FRED

I miss Fred. 

I’ve had a lot of dogs in my life. Wonderful dogs: Inca, Chief, Moses, Bear, (although it’s debatable that Bear was wonderful to others). But Fred, Fred was special. And I’m not going to apologize for my unending bias. I'm not going to feel bad for needing to get some of these memories posted before they fade away. I want to always remember Fred. 

Fred was only 9-years old when we had to say goodbye; 9 years wasn’t long enough. I feel greedy for wanting more time with him. 

Fred always had a sensitive tummy. From the time he was a puppy he had to be on vet formulated duck and potato food.  But he also had a sensitive soul. He taught me about ‘being responsible for the energy you bring to the room.’ If the emotional tone shifted and became negative, Fred let you know something was not right in his world.

He was sick for a while (projectile diarrhea and vomiting). PLE dangerously lowered his protein plasma. The vet suspected he also had lymphoma. When he stopped eating and the meds were not keeping him well, I knew his days were numbered. He didn’t want to play with his toys or go for walks anymore. I told myself he was saving his energy for healing and not to push him. 

I’m a dreamer and overly optimistic. However, I have a side of me that is realistic when it comes to facing difficult things like death. I don’t like it. But I have no choice, so I ‘deal’. Fred stopped eating again and was sick in the middle of the night (that was unusual for him). I didn’t know how to comfort him other than to softly reassure him it was going to be okay; pray; and lay my warm hand on his belly (like a human water-bottle).

I told myself that if he stopped eating, lost more weight, and his protein plasma numbers went down, he was trying to tell us something. I wasn’t going to be selfish and force more meds on him. I wasn’t going to keep him around a few more months so I could come to grips with losing Fred. PLE (Protein-losing enteropathies) is a disease that often shortens the life of Soft Coated Wheaten Terriers. Once they get the diagnosis, they only have a few months. It was time. Dogs have end of life rights too; Fred gets to decide. I honored him by being present with him until the end. I held him so close until I felt his heartbeat stop. His fur was soaked from my tears. I kept saying over and over again as his puppy spirit slipped away, “I love you, Fred. Thank you. I love you, Fred. Thank you.”

I keep looking around waiting for him to come over and engage with me: ask me for an ice cube because house rule is you give him one when you open the freezer; hop up onto my lap and lay his big head on my chest then slide down and rest his head on the chair arm while curled up on me; or come bolting down the stairs because he heard me open a slice of cheese or heard me peel a banana (he had bionic ears). 

Presently there is a burning ache in my chest; I know that grief will fade. I close my eyes and try to sense his presence now that he’s gone. I’m not sure if it’s a real felt-sense and he’s here in spirit; or if my mind has conditioned sensation memories that I can easily recall (like knowing what wind feels like on your face or lemon tastes like in your mouth)? I want to believe the whole Rainbow Bridge for our pets that have passed on. So I’m going with believing Fred's here in spirit. Rich and I were on a walk a few days after he passed. We looked up into the sky, and I kid you not, there was a cloud formation of Fred sitting with his front leg extended like he was putting his paw on your chest. Everyday, we never really understood why our dog sat on our lap and put his paws on us, as if he had a message to tell us. Message received: All Dogs Go To Heaven! 

  
I drove all the way to Iowa to get Fred from a Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier breeder. When I first saw Fred, he was sitting in an doggy-play pen. He was all by himself. He looked up at me as if to say, "What took you so long, I've been waiting for you." I had just fallen in love with a live-stuffed animal. I asked if I could pick him up. He MELTED onto my chest and shoulders like a sleeping baby. He was our 'Near-Puppy' his whole life. If he wasn't in our arms he was on our laps.  

 Fred would greet you like you just came home from war; he especially did this to Rich more than me since he traveled. But most anyone who came to our house got the official 'Wheaten Greetin'; it's what Wheaten's do. They want to connect by smelling your breath. It was often embarrassing that our dog appeared out of control. He was just unbridled joy. Fred's official Wheaten Greeting

Sometimes he looked like Gromit, sometimes a shorn sheep or a schnauzer (The Schnauzer Hair Cut), sometimes he looked like the Truffula Trees in the Dr. Seuss Lorax. Hair cuts came with a bandana around his neck and 2 days of ignoring me. Being a Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier, their fur is like hair. It gets matted easily. So if I went one or two weeks too long, he needed to be shaved. Most of the time we were going for the shaggy sheep dog look. 
                                  
                                   The many looks of Fred

  

Wheatens are high energy. They need to be walked daily to run off their excess energy.  Most of the time, Fred was like an old man. He'd plop down anywhere until something distracted him (usually a squirrel).

Fred had abandonment issues. I'm not sure where he got it? I think he just bonded with his human-pack and was lost without us. Occasionally, when he wasn't with us, he'd get depressed: diarrhea or vomiting his food. As soon as the 'pack was back' together, all was well in Fred's Universe. 

Part of Fred's perfect world was when his Alpha-Daddy returned home from travels. He'd spend the next few hours up on Rich's lap gazing into his eyes. I have hundreds of these kind of pictures. It was one of my favorite things Fred did. 

We couldn't take Fred with us all the time so we had to distract him like a 2-year old. When we'd go for a bike ride, or if we ran to the store, we'd say, "Go say goodbye, Fred." He'd run to the back window and watch us go. We'd wave and say, "We'll be right back!" If we were gone longer than 30 minutes or an hour, we'd put him in his crate (his safe cave), and gave him a Kong with a teaspoon of frozen peanut butter. This allowed us to get out the door without doggy depression. 

When Fred was a puppy, Rich would call Fred to jump up in his arms and carry him upstairs to bed.  As they were walking up the stairs Rich would tell him, "Say Goodnight, Fred." Fred would look over Rich's shoulder at me. This never got old for Rich.

Fred could tell time. We could set our watch to 4:00pm by Fred showing up at the pantry door to be fed. He had an inner Atomic Clock. He'd sit there until he got our attention. Then he'd look at you, then look at the pantry door, look at you, look at the pantry door, look at you, look at the pantry door. This dog knew how to use his body language to say what he wanted. 

Many dog owners have a doggie voice for their dog. While Fred was doing some of his favorite things, we imagined he was saying this in a happy voice "This is my favorite thing in the whole world! This is my favorite thing in the whole world. This is my favorite thing in the whole world!" Someday, if we get to be reunited, I'm going to ask him which thing was his favorite thing in the whole world. 

Walkie Dog--pole that clips to a bike so he could run/walk along side of the bike. I never had to pedal the first 100-yards. He would run like a horse coming out of the gate. 

Watching TV--we only watch TV at night. Fred too. He'd jump up on the bed or sofa (depending on which room we were in) and he'd watch TV like a person. He'd watched whole TV shows and movies. If a dog barked, he'd jump up and start barking at the TV. And every Thanksgiving, we'd record and watch the National Dog Show together. 

Hammock Time--Fred taught me to chill and do nothing and not feel guilty. He could lay on our hammock for hours and hours sleeping or watching the world go by.  

I'm sure one of the things that was not his favorite, but he indulged me, was dressing him up. He was always a good sport. I really should have created a Fred Calendar. 

Fred was a people dog. He loved people. Dog's, not so much. It wasn't for a lack of trying to socialize him. We had friends who had dogs. Fred just had very little interest in other dog's dogginess. He wanted to be with the people. We'd go to dog parks and he'd hang out with the doggy parents. There were very few dogs he'd play with for longer than 5 minutes. Our neighbors, the Jones family, had two furry-girls: Chessy and Emma. Occasionally, he'd run around in their back yard. But soon he'd get bored and go up on the porch by the people. My parent's dog, Wrigley, was the only dog he could play tug-o-war for hours when they were young dogs. Otherwise, he wanted to be with his people-tribe. These are some of his people: 

I want to say thank you to God too. In this lifetime, we are fortunate enough to have a few animals that can be domesticated. The privilege comes with a time stamp. We are only allowed a decade or two with our furry-babies. It’s a high price to pay to experience unconditional love this side of heaven.  And I want to say ‘Thank you’ to Fred by sharing just a few of our happy memories. And while I miss him so much, I am happy for him now that he's free to run and play with no limitations (illness or fences). 

Video Goodbye Fred

Losing My Shit

As much as I know the right things to do in stressful situations, sometimes I don’t. It’s embarrassing when I don’t listen to my own advice.

Even though I practice and teach yoga and meditation, live in the present moment, question my stressful ego thoughts, pray, and do lots of self-care, and coach others to do the same, my emotional brain takes over. When it happens, it’s not pretty. The saying is true, ‘When mama ain’t happy, nobody is happy.’

Once in a Blue Moon, I have an exaggerated, over reaction to others. There are roughly 41-months that have two Full Moons in every century. So on average, once every two-and-a-half years, I ‘lose my shit’ on such a grand scale it will be remembered for years to come. It will take me a few months to get over feeling like a fraud and that I should quit what I do as a profession and just get a job at a toll-booth attendant.  This way I don’t have to talk to people (except give directions). By the way, I’m highly qualified to give directions to strangers; it’s one of my spiritual gifts.

I invest in big relational experiences with unbridled optimism—in the hopes of big relational returns for everyone. Last year, we lived in Arizona for the winter to be closer to family. This year, we've moved across country to Florida and now have two adult-kids living with us (Kevin and his fiancé, Tiffany). There has been a flurry of change to sort out in my life. Jokingly, some of the change has been beyond my ‘evolution’ as a person; I suppose I’m not as mature as I thought. 

There is a prayer I’ve heard, “God spare me from the desire for love, approval, and appreciation.” When I have an over abundance of these three expectations out of sync, it’s only a matter of time until I have a meltdown. Most of the time, I keep them sensibly in check. However, when things aren’t going the way I imagined, when I’m away from lifetime support systems, I’m sleep deprived, I need to make too many personal decisions, I’m dominated by fearful future-thinking, I live with people who have different objectives, or I have been stress-eating, then my own personal negative energy builds up and I ‘lose my shit.’ 

It won’t be the last time I feel vulnerable and exposed. I’m human and Blue Moons happen. It’s nobody’s fault but my own. I’ve learned a lot. I got ‘quiet and still’ and did a deep inner dive. I asked trusted people to speak truth to me. I’ve said my apologies and ‘owned my shit’. I thanked Kevin, Rich, and Tiffany for helping me find my way back to my conscious “True-Self” (the holy place within where divine love always resides, the place where I am not wounded or disappointed). They reflect to me my insecurities, fears, and control-issues. To which Kevin said, “You’re welcome!”

Sometimes, cognizant inner light bulb moments happen in an instant—like flipping a switch on, I see what I’ve done and what I need to do moving forward. The world feels brighter, the birds are singing, and there is a bounce in my step. It’s taken me a bit longer to rebound this time around; it’s probably because of feeling lonelier without my tribe of friends. And now I have extra emotional and physical weight—a reminder to me that I’ve got more inner and outer work to do. That’s not a bad thing. Every enormous Blue Moon illuminates my darkness. 

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