Little Brown Package

Just a tribute to a best friend...

Perhaps once every other millennium or so, the most magnificent of the stars in the heavens caper into alignment beyond a brilliant blue moon to form the rare astral convergence, and the goddess of fate flips a falling star right into your lap... and you, my friend, are blessed. A moment probably not appreciated until sometime later. Some wayward souls merely interpret this as a stroke of luck, but most understand that luck plays no part in the reception of grace. Looking back a little more than a decade or so, I can see those stars aligned for me...

 

It all began with a frantic, mid-day call from a friend, who'd recounted the heart-wrenching tale of a chocolate lab pup recently rescued from an abusive owner. The pup was now down to his final hours at the pound. My friend and his wife had long been compassionate caretakers of canines and had mentally assembled a list of prospective parents for just such emergencies, and they'd called me. Knowing I had a soft spot for dogs in general, and especially those of the big, brown, water-dog variety, they’d already known the answer. So a timid, fifty pound, bundle of brown, meekly crept out of the car and into my life.

 

The gaunt pup was quickly tagged ‘Fred’ by my son, who’d explained he simply looked like a Fred, then spent the next two weeks cowering under his bed. On the fifteenth day, the previously bashful, brow-beaten, bundle of brown mysteriously vanished... and a belligerent, brown-eyed bottle rocket catapulted from beneath the bunk. Metamorphosis complete: good deed to catastrophe in a mere fifteen days.

 

No, young Fred was not the infamous Hound of the Baskervilles. The youngster had his good traits. He was a happy dog with a happier tail, and that huge, otter-like appendage with a mind of its own was as apt to incite a laugh as it was a shriek. One wondrous wag and a table was cart-wheeling across the living room or a child was on its derriere, sometimes repeatedly. Unbelievably, he was also housebroken, and considering the fact that my mother was still rubbin' my brother's nose in his at the ripe old age of four, this potty-trained pooch was all but a miracle. But despite the many virtues, one must remember that Fred was still a pup, and pups chew things. Big pups chew big things. While Fredenstein chomped the occasional shoe, he was much more partial to the savory flavor of jackets and jeans, bicycle seats and bowling bags, doors and door facings and furniture and carpets and cords and walls and... most anything particularly cherished by yours truly. With little more than exterior walls and a roof left to inhabit, the time had come for junior to vacate the nest and move outdoors, before we were all out-of-doors.

 

Soon, a six foot high kennel and all the amenities were purchased from the local Lowe's Home Improvement and proudly erected in the back yard. As Fred had stood contemplating that first night alone, we’d said our good nights and headed for the house. Much to my chagrin, the cantankerous cur beat us to the front door. As I'd grabbed for the collar, he'd quickly employed the unh-uh-you'll-have-to-drag-me maneuver and rolled onto his back; a favorite and oft-employed technique, no doubt mastered before birth. He was toted back to his new home and once again beat me to the house. The bullheaded bowser eventually won the battle and slept indoors that night.

 

The war waged for weeks. I’d redesigned the kennel to thwart his jumping over the top. Fred dug out. I laid concrete around the inner perimeter of the fence to halt the digging. Fred opened the gate and walked out. I’d installed a lock on the gate to keep him from opening it. Fred pulled a hole in the chain link and stepped out. I’d weaved steel rebar sporadically through the chain link to prevent it from pulling apart. Fred howled. Fred howled all night. Fred howled all night every night. He'd eventually won and moved back into the house, and my heart, forever.

 

Though I may have made it sound otherwise, Fred was not untrainable; I just hadn’t learned the trick of substituting a request for a command yet. That big brown dog was more than willing to do anything I’d wanted, I'd just needed to ask. To have labeled him smart would have been a gross understatement as well, the brainy brown one was uncanny; for example, the old adage that doors separate man from beast didn’t apply to him. By the age of eight months, a door rarely even slowed that brown beast down. The thumb-actuated and lever type handles were his favorites, but he could just as easily stroll through a door with round knobs. He’d stand on his hind legs and open it, push with his front paws and catch it with his head on the way down. Deadbolt locks did slow him some, but not if he really wanted out. Even though he’d refused to close them behind him, the crafty canine was smart enough to train me to do so.

 

As the chocolate pup slowly transformed into an adult, I’d discovered most all his less desirable attributes were due to his fear of being alone. He’d just wanted company, and for some peculiar reason preferred mine. So he went most everywhere with me, and demanded to ride shotgun. No one loved the wind in their face more, and if the window wasn’t rolled down fast enough, the cunning canine would just paw at the switch until he’d rolled it down for himself. Even in the dead of winter, the ride to work included a window down and the heater on full blast. That pudgy brown pirate even knew the sound of a vending machine and demanded his share of the booty from whoever might be retrieving his treasure from it. Not even the deepest of slumbers kept him from collecting his allotment. Old Fred also understood ten minutes; ten minutes was exactly the length of his patience. Nine was good, but eleven wasn’t happenin’. Of the many times I’d actually witnessed this, a favorite involved a quick stop at a local supermarket on the way home to grab a couple of items. An acquaintance had stopped me on aisle three for a chat and Fred’s meter expired. He’d jumped from the truck, ambled through the automatic door, and then met me in the meat department. How proud he’d looked accompanying me through the checkout.

 

Yes, my old big boy had been blessed with smarts, but time was unkind to his body. The mischievous sparkle in those mahogany eyes faded as total blindness set in by the age of ten. Thyroid problems and an enlarged heart sent excessive amounts of fluid into his lungs and robbed him of his stamina. He’d hack and stumble into things, but was still content as long as I was close. No longer able to jump into the truck, Fred was still intelligent enough to train me to heave his 120 pound frame aboard at least twice daily. I’d have loaded him into that truck if he’d weighed 400 pounds, because that’s what we wanted. His hearing was almost gone as well, but he’d still thump that once magnificent otter-like appendage against the wall or floor at the sound of my voice… or his vending machine. Sadly, his muzzle had grayed and the sheen was all but gone from his auburn overcoat, but inside still beat the heart of the creature that longed only for me; a proud being that feared nothing, other than my absence.

 

On a Saturday, Fred lay in the floor and couldn’t get up. He’d wanted nothing to eat and very little to drink. His only desire was me. When I’d leave his side, he’d cry, so that Saturday night and Sunday were spent in the floor with my old friend. He’d lain on his right side, so I'd placed my hand on the left side of his chest and felt the rhythm of his breath. Ten to twelve swells then a short pause, his head would arch back against me and the sequence began again. Eventually, and all too quickly, it ebbed to six or so, and then four. At eight past two on a Monday morning came the long pause… and Fred relaxed. Father Time had come, reached gently into his chest and tenderly stilled the heart. In that same moment, he’d violently plunged the other hand through my own, snatched another heart between those cold, bony fingers, and wrenched loose that balance due for loving... and feeling loved. The very debt anyone who truly loves and has been loved must eventually pay.

 

And as quietly as that meek, little, bundle of brown had crept into my life, he'd crept out.

 

Now the roles reverse and I cry for him. I still sometimes see him in the dim light of night on a pile of my clothes, heaped loosely in the floor, and awaken to the sound of his breathing as he sleeps. But I know he’s gone… and that I was blessed to have had him in my life. Even if only for a moment.

Author's Note

Am much more comfortable with poetry, but penned this a year and a half ago following the loss of old Fred. Very brief excerpts from thirteen years spent with as fine a friend as I've ever known. 'Only a dog' some say. They should only be so lucky.

Finally invited a new pup into my home about five months ago, another chocolate that answers to Mr. Wilson. Not a replacement, but a tribute to everything Fred added to my life.

Reviews

[Angi]

Beautiful, beautiful, Mic. I am so sorry about your Fred. He sounds like he was an amazing companion. His otter like tail cracked me up! The paragraph about the end had me in tears. I have two shelter dogs that I love, love, love. They are the best company, they don't care what is going on, they just love! Thank you for sharing this with us. I know a piece of your heart is spilled out in these words. Angi~

[Mic]

Thank you so much for reading of my friend, Angi! Fear I strayed a bit from my element here and could never do his memory justice, but I owe him and did what I could.

Congratulations and kudos on your friends...and may you share many, many years together!

[Angi]

This was a beautiful tribute to Fred, Mic. It was my pleasure to read. Thank you for the warm wishes for my furbabies. Angi~

[KT]

Aww, poor baby! I always cry at things like this, mostly because I LOVE dogs and I have a choco lab myself. They're one of the most wonderful breeds, aren't they?
Of course, reading through this I noticed several things that my lab does too, those simple yet endearing things that dogs do to wiggle their way into our hearts.
I am sorry for the loss of Fred; may Mr. Wilson be the same kind of loyal, wonderful companion to you that he (Fred) was!

[#33]

Gifted story teller.

[SHEEMA HUQ]

Cor, Mic, this is quite an intensive piece, with excellent writing, I have learnt so much from this story, and I really appreciated your analytical stance about the human- k9 relations....of course i felt for you, deeply at the end....great work.

[Mic]

Thank you SHEEMA. Fear my prose is a little stiff, but do appreciate your wonderful comment and time spent reading of my friend!

[Gray Witch]

Amazing story. poignant and funny, heart wrenching and totally understandable by those of us lucky enough to have had and have such dogs in our lives...

I also firmly believe that our dogs all have a similar personality - taken from us so I fully expect your Mr. Wilson will be a great and loving companion full of his own stories for you to pen for us your devoted readers......Thank you for sharing.

[Mic]

Couldn't agree more, Gray Witch! Is true, the story has already begun...

Thank you for the wonderful comment!

[Samuel Dickens]

Such a story of love and loss. I'm touched. I've only ever had one dog that was in any way similar to your Fred, and I cried when I buried him. I don't cry, you understand, but I did that day.

[Mic]

I do understand, Sam. Have lived long enough to have outlived many canine companions, and know some are more special to us. Thanks so much for taking the time to comment as well as to read of my old friend.

[Anniebugg]

No one can read this without being moved to tears. Each time I read it, I cry all over again. I totally agree with Muse, who said that you know how to start a story, and I'll take it a bit further and say you know how to complete one too. Sorrow, tears, smiles and giggles all in the same narrative all wrapped up and presented to us as a gift.

This is a wonderful story that I'm glad you wrote even though I know how difficult it was for you. And Mr. Wilson... oh boy what we have to look forward to.

[Mic]

When first written, actually thought I was writing this for Fred. Perhaps as remembrance or the like. But I know now it was written for me, from a kaleidoscope of emotion. Thank you for feeling what I feel, dear friend.

Mr. Wilson... can't help but smile when I hear his name already. Much different than Fred, but already in my heart. At five months, he's followed me through a closed door twice now, and can only imagine the adventure to come. Thank you again for reading and the wonderful comment!

[Muse]

First off..I don't read stories..but something caught my attention...the simplicity of the title maybe?

Perhaps once every other millennium or so, the most magnificent of the stars in the heavens caper into alignment beyond a brilliant blue moon to form the rare astral convergence, and the goddess of fate flips a falling star right into your lap... and you, my friend, are blessed.

YOU..know how to start a story...a wonderful opening indeed...my eyes swelled a couple of times...thought of that story Where The Red Fern Grows...yeah cried when I read that too. The loyalty...unconditional love was rich in your story. Enjoyed the humor too, when you tried to take him outside...yet he was manipulating you in return...got what he wanted...and in the end...so did you.

I do believe animals get lonely. We have a cat, that I adopted for the kid's from an animal shelter....as a kitten he was very needy...still is....he cries when he thinks he's alone. So it's not a surprise that your dog was greedy for the same love and affection. Even when I was a child growing up...we'd buy guinea pigs in two's. When one died..the other pig would die shortly after. A testimate that all animals and humans need companionship. Yeah some of us feel the need to be alone more than others...but when it comes down to it...we all need that one kindred spirit to come home to.

On a Saturday, Fred lay in the floor and couldn’t get up. He’d wanted nothing to eat and very little to drink. His only desire was me. Ache...cry..sob!

And you honored his final wish. Favorited. 100/100

sorry for the rambel..it was just that good!

[Mic]

Such a wonderful comment, dear Muse! I think this story would probably read better were I able to edit it with neutral eyes. Though written well over a year ago, still can't even read it for myself from start to finish. Finally began editing it in small fragments yesterday, but fear I'll never be able to alter it as needed. Am only good for a line or two at a time, and some paragraphs will probably never be reread. Just can't.

I believe animals get lonely as well, and Fred was not one of those that wanted to wander away and die alone. He wanted me even there.

Loved your comment, for you too, understand. Thank you for gifting me the time to tell you a little of old Fred. I am forever grateful!

[Muse]

It must have been a painful write...but this is a tribute...and well deserved. Thank you for sharing something so personal.

Editing...pfff..it's perfect the way it is.

[Sheila Kline]

Oh my friend, but you do have a wonderful gift of telling of us of your beloved companion in the form of a short story, and I am so very honored to be given a glimpse of your relationship with old Fred, and I am trying to express it to you but the tears are flowing so freely that I admit I'm having trouble getting all of my thoughts out. You have all been abundantly blessed to have had such a magnificent animal to be part of your life......I shall call it "an interlude of great, great joy"!
I too am a grand, grand lover of dogs, and it is their passing that is the hardest to bear. To me, they are never just "a dog", but each one holds a special place in my heart.

Your newest addition, Mr. Wilson seems to be off to a great start to stealing your heart - as my latest, Dita Von Dog is, but she shall never be my "Sammy" who passed in January after 12 years with me.

Thank you so much for sharing!! With admiration I bow to you and the memory of your beloved companion!! I look forward to hearing more of Mr. Wilson as he develops and grabs a bigger part of your heart!!

Sheila.........with a big "woof, woof" in my heart!!
And oh yes...........in my favorites forever!!

[Mic]

You understand, Sheila. This was written while I still couldn't speak of him aloud. Even now can only do so in short, humorous recollection. As well as I'd known him, he knew me better. Customers still whisper the question to my mother at work when they notice he's no longer under his favorite chair... where's old Fred? They understand as well.

Only wish everyone could be so lucky as to have shared a moment with their own Fred or Sammy.

Thank you, dear friend, for allowing me and old Fred a moment of your time!