I've known two dogs in my adult life, first one was Fred, a spaniel/lab mix glossy black with a white spot on his chest. Walking in downtown Montreal one day, in the parking lot of a gas station was an elderly man sitting beside a cardboard box with the words, 'Sale only 10.00 dollars!' written on the cardboard box in grease pencil. I walked over to see what was on sale, thinking it was likely plastic junk of some sort. There was a puppy, with an infected open sore on his neck. The elderly man looked at me and said something like: 'He's the last one, no one wanted him.' I immediately grabbed the puppy, gave the man ten dollars and carried him to a Vet's I had seen nearby. They shaved the area and laved the infected sore on his neck, gave me antibiotics and I brought him home on the bus.
When I arrived back at the apartment on that Saturday morning, I had gone out to buy fresh croissants but returned with a puppy. My husband was hungry and had likely been waiting for the croissant, he looked at me confused. "Where are the croissant?" He asked. "We have a puppy" which I placed in his arms. The puppy immediately began chewing on his hand, "Wow, this little guy's as hungry as my Uncle Fred." And so the name stuck, he became Fred, he lived a good long life, had a pack of dog playmates in the area all around the same age, that we met with every day. We were students at the time, and lived near the university, so between classes we walked him a lot. When he was fourteen years old it was discovered that he had a metastasized form of balloon cell melanoma. He had four cryogenic operations over those years, to remove fast growing tumors in his mouth. Eventually though he succumbed to the cancer. We both still miss him, but he had a good long life, from cardboard box to master of his universe