Fred the Super Mutt
If you subscribe to my newsletter, you’ve been subjected to pictures of Frederick, aka Fred the Super Mutt. Since today is National Dog Day, it feels like a really good time to talk about him on the blog, too.
My favorite show is Ted Lasso. In a recent episode, one of the characters was talking about the family’s adopted cat and said, “Mom says we rescued her, but I like to think she rescued us,” or something along those lines. It was funny because the sentiment gets thrown around a lot. But clichés earn their place in society for good reason.
I wasn’t looking for a puppy when Fred landed in my lap—I already have a houseful of dogs at the moment (two of them seriously geriatric and a third passing the middle aged mark—and that’s not counting the “grandpuppy”). But I really do think Fred saved me when he came to be part of our family.
If you look back through the various iterations of my bio, you’ll notice that the one constant is “mom to three boys.” That’s been a major part of who I am for the last twenty years. Now two of those boys are grown and the third is in his final year with me (and never home). I went from constant chaos to deafening silence pretty much overnight.
Add to that Covid, my dad’s dementia, my sisters scattering, isolation, job stress, health issues, etc, etc, etc, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t struggling just a bit.
Last December, one of my dearest friends messaged me. He was worried because one of the dogs that had been dumped on his farm just had puppies. He had no clue what he was going to do with a litter of puppies in the middle of a pandemic but also wanted to be sure they had good lives—he didn’t want to just post them any old place to make them someone else’s responsibility.
I knew that here in Missouri, when my sister wanted to adopt a puppy, it was virtually impossible to find one, and certainly to find one that wasn’t a couple thousand dollars with a waiting list. So, I offered to help find them homes and went to pick them up when they were weaned.
His family kept one and I had homes for two more before I ever left my driveway. I told myself I’d take pictures of the last puppy when I got home and would find him his forever place.
I’m sure you can guess how that went.
He slept on my lap the entire ride home and has had me wrapped around his paw ever since.
Fred (or Frederick, if we’re feeling fancy) is honestly the sweetest dog I’ve ever met. He’s a gangly, goofy Mountain Cur mix with at least half a dozen other breeds in there for good measure (including miniature schnauzer, which cracks me up). He’s a perfect fit for me in every way. And he has this joy about him that I sorely need right now. More than once in the last six months, he’s been the reason I was willing to get up in the morning.
Not that he gives me much choice about it. Starting about six a.m. without fail, he very gently puts a paw on my arm to wake me up. And if I don’t move, he nudges me with his nose or licks my arm. He cycles through—always very politely—until something gets a response. And then he just collapses into me like he missed me oh-so-much while we were asleep.
And even though I know my whole body is going to hurt when I get up and I’m going to have to deal with some stressful thing or another because yay adulting, I also know that when I take Fred to the dog park, he’s going to run with such utter abandon, ears flying, legs going every which direction, that for an hour, I’m going to forget the other stuff and things will just be good. Because how could things not be good when Fred grins at you like life is perfection.
And that’s not just me being a doting dog mom. Studies have shown that when we look at a smiling face, our brains release endorphins, which makes us feel happier and calmer. Science also tells us that when we’re hugged, our bodies release oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin, causing us to experience feelings of happiness and relaxation. It improves mood and lower levels of depression.
As a single woman isolated during a pandemic, smiles and hugs aren’t something I get every day. At least, they wouldn’t be if not for Fred.
So, he’s Fred the Super Mutt because he saves me pretty much all the time. (And because the DNA test declared him 17% Supermutt - I know what they meant, but it still amused me.)
I’ve always been a dog lover; I suppose that’s why most of my books have dogs in them. Many times, the dog is a major character in the book (Margo from Body in the Books comes to mind!) But I was still caught off guard by how much Fred has stolen my heart. I have unrepentantly become “that dog mom.”
All of my puppers brighten my world. They absolutely deserve a day to be celebrated. They even got a bit of roast beef for the occasion. Just don’t tell my son. He’ll be upset it’s gone when he goes to look for a snack later…
