Adopted
Fred...Hey
gang! This is Big Red Fred and I’m loving life in the Alamo City. I came down
here from San Angelo a few weeks ago and started living with my foster parents
and bubbas, who are totally awesome. Of course they think I’m awesome as well.
We get along really well—playing with toys, chewing on bones, and just doing all
kinds of doggie stuff. My foster dad says I’m a gentle giant and wouldn’t harm a
fly, but he didn’t see me go one on one with that moth the other day! We used to
go on walks and play fetch every day, because supposedly I’m “Too-Big” Red Fred
and should just be Red Fred. But then we found out I have heartworms, so while
I’m being treated I can’t get too crazy and rambunctious. Therefore I’ve been
living the tough life: watching movies, eating and sleeping, and best of all
getting loved on nonstop. It’s hard, but I struggle through it. My foster dad
says I should live it up while I can, because I’m going back on a fitness
program when these worms get out of my heart. Man, what’s with these military
people and fitness?
Although I am rather portly,
I’m no fathead! In fact, I’ve been told I’m pretty smart. I’m not one to brag
about myself, but… I can sit, I know where I’m supposed to use the bathroom, and
I know what I’m supposed to chew on. I don’t eat my foster parents’ food (at
least not while they’re looking) and I don’t jump up on people. I’m so
trustworthy that I get free roam in the house while my foster mom and dad are
away. My foster bubbas don’t even get to do that. Also, something else I’m good
at is getting groomed. I don’t understand why this is so awesome, because all
you have to do is sit there, and I’m a champ at that.
When my foster dad and I talk about my forever home, he says that I’m so
easygoing and loving that I’d be great in any situation. I’m super with kids and
don’t go crazy when I see them like my foster bubbas, and although I haven’t
seen a cat yet, I’m pretty sure I’d be good with them, too. There are only two
things worth running after and a cat isn’t one of them! Of course, food and
tennis balls are fair game. So if you’re reading this and you’d like to have
your own Big Red Fred, then act quick or you may get the Big Red Fred without
the Big. I know I can make you as happy as I have my foster family. All I’m
asking for is to be loved in return. Well, we’ll also have to work food and
tennis balls into the contract, but those are just details.
Uh oh, the next movie’s starting so I’ve got to go. Bye! Adios! Au revoir! –
Holy moley, I’m trilingual. I didn’t even add that in there. Big Red Fred OUT!!
Update 05/06/2006:
Hey gang, it’s Big Red Fred again, and
I thought I would give you an update on what’s going on here in Spurs Town. I am
definitely on the verge of dropping “Big” from my name now. The pounds are just
melting off me lately. I feel like Frosty the Snowman in August or the Wicked
Witch of the West, except much nicer and definitely better looking. If I lose
much more weight, I think GRR should offer some sort of discount. My foster dad
says that’s silly, because what I’ve lost in weight I’ve gained in love and
personality, so I’m a bargain no matter what the price.
Other than my pants size, not much has changed. I must admit, however, that I’ve
got a slight thunderstorm phobia. I know us big guys are supposed to be tough
and all, but seriously, that thunder and lightning is scary stuff. Your chances
of being struck are like 1 in 2! I’m kidding of course. It’s really only like 1
in 4, and my phobia really isn’t all that bad. I don’t bark, cry or go crazy—I
just have to be near my humans for assurance that I won’t be turned into a
Golden frizz-ball by a bolt of lightning.
Actually, I do have some really great news: I should be cleared of all
heartworms soon and finally able to go jogging, run the obstacle course, and
head for the pool. And by then I'll be so fit I won't have to swim with my shirt
on! My fellow "big" guys know what I'm talking about.
Well, that’s about all to report from San Antonio. I have now watched 1,241
movies and have added German to my linguistic repertoire. All I can say is “da,”
but come on, that’s more than some German Shepherds can say. Oh wait, I meant “ja”!
“Da” is Russian, so I guess I know that too. WOW! Bye! Adios! Au revoir! Auf
wiedersehen! Do svidaniya! Big Red Fred OUT!!