about his pal Joey, too. My daughter said Joey would howl at night on the front steps and it was hard not to wonder if he was feeling the loss of his friend. The quiet left behind by his friend who had been such a familiar part of the day can be surprisingly big.
Fred was a farm dog, but to me he was much more than that. He was a companion, a character, and a friend who brought laughter and comfort in his own unmistakable way.
I’ll always remember his swagger, his slobbery greetings, those country-road walks and, of course, that paw resting on my lap.
Fred, your paw no longer reaches for my touch; rather, your paw remains resting on my heart…until we meet again Big Fellow.
