American dog. He was purchased as a small German Shepherd puppy in Chicago by Swedish-American importer C. Erik Riddderstedt and soon moved with that family to Batavia, Illinois, where he spent most of his life at 1112 South Batavia Avenue. He had slightly shorter legs than usual but was a strong dog who chased smaller dogs that teased him around the neighborhood. He loved the family's vacations in Wisconsin where he would spend a lot of time swimming in a lake, and he also loved pheasant hunting, being photographed and affectionate moments with the family's two boys. Unfortunately someone had thrown him big rocks enough times for his teeth to be stumped, and he also had serious digestive problems at times because of chicken bones he managed find, chew and swallow. He made puppies with a gorgeous neighborhood Collie and his beautiful orange daughter Queenie lived with the family for a couple of years. She was hit by a car on the Avenue in front of the family's yard and seriously hurt, but a great local vet saved her. He would play by himself by throwing his stainless steel food bowl up in the air and running to catch it over and over. The family's cat Pete was his best friend until he was killed by another Avenue car. When the family moved overseas in 1962, quarantine restrictions were so tough that they had to leave old King with another friend of his, the local milk man. He died on that farm of bone cancer the following year.
American dog. He was purchased as a small German Shepherd puppy in Chicago by Swedish-American importer C. Erik Riddderstedt and soon moved with that family to Batavia, Illinois, where he spent most of his life at 1112 South Batavia Avenue. He had slightly shorter legs than usual but was a strong dog who chased smaller dogs that teased him around the neighborhood. He loved the family's vacations in Wisconsin where he would spend a lot of time swimming in a lake, and he also loved pheasant hunting, being photographed and affectionate moments with the family's two boys. Unfortunately someone had thrown him big rocks enough times for his teeth to be stumped, and he also had serious digestive problems at times because of chicken bones he managed find, chew and swallow. He made puppies with a gorgeous neighborhood Collie and his beautiful orange daughter Queenie lived with the family for a couple of years. She was hit by a car on the Avenue in front of the family's yard and seriously hurt, but a great local vet saved her. He would play by himself by throwing his stainless steel food bowl up in the air and running to catch it over and over. The family's cat Pete was his best friend until he was killed by another Avenue car. When the family moved overseas in 1962, quarantine restrictions were so tough that they had to leave old King with another friend of his, the local milk man. He died on that farm of bone cancer the following year.
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