Fred, July 1982-January 1997.
Fred was less than thrilled when I was born in 1985; as my parents put it, he was no longer "top dog" in the house, with my parents' attention re-directed to a baby. In fact, he never quite got used to doing what I asked of him. He was never a mean dog, though. For the last four years of his life, he had the company of another person, my little brother. He was an independent dog, but even if he wasn't cuddly, we all adored him. He was super-fluffy in the winter (as seen in the above pic), and very sleek with his summer haircut (also much less grey looking and more black-and-white).
Fred loved barking at thunderstorms and the vacuum cleaner. He was wonderfully spirited; he pranced around a lot, and my parents said that if he hadn't come with a name, they would have named him Prancer.
When they got him as a puppy, my parents were told by the vet that he would probably end up being 40 pounds. Wrong-o! He was more like 75. As much as we loved him, my mom had difficulty lifting him into the car when he got older and said that if we ever got another dog, it would be one she could carry easily. This is what led us to our Cavalier a year and a half after Fred passed on.