Last minutes of a Paper Eater

Life was getting terribly hard for Fred. Food was day by day harder to find and Ulrich, his dog, was hungry. "Ulrich" and "hungry" should had never ever been in the same sentence to be sure to survive till the next day, and Fred knew it well enough.
That morning he woke up with positive impressions. There where a pair of pages left since the night before and he felt satisfied biting one of them for a while, and it was a good one. It talked about some kind of mouse that ate paper and books, just like him. Fred would have sighed, if bookworms could have done it, and continued chewing, paying a lot of attention to not eat also Ulrich; it was written in a little note on the only page he would have never eaten, because exactly in the middle of it there was his dog, and his only friend. Ulrich was a good company and a trustful friend; he only had to read his name to feel less alone, and this is absolutely an incredible amount of self-esteem for a bookworm.
Fred was alive since three months, one week, four days and a bunch of hours. He kept the count because he chewed somewhere that remembering birthdays is important, but actually it wasn't useful at all; it didn't bring food, for example.
He moved on the right and followed out what was around. His eyes weren't good -- they weren't meant to be. He simply felt the world that surrounded him and believed in his perceptions; his senses were good enough to guide him to the nearest piece of paper. That was all a bookworm needs; this, and good stomach to eat. Having a literal dog wasn't necessary, but Fred liked it. Nay, he never had someone who said to him he couldn't take Ulrich with himself.
As a bookworm, he knew a lot of them died 'cause of poisons put by some truly angry presence (someone started believing it was a strange species of Gods); but never really believed in it. He simply ate and survived, and sometimes he transported something that was into his stomach to his brain -- like the thing about birthdays, that name he chose for himself, or that knowledge about gigantic amount of paper in places called "library". He would have liked to find one of those things one day.
He was still chewing when he felt something was going wrong in his stomach. It stopped.
Fred had lived all is entire existence with his stomach noises and the world fell in a bitter, cruel silence. For a life-long second, he felt that taste in his mouth; then, a moment before closing his eyes for the longest slept, he stared ad Ulrich. It was really a good paper dog, after all.