Frodo, as dear to me as my Gaffer, grew up in the Shire, a peaceful quiet farmland. I knew him since the time that I was young; and he came to Hobbiton from Buckleberry when his mother and father died. Full of adventure and youth he was when in his younger happier years. I would clip his hedges for him when he was a bit older and more sober at fifty; therefore, bringing upon me the most life exciting, tear pouring quest of all time.
To carry the Ring of Doom was not the job Frodo would have chosen. Instead that quest should have been given to a warrior. Frodo was neither a warrior nor a knight. He was the average height for a hobbit, brown hair, and beautiful blue eyes in likeness of the pools of Kheled-zaram. His humor and heartwarming personality is so full that Mr. Frodo is nothing but love. I accompanied my dear Mr. Frodo from Bag End to Mt. Doom and back as his servant. What I have learned about Mr. Frodo is that he will always love me even though I left him for dead to Shagrat and Gorbag: the most stinking, awful, devil like creatures in all MIDDLE EARTH! I love Mr. Frodo with all the love I got!