Dear Frank

Thanking the dog that helped raise me

Story & Courtesy Photos by BEN OLSON

I try my best not to forget Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. I write it on my calendar, a reminder to not forget to give them a call. It’s important to show them how thankful I am for everything they have done for me, all they put up with and sacrificed.

There is one other that deserves my thanks and appreciation for raising me. His name was Franklin Delano Retriever, but I just called him Frank.

Frank was a black labrador retriever, a wedding present to my parents.

Before he found his way into my parents lives, Frank was raised to be a hunting dog. He was supposed to accompany hunters, retrieving game. This requires a dog with focus and obedience.

Frank had neither of those qualities. Frank just wanted to be around people.

When I was born, Frank was 4-years-old.

Frank always showed patience with my sister and I when we were young. When my sister accidentally stepped on his paw, he didn’t bark or yelp, he just let out a quiet whimper.

In so many of my childhood memories, Frank was there, running around the yard and playing catch with my dad. What he loved more than anything was being around my family and I.

He also liked meeting new people. Frank became good friends with construction workers who were working on the house next door. They would throw a stick for him and he would do his best hunting dog impersonation, finding the stick and returning it.

Almost everyone was eager to meet Frank, except for the jogger who sprayed him with pepper spray and the porcupine who didn’t appreciate his friendliness.

Frank also enjoyed chasing cars, a habit that would lead to multiple injuries. He got hit by cars more times than I could count, but every time we would get up.

As Frank got older he had a harder time getting around. Countless injuries took their toll on Frank’s joints. Walks became harder and stairs were an obstacle. Most of his day was spent laying down on his bed, an old worn-out dog bed covered in dirty old blankets.

When any of us got up to go outside Frank would get up to follow you. As he got up, Frank would let out a groan.

Eventually, Frank’s pain and discomfort became too much for my parents to bear. They decided to put Frank down.

The day my parents chose to put him to sleep was a weekday, so my sister and I had school. My mom was unable to tell us because she knew that we would talk her out of it. Before we walked up to the bus stop, my mom told me to make sure to say goodbye to Frank. I had no idea that would be the last time I saw him.

My mom struggled with her decision to not tell my sister and I. Years later, she questioned if it was the right thing to do, but I always understood.

Fourteen years after Frank passed away, I want to give him the thanks that he deserved and to give him the goodbye that I never did.

Whenever I go back home to visit, I can just look in the corner of the kitchen where his bed used to be. Despite my mom’s best attempts to clean it, there still is a dirty smudge on the wall where Frank used to lean against the wall.

That dirty mark on the wall isn’t the only thing he left behind. The lessons that he taught me will live on as long as I do. He taught me to be patient, outgoing and most of all to have fun.

Thank you Frank for all you did. A person couldn’t ask for a better friend.