15 September 1969 - 16 June 1984

The name Fajt has no particular significance in swedish,
but is pronounced as the english word "fight"

Parow	Lasse	Barvae Mongoose
		Montebello's Bella
	Heisa	Montebello's Bello
		Litta Sagi
Randi	Kallkärrets Master	Ray
		Nelly
	Rana	Noraskog Sju
		Rappsy

Fajt was our first dog. My parents bought him when I was a child. We had no previous experience of dogs, so he was brought up by four different persons - each one with a strong will and not very good at communication - so mostly he had to find out for himself how far he was able to go.
He probably came to look at himself as the rightful alpha-male of the pack, which triggered a permanent struggle between him and his masters, the family. In most cases he came off victorious. He could have been an impossible dog, if not so gentle and kind. Sometimes he actually bit us, but only when he felt provoked.

Fajt was a big and strong dog, his hight just above the recommended maximum limit. This gave him a considerate ability to steal food, which he was well aware of - like most other beagles he was very fond of eating. In our lack of imprudence we also used to feed him the left-overs from our table, so as time went by he grew awfully fat. When he was in his heaviest state, he weighed about 22 kilos. His nickname the Flying Barrel was (sorry to admit it) a lot more than just a joke.

Our neighbours owned an angry black cat, which he loved to chase when it came jumping into his premises. He was fast, but his weight made him somewhat clumsy - especially in autumn when the terrace was wet and slippery - so sometimes when rounding the corner of our house in highest speed, he shamefully slipped and fell over and made a fool of himself.
At first he tore off the cruciate ligaments in one of his knees, later in the other. He got a limp, but it hardly disturbed him. Eventually he went into hospital and a surgeon sewed them together, but a touch of the lameness remained for the rest of his life.

Fajt was an incredibly crafty dog. He would discover something delicious on our table, but he pretended he did not see it. Instead he strolled around for a while, til he was sure we had forgotten all about his existence. Then he made his quick attack...and mostly the luck was on his side.
When he was bored and wanted attention, he used to steal those little things he had noticed we specially treasured, because he knew this would alert us and make us come running at once to retrieve them.
My motherīs glasses, packets of cigarettes and match-boxes were suitable objects. He could carry an open match-box in his mouth, without dropping a single match. It did not bother him the least if we got angry - it rather amused him.

Fajt was a dog who liked swimming...most of all when any of us got into the water at the same time. In that case he was bold enough to leave the shore behind - else he just made a little sweep to collect a leaf of a water-lily. How proud he was when he returned with it: "Look at me, look what I can do!"
One of his favourite amusements was running off and playing hunting games, but beeing so keen on food he was easily fooled to come back again. We must have been a ridiculous sight, running around with slices of sausage in our hands and calling for Fajt.

Once, when Fajt was about ten-years-old, he stole a whole cheese from the table, then escaped under the staircase och wolfed it down in a few mouthfuls. Afterwards he got sick and had to be taken to the vetīs clinic. The veterinary declared rather bluntly he was too fat. We had to make him loose several kilos, if we wanted him to regain his health. This was a turning-point in his life, he was put on a rigorous diet - no more greasy leftovers - and got amazingly youthful and brisk.
He did not really seem worn out and tired until in the very end. The last six months before his death he suffered from a heart-disease and various other infirmities, all related to old age. He ended his life at 14 years, 9 months and 1 day, which is rather a lot for a dog!

HIS MASTER'S OBITUARY