Fred (dog stories)

Beautiful Fred.

When Fred was a wee pup, freshly arrived at my farm, he would do his best to walk the rounds with the other dogs. His fat little legs going as fast as they could to keep up. Occasionally stopping to sniff a rabbit hole or a cow pat and he would be left behind. But not for long.

When he got tired I would pick him up and pop him under my jacket with his head poking out. Let him have a rest and then down he would go again. Scrabbling around with the canine-crew.

Adorable fluff ball.

Border Collie pups are delightful looking and delightful in nature. Willing, interested and dreadfully smart. Better mastery of human vocabulary than some humans I know.

Fred with his brothers Montague (left) and Wilbur. On the back of the ute.

Now he is an ‘old man’. Acts like the grandfather of the pack even though he is not the eldest.

Irascible at times, he will snap at one of his comrades. Remind them of his seniority.

He has no problem with shoulder charging anything in his way. Push the young ones away to get to mum.

And he adores food. Especially contraband cat food.

There are two things about Fred that are iconic. They also confirm his status as a narcissist.

The first is his ever-present big foot. Stand still long enough and you will experience it. It lands on your knee or thigh and if no attention is received it will continue to hit that spot until it gets the required recognition.

The second is his roll-onto-his-back-whilst-we-are-walking manoeuvre. Always directly in front of you. Keep your wits about you lest you trip over the black and white blob.

It is another attention seeking move. Highly effective.

Flips onto his back. Looks super cute. Adorable. Receives stomach pat.

Walk 10 metres. Repeat.

He is an 86-pats-a-day dog. Terribly annoying actually.

The only times I have seen him animated are when he smells a fox. Goes crazy. Turns green. Turns into the Hulk. No stopping him.

He once murdered a chicken-killer fox. And he is proud of it. He would do it again.

The dogs found it lurking down near the chicken coop. A swirl of dog flesh became a triangulation, a strategic move to entrap the fiend. A dog at every exit point.

It had no chance really once they had determined to exterminate.

Fred emerged from the fray shaking the last life out of the fox. Victorious.

He dropped it on command and wandered off.

And then he was Fred again. Ready for another tummy rub.

Fred, the narcissist.