Ever since then, no one has ever been able to address Fudge, or talk about her, without saying, “Aw, Fudge.”
Poor ol' Fudgie died yesterday, after a long, happy, glorious life with a family who adored her, and lots of relatives and friends who were big fans, too.
We visited Julie and her kids a lot during our years on the road, and Fudge would greet us like long-lost family. Which we were. Then she'd take a nap in the Westy.
I’d never been a huge dog-lover, but Fudge won me over because she took care of me. I’d go running with Julie on the trails – the domain of Julie and every dog she’d ever owned. Julie would be way ahead, I’d be way behind, and Fudge would be between us, desperate to run ahead with Julie, the love of her life, but also worried about “that one back there, she’s nice; I like her, but man she’s so slow! Hurry! Faster!” She'd get twice her usual exercise those days, catching up with Julie, then running back to check on me.