Fred – The Dog That Was Never Supposed To Be Mine

Today's piece is for Fred's friends, followers and fans.

And trust me, she has more followers than most people I know.

At just three years old, Fred has already made more memories than many people manage in a lifetime. She's travelled thousands of miles, stolen countless hearts, become a movie star, and somehow turned herself into one of the most recognisable faces of Parkmore Supplements.

The funny thing is, she was never supposed to be mine.

Fred was born in Florida. One evening at a horse show, my friend Ingvill bought her online. I'm fairly certain there was wine involved in that decision, although I can't prove it.

I was already booked to head to Minnesota later that year to teach a clinic when Ingvill asked if I could bring the puppy with me.

I agreed.

Never mind that I lived in Kentucky.

Never mind that the dog was in Florida.

Never mind that the logistics made absolutely no sense.

As anyone who knows me will tell you, one of my stronger qualities when animals and road trips are involved is simply making things work. Case in point: I once made a detour to College Station, Texas, on my way to Ocala to rescue a horse from a difficult situation for a good client. And where did he end up? You guessed it — with Sandra.

The search began for someone who could get this little hound from Florida to either Aiken or Lexington. As luck would have it, on the very same day someone offered to help, I realised I was about to drive through Florida, Aiken, Maryland, Pennsylvania, Michigan and a few other places on my way to Minnesota anyway.

Problem solved.

Or so I thought.

This is also how she got her name.

At the time, my truck was called The Bandit.

Anyone who knows me knows that one of my all-time favourite movies is Smokey and the Bandit. Since this little hound and I were about to embark on a cross-country road trip together, it seemed only fitting that she should have a name connected to the adventure.

Now, if you've seen the movie, you'll remember Fred, the lovable basset hound owned by Snowman, the truck driver hauling the Coors beer while Bandit ran interference and kept the Smokies chasing him across half the country.

It seemed appropriate.

We had a truck.

We had a road trip.

We actually had a plan.

And now we had a basset hound.

The breeder was not impressed. Her registered name was Empress.

She was now Fred the Female Road Hound.

I didn't care.

It was funny.

More importantly, when I called out "Fred!", she came running straight to me as though she'd already decided she was coming along for the ride.

That settled the matter.

Fred it was.

From the moment she climbed into the truck, she acted as though she'd always been there. She followed me everywhere, stayed with friends while I coached, made herself at home wherever we stopped, and started collecting admirers at an alarming rate.

Within days she had developed a following on Facebook.

Everywhere we went people wanted to meet Fred.

Everywhere we stayed she found new friends.

And with every mile, I got a little more attached.

The problem was that she wasn't mine.

I was simply delivering her to Minnesota.

At least that was the plan.

When we reached Aiken and settled in for a few days of coaching, I began to notice something strange. There wasn't a whole lot of excitement coming from Minnesota about this new puppy that was supposedly arriving.

At the same time, my friend Sandra kept saying the same thing over and over.

"You're not going to be able to give that dog up."

To which I responded, repeatedly and enthusiastically, by telling her to bugger off.

Sandra ignored me.

She continued her campaign.

Apparently, while I was busy coaching, she had started talking to Ingvill.

Then one evening she walked over and casually announced:

"The dog is yours."

Again, I told her to bugger off.

This time she showed me the messages.

They had made a deal.

Ingvill was no longer able to take Fred and was struggling to find someone who could.

The dog was staying with me.

I burst into tears.

At the time I was in the middle of a divorce.

I didn't have a permanent home.

I was living out of a truck, travelling constantly, teaching clinics and trying to build Parkmore Supplements from the ground up.

I had absolutely no idea how owning a dog was going to work.

But somehow it did.

Not only did it work, it changed my life.

Fred became the Parkmore Am"Bassett"or.

She started conversations wherever we went.

She made people smile.

She helped me make friends.

She helped me gain customers.

She opened doors I never could have opened myself.

On difficult days she reminded me not to take life quite so seriously.

When I was tired, stressed, lonely or frustrated, Fred always found a way to make me laugh.

In many ways, she helped build Parkmore right alongside me.

Earlier this year we lost Sandra.

It was a difficult loss.

But before she left us, she gave Fred and me one final gift.

That gift was Scruffy.

Today Scruffy and Fred are inseparable. They're best friends, partners in crime and constant companions.

When Fred was away filming her movie and I was on the road teaching, Scruffy stepped into the role of emotional support brother. He kept her company, helped her settle and happily took over grabbing attention whenever she decided she'd had enough of being famous for the day.

The truth is there are now so many Fred stories that I could write for days.

Stories about horse shows.

Stories about road trips.

Stories about customers.

Stories about movie sets.

Stories about friendships.

Stories about the thousands of people whose lives she has touched along the way.

But perhaps the most important thing is this:

Fred arrived at exactly the right time.

A little dog from Florida wandered into my life when everything seemed uncertain.

She was never supposed to stay.

Yet somehow she became one of the greatest blessings I've ever received.

And for that, I'll always be grateful.

Thank you, Ingvill.

Thank you, Sandra.

And thank you, Fred.

The road trip is still going.

— Fleur Bryan