Sara Etgen-Baker--The Lord God Made Them All

The Lord God Made Them All

Sara Etgen-Baker

Photos courtesy of the author.

Eddie, Sara, Fritz von Etgen, and Dave.

(Job 35:11)” Who teaches us more than the beasts of the earth and make us wiser than the birds of the heavens?”

I stepped off the back porch and approached Fritz’s doghouse, which was nestled beneath his favorite spot under the shade of my family’s sprawling pecan tree. Using our shared German language, I hollered: “Fritz! Kommen Sie hier— Abendessen!”

Yet, Fritz didn’t come when called to dinner. I knelt down and peered inside his doghouse catching a glimpse of his shiny dark nose. He was huddled in the back corner of his doghouse, shivering and whining. He tried to stand up but whimpered then collapsed.

“What’s the matter, old boy? Why are you shaking?” I reached inside easing him into my arms then wrapping him in the softest blanket I could find. I sat on the back porch, rocking him back and forth and tenderly stroking his back. “Just go to sleep. When you wake up, you’ll be okay.” I waited for him to drift off to sleep remembering how Fritz came into my life.

I was just eight years old that hot August afternoon when Mr. Davis announced, “Hilda’s gone into labor!” I leapt down the back porch steps, ran next door, and watched Hilda strain as five pups slowly wriggled their way from her belly. Fritz was a runt and the first of Hilda’s litter of five milk-chocolate-colored Dachshunds.

I giggled watching the five bundles of energy squirming beneath their mother’s tummy, all begging for lunch at the same time. But the magical moment abruptly ended when Hilda nudged her runt puppy away from her. The runt inched his way back to Hilda’s stomach, but she shoved him away again, growling and jumping on his tiny back and tail. The runt yelped. I screeched in horror. Mr. Davis ran to my side.

“She’s hurting him… make her stop!” I waved my hands in front of Hilda’s growling face.

Mr. Davis scooped up the injured pup and placed him in my hands. “Run, kiddo. Find a shoebox and put ‘dat pup in it! Hurry back!”

I darted inside the Davis’s house, gingerly holding the wounded pup in my hands. I found a shoebox and eased him into it. Enamored, I watched him stretch and twist his tiny body ever so slightly, instantly filled with love for the tiny, helpless creature.

“Hilda’s a mean dog… I don’t like her!” My voice trembled. “Why would a mama dog kill its own puppy?”

“Kiddo, you gotta understand that Hilda’s not mean; she loves her runt. But her instinct tells her that he’s too small to survive, and she believes that killing him is the strong and merciful thing to do.” Mr. Davis patted me on the back. “Hey, kiddo, if you have a doll blanket and baby bottle back home, go get em’. I believe we can save ‘dis pup.”

I dashed home, retrieved the two items, then quickly scurried back to Mr. Davis. We put the blanket in the box and placed the runt on it. We heated some milk, added Karo syrup to it, and poured the mixture into the baby bottle. The runt sucked on it and wiggled contentedly. While I caressed its tiny body with my fingers, he fell asleep—serene and out of harm’s way.

“You know, kiddo, many runts die before they ever open their eyes. But if we can keep ‘dis runt alive ‘til his eyes open, God willing he’ll more ‘n likely survive. If’n he does, you can have him. I bet he’ll be the most loving and energetic pup of the litter.”

For 14 days, we faithfully hand fed him until his eyes opened. Over the next few weeks, we watched the runt develop into a high-spirited, mischievous but loving Dachshund puppy with a slightly broken tail.

“Hey, kiddo, at some point you have to give your puppy a proper German name,” suggested Mr. Davis.

“Well, for some reason I like the name Fritz. It suits him!”

“Fritz is a right and proper name. I like it. Fritz it is.” Fritz quickly became part of our German family; and for the next 12 years, we were inseparable except when I was in school. Immediately after school, I ran home, threw open the gate, and plopped down on the back porch steps. Fritz darted up the steps, jumped into my lap, barked ‘hello,’ and showered me with love and Doxie kisses. Then he turned his head from side to side as if to ask, “How was your day at school?”

I always obliged him with some school story. “Today I learned how to write in cursive. I’m not very good at it yet, but do you want to see?” I would open my satchel and pull out my writing tablet.

He’d tug on my school satchel, wag that broken tail of his, and bark as if to say, “Where’s my treat?” I offered him a cookie or other snack that I’d saved from lunch. While he munched on his treat, I petted his elongated back and belly.

As I grew up, I often shared my deepest thoughts, secrets, and fears with Fritz. “Today I met the cutest boy in my algebra class! Do you think he’ll ask me to the spring dance? I want to go but what if he doesn’t ask me? You know, Fritz, I’m not very pretty, and I’m not a popular girl. Maybe I should just go by myself. What do you think?” He tilted his head side to side as if to nod and looked at me with his encouraging doe-like eyes. He licked my face and wagged his tail leaving me to interpret his Doxie advice.

As Fritz matured, he embraced his German heritage developing wanderlust, frequently escaping our backyard wandering the neighborhood in search of his female Doxie friend, Freida. Whenever Dad grilled in the backyard, Fritz sat next to the grill impatiently barking demanding Dad give him his very own bratwurst minus the sauerkraut. He became the official mascot of my high school German Club attending our monthly meetings and was even a part of our German Club float during homecoming parades wearing lederhosen Mother made especially for him.

Today, though, Fritz looked listless, fragile, and feeble. “What do you need, old boy?” I stroked his head. “Please tell me. I’ll get you whatever you need.”

Mr. Davis must have seen us on the back porch. “Hey, kiddo. Looks as if old Fritz is in some pain. Let’s take him to the vet. How does that sound?”

I nodded and silently boarded Mr. Davis’s truck, resting Fritz comfortably in my lap. When we arrived at the vet’s office, the vet immediately took Fritz from me, disappearing from view. He reappeared and advised, “Fritz has arthritis, and he’s also had a heart attack. I’ve given him something to ease his pain, and he’s resting comfortably. I’d like to keep him overnight for observation,” he continued, his voice trailing off. “Would you like to see him before you leave?”

I gulped hard and nodded, “Okay,” instinctively knowing that Fritz may not return home to his favorite spot under the shade of pecan tree.

“Go ahead, kiddo.” Mr. Davis squeezed my hand. “I’ll wait for you right here.”

I entered the back room and approached Fritz who was resting comfortably on the examination table. Although groggy, Fritz lifted his head, licked my face, and slowly wagged his broken tail. I stroked Fritz’s belly and patted his head, choking back tears. “Fritz, old boy, you’re too weak to come home, so I’ll be leaving you here with the vet overnight. He’ll take good care of you.”

I hugged Fritz one last time. “I’m going to miss you, ol’ boy!”

Fritz looked at me with those familiar doe-like, understanding eyes, and then nodded his head as if to say, “Goodbye. I’ll be okay.”

The following morning Mr. Davis and I returned to the vet’s office and learned that Fritz had passed away peacefully during the night. I lingered by Fritz’s side for quite some time then prayed remembering Cecil Alexander’s poem, “All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small, all things wise and wonderful, the Lord God made them all.” God gave me Fritz, and, in so doing, He had blessed my life with one of his brightest and smallest creatures.

The next day, Mr. Davis and I buried Fritz in his favorite spot—beneath the cool shade of the family pecan tree. I stood in silence thanking God for Fritz and what he taught me about love, friendship, encouragement, beating the odds, embracing the gift of life, and now accepting death.

(Psalms 104:24-25 “Oh Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches. So is this great and wide sea, wherein are things creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts.”

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