K2K9.com

FRITZ

Some time around the late 1960s, my brother Frank came home from the service on furlough, and with him was a tiny black and gray German Shepherd Dog puppy. Frank named the dog Fritz, and we all joked that his real name was Fritz Von Mueller CH something-or-other Altenburg of the somewhere. I'm not certain if we ever had any pedigree papers for Fritz, but he was apparently a purebred GSD. Originally destined for police K-9 work, Frank ended up leaving him in Framingham with us when he returned to New Jersey. And so begins the story of Fritz, the scariest dog in our neighborhood.

It wasn't Fritz's fault, but he eventually became a vicious dog. At first, Fritz was cute and cuddly, but he rapidly grew to an enormous size. He was given no structure, no outlet for his frustrations, and no occupation. As a German Shepherd Dog, he needed a job, but his humans didn't know that, and didn't know how to handle him. And, because he was not given a job, and was not shown any leadership by the human pack members, he created his own job: guard dog.

While in the house, which was a rarity, Fritz was cuddly and loveable with all of us. But, if a person approached the house, particularly a male, he went ballistic. It ended up that Fritz lived his days inside our garage, tied to the garage door by a very short chain which he was able to break, thus it became shorter and shorter.

At the same time, Sam, the Beagle (see www.k2k9.com/dogs/sam.cfm) lived with us in the house most of the time. Sam was an intact female, and Fritz an intact male. Whenever Sam went into heat, our entire yard would be filled with drooling, male dogs camped out on the front lawn. Some of them would not let us into our own house! And all this time, Fritz lived in the same pack as Sam, and was not permitted to go near her. Being a little kid, I didn't realize it then, but this must have added immeasurably to Fritz's frustration.

Dad would actually walk Fritz every night after work. Unbelievable now that I think back -- Dad was such a mild-mannered guy, and he could handle that dog, Whoa!

Dad and Fritz

They built a chain-link dog kennel in the back yard after Fritz was full-grown. They kept him in
that thing all day, and tied in the garage all night. The kennel was about 5 feet by 8 feet chain-link fence material so he could see everything. Fritz would pace inside that enclosure for hours on end.

Fritz in the kennel.

The neighbors next door had a Cockapoo that they named Bum (I'm not kidding). Bum was always loose, and he would come by and torment Fritz. Occasionally, Fritz would get loose, and his one and only goal in life was to seek out Bum and try to kill him. When people met me for the first time, they'd say "Oh! the house with the vicious dog". But now that I know what I know, it was totally the humans' fault, and really they both were vicious dogs in different ways, and all because they had no exercise, discipline or affection.

Perhaps the one, and only, photo of Bum.

Poor Fritz was driven to insanity by being cooped up and not having a job to do and having no exercise and no discipline and CERTAINLY no affection. I truly believe that Fritz spent all of his days thinking about how to escape so he could kill Bum.

One day, Mom and I came home from somewhere to discover Nick's motorcycle gone, Fritz gone, and the garage door window smashed, glass strewn across the driveway along the door frame, and a trail of blood from the driveway to our front door. Mom's first assumption was that it was Fritz's own blood. Nick arrived home a few hours later on his bike, the back of his white t-shirt soaked in blood. Nick's friend, Siggy, had taunted Fritz (as many boys had) and Fritz leapt through the window at him. Siggy cut his hand on the glass, not from a Fritz bite. Nick drove Siggy to the E.R. on the back of the bike, while Siggy pressed his hand into Nick's back to stop the bleeding, thus the blood-soaked t-shirt. I forget where Fritz ended up that night, but I think the dog officer took him away or something. My parents got him back, and all was fine. Siggy didn't come around very often after that.

Similarly, when I started dating Paul G. in high school, he was bound and determined to train Fritz once and for all. My parents constantly told Paul not to go near the dog, but he wouldn't listen. If my parents weren't home, Paul would go into the garage, armed with a baseball bat, and try to make the dog submit. (Paul owned Caesar, a wonderful Lab/Setter mix who was the smartest dog I've ever known -- sorry, Timba, but yes Caesar was smarter than you.) And so, I guess Paul thought he could subdue Fritz just like Caesar. No such luck, since Fritz was by then hopelessly insane, beyond aggressive, and for that matter so was Paul. They had repeated stand-offs, generally ending with Paul claiming to be "this close" to having Fritz eating from the palm of his hand. One day, when Fritz was particularly pent up, and probably so was Paul, Paul decided to go out there and really make it happen. Mom was home that day, and she pleaded with Paul to leave the dog alone, but Paul just wouldn't obey. He prodded the dog with the baseball bat to the point where I suppose Fritz had just simply had enough. Fritz chomped down, hard, on that baseball bat. The next thing Mom and I knew, we heard a horrible yelp from the dog, and we went running out to the garage to find Paul retreating from the dog, the baseball bat split lengthwise right down the middle, slivers exposed, blood dripping from the bat. My first thought was that Paul had hit the dog over the head. I was furious, and I let Paul know exactly what a heartless s.o.b. he really was. But Paul insisted that the dog had bitten the bat, cut the bat in half lengthwise, and the chomp had been so severe as to cut the dogs gums and mouth. The blood was Fritz's own. Paul knew by that time what he was up against, and he never, ever went near Fritz again. (Between you and me, I think Dad made sure of it by having a "talk" with Paul mano y mano if you get my drift.)

In the end, Fritz was euthanized because nobody could control him. Bum lived to old age and was eventually hit by a car and died. Bum was vicious til the very end -- he would even bite his owners if they tried to pat him!!! Talk about two red-zone dogs! But you know what, I was about 8 years old when we got Fritz, and I was always able to pat him, cuddle with him, etc. when he was allowed in the house, which was very rare. It was as if he knew I was "the dog lady" even then! too bad I didn't take a further interest in our dogs when I was a kid they were all unbalanced and unhinged, including Bum in the equation. Sam, the Beagle, was a little bit better, but she was kept tied up all the time too.

When I think back on it, it makes me so sad. But we all just didn't know any better. Sam finally turned out to be a really cool dog. Dad used to walk her every day, and we gave her tons of exercise, and she ended up being with us til she was 16 and I was out of the house and married.

Fritz and Me