Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Poor Sweet Little Fred
He knows just how hard to bite, and that's a skill that most dogs don't acknowledge, much less master. He comes at me like a wildcat, snarling and snapping and wagging his whole rear end with delight. We stop every once in a while and I nuzzle up to him while I rub his both sides rapidly, and he does a little growly howling thing that ends in a bark. Then he does that we're-not-done-playing little hop backwards.
Special animals have that human light in their eyes, and that's true of Fred's little peepers. He has such a strong personality that I will always think of him as our first child. D and I were heartbroken when he hurt his back chasing a cat six weeks ago, since at first his back legs didn't work very well and he was in a lot of pain. My fantasy of being a pillar of strength for my loved ones was pretty much vaporized as I was reduced to a blubbering mess on the way to the vet, driving a stick without power steering and holding Fred so as to keep him as comfortable as possible. While bawling on the phone to Deirdre, who I completely freaked out.
I guess there's a good reason they don't let you operate on your family. And I'll have to hope that in a real emergency, I can trick myself into not giving a shit about any injured parties. And hopefully I'll remember that as bad as Fred was hurt, he's doing much better now.