A Dog Named Frankie Karen Sturtevant

A Dog Named Frankie

Karen Sturtevant

For people who love dogs, crouching down on their level and covering their fur with pats is second nature. Our personal dogs are treated with kisses, ear scratches, and belly rubs. I'm no dog psychologist or behaviorist, just a gal who is crazy about canines. When I made the offer of pet sitting services, I knew I'd interact with a range of temperaments. In my short tenure (CritterCareVt. com) there hasn't been a dog, cat, snake, hedgehog, or chicken who didn't allow my indulgence of spoiling them with touches and tickles—until I met Frankie. Maggie and John have three dogs–a mix of little and big, goofy and serious. All adopted. All very fortunate and loved. Over the next few months, we had multiple conversations and a meet and greet on a cold, windy day. Frankie was special. He wasn’t like other dogs. I needed to understand. John, Frankie’s dad, was the only person who Frankie allowed

to touch him. Not Maggie. Not anyone. When people didn’t heed the warnings, Frankie would snap his disapproval. If he were to make contact with skin, I would need my first aid kit handy. I don’t believe there are bad dogs. Frankie was not going to change my mind. I would not give him a chance to fail. I would follow the rules for everyone’s safety and well-being. I would feed, let out, give treats and never make physical contact with the boy.

He didn’t make it easy. Almost as if taunting, he’d saunter up to me and make eye contact. He'd brush against me. Like a forbidden second helping of ice cream, all my impulses wanted to reach out, connect. My common sense knew better, knew the rules. The game started Friday, my first night there. By Sunday, the rules would change.

When the digital clock displayed 1:12 a.m. I instantly awoke when I felt a bump on my hand. Laying on my right side, my left arm was dangling over the bed. Frankie was using his muzzle to nudge my hand. With the light from the hallway providing illumination, my eyes opened to see Frankie in my face. Was I dreaming? Slowly, instinctually, I moved my hand to the top of his soft head to gently stroke: once, twice, three times. Surely, I was dreaming. He then turned around to position himself so his back was near my head. Not moving anything but that chosen hand, Frankie allowed me to caress his back, ever so gently. After six or seven rotations, he promptly walked away to lay at the foot of the bed. I was up for the day.

Wide awake now, I couldn’t fathom what just happened. Maggie and John would never believe it! Later that morning, when the sun was up, the crew and I were on the living room floor. The littles, Leo and Chia, were wrestling, Mai happily lazing on the couch. Frankie was watching. Without pomp or circumstance, and for reasons I will never unravel, Frankie decided he would get up, walk over to me, turn and sit on my lap. I took this as an invitation. Two hands, one long sleek back. This time, I had my phone. And, got video proof! This was Frankie’s world. He made the rules.

Over the next few days, this scene replayed itself along with him coming up to me, lifting his front paw to poke me, to extend an olive branch. Slowly, my hand would move to his neck, the crown of his smooth head. Other times, with tag wagging, he’d walk to me then turn to reverse until he bumped into me offering his loveSummer 2022 ly hind end. When he had his fill, he’d move on to grab a toy or simply lay down.

Two times, I attempted to pet him without a proper invitation and almost regretted it. He’s one fast dog and wasn’t shy about telling me he did not approve. I learned where the trusted line was and could not pass. Frankie was the rule maker. I was the follower and okay with that arrangement.

When it was time for me to leave, I had hoped Frankie would allow me one last touch, but it was not to be. Frankie was in charge. As I gave the pups one last treat, I thanked Frankie for trusting me. With teary eyes, I left my new friend. As incredible as this experience was for me, it must have been equally fulfilling for Frankie: another someone, for whatever reason, he granted access into his private world. My soul was deeply moved by him. I don’t keep a lot of videos or photos on my phone, but the ones with Frankie I will never delete.

We will get another chance to get reacquainted later this year when I will again pet sit for the pack. I’ll bring my playbook to remember Frankie’s the coach and this is his field.