19 February

Goodbye To Frieda. The Divine Old Dog

by Jon Katz
Goodbye To Frieida
Goodbye To Frieda

I am sorry to bring you sad news once more, Frieda died this morning shortly after 10 a.m. She was euthanized at the Cambridge Valley Vet. She was struggling more and more each day – deafness, incontinence, disorientation, arthritis. She had fallen on the stairs several times and was struggling to get on or off her dog bad and Maria wisely and lovingly decided to give her peace and release from her pain.

We both saw that Frieda was ready to go.

Frieda was 15 years old, and failing. Our vet, Dr. Suzanne Fariello, says this winter has taken it’s toll on many old dogs. My heart and my love go out to Maria, these two were one of the most powerful love stories I have encountered in my years of writing about the human- animal bond.

When I first met Maria and Frieda, I thought of them as the Thelma and Louise of the dog- human world, two man-haters on the run, protecting one another and clinging to one another and loving each other dearly.

Frieda took her duties seriously, she tried to kill me repeatedly and for many months (along with every other living thing on the farm), Maria loved the wildness, the tiger in her.  It was, I think, what she had always wanted to be but was too afraid to be. To the end, these two were fused. I believe Frieda saved Maria’s life in some ways. When she most needed to be safe, Frieda made her feel safe.

I came to love Frieda very much and owe her a lot. She was a monumental personality.  It was Frieda that helped Maria learn how to trust me at a time when she trusted very few people, and no men. When she saw Frieda and me come to love one another, and when I refused to quit on Frieda,  she said then she knew it would be okay for her to love me too. That was a big gift.

Over time, Frieda came to protect me as well as Maria. She sat at the door to my study (Lenore dozed on the sofa inside) and guarded me while I worked, and nobody bothered me.

Frieda inspired much in my life. A book, “Second Chance Dog,” and my Divine Old Dog poems.

She was a great spirit, training and taming her was one of the challenges of my life, it taught me so much. Frieda was raised as a guard dog,  abandoned in the Adirondacks, lived in the wild hunting small game for years, then ended up in a shelter in Queensbury, N.Y., where Maria saw her and took her home (many people chose not to bring her home.) She joined my life at the first Bedlam Farm, where she lived in a barn for nearly a year before she got calm enough to come inside of the house.

Maria always saw Frieda as a cute and sweet creature, even as she was terrorizing men and dogs and hunting and devouring baby rabbits, woodchucks,  raccoons, skunks, chickens and cats. She chased a few trucks as well.

I always said that Frieda was the only real man in the house, she never gave it up, never gave it away.  She had true integrity. She adored Maria every second of her life, and was faithful and protective of her to her last breath. She also made sure that no big truck ever came into the driveway and bothered us and our house.

I am glad my heart was restored in July, I think it might have shattered for good in this month of cold, challenge and loss – Simon, Lenore, and now Frieda. There needs to be life on this farm. I give all of my stronger heart to Maria today, she is strong and brave and clear, I am proud of her in so many ways. It was such a difficult decision, but in the end, she was Frieda’s advocate, she gave her peace and freedom. Dr. Fariello, like all vets, says it is difficult to see the suffering animals go through because people can’t let go.

Today, Maria decided to let go.

I think of Frieda now back in the woods she loved, being the tiger she was, prowling and hunting and sniffing, a strong woman who could take care of herself and the people she loved. There, she can run free, as she loved to do, sneak up on unsuspecting prey, run quietly on her trails, scare the wits out of rabbits, dig shelters for herself,  answer the call of the wild. She was the woman Maria came to be.

Run in peace, Frieda, you did well here, and we are grateful for you.

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