Frankie chose us
Before Frankie there was Bella, our white Labrador. We hadn’t actually set out to get her either.
Bella had originally been bought as a puppy by some people we knew. They were acquaintances, perhaps friends at the time, although we weren’t particularly close later in life. They found this very over-exuberant Labrador puppy rather more than they could cope with.
They also happened to owe us some money. We were worried about what was going to happen to the puppy, so in the end we wrote off the debt and took her instead.
We named her Bella, and she became part of our family.
Bella was everything you might expect from a Labrador. Food was everything and destruction seemed to be a hobby. Clearing up after her in the garden could reveal anything from socks to pieces of tea towel that she’d somehow managed to eat without us noticing. On one occasion, she even managed to swallow an unopened bag of sweets. She also had a rather strange habit of trimming my toenails for me if I made the mistake of sitting around in bare feet.
Bella had been perfectly well, or at least we thought she was. Then one snowy day she went out into the garden and didn’t come back. We went outside to see where she was and found her lying on the ground, unable to get up. I carried her back into the house and we took her to the vets. Sadly, the rest is history. An autopsy later showed that she had cancer at the base of her spine.
After losing Bella, I told Becky that we weren’t having another dog. I meant it too. Losing her had hurt so much that I simply didn’t want to go through it again.
Some friends of ours were going to see a litter of Labrador puppies that had been born just around the corner from us. They invited us along and I agreed, but I was quite clear about one thing. We were not getting another Labrador.
When we got there I kept myself to one side while our friends looked at the puppies. They eventually chose a beautiful little golden Labrador.
Then this small chocolate puppy, who I considered the runt of the litter, wandered over to me. He climbed onto my moccasin-shod foot, curled up and went to sleep.
That was it really.
How was I supposed to leave him there after that?
£400 later, Frankie was coming home with us.
Life with Frankie
Frankie quickly became part of everything we did. We were lucky enough to live in the countryside with an eleven-acre field at the bottom of our garden, and for a Labrador it was a pretty wonderful place to grow up.
Frankie absolutely loved that field. He would run around it for hours, although one of his favourite activities was finding fox poo and rolling in it, something he managed to do far more often than we would have liked.
Food was another thing that made Frankie unusual. You could put his dinner down and he might wander over, eat a couple of mouthfuls and then walk away, coming back to it later when he felt like it.
He didn’t beg for food or tear open bin bags looking for something to eat. Although, to be fair, if there was something particularly tasty in a carrier bag hanging from a door handle, he wasn’t completely above having a little chew.
Frankie’s early life was spent living next door to his brother, Harvey. They had grown up together and were able to spend plenty of time with each other. Harvey is still very much with us today and, as I write this, he’s actually lying on the floor beside me.
Later, circumstances meant that we had to move across the village. As difficult as the move was at the time, our new home had an eleven-acre field at the bottom of the garden, and for Frankie it turned out to be rather wonderful.
It didn’t take Frankie long to make the field his own. He could spend hours out there exploring, running around and generally enjoying himself. Unfortunately, it also introduced him to one of his great loves in life: fox poo.
Frankie loved being outside, but he was just as happy doing absolutely nothing. He was one of those dogs who simply seemed content to be wherever we were.
The things we remember
Frankie loved his little toys. Whenever we went shopping we’d often come home with something for him, and he always seemed delighted with them. There was just one problem. If the toy had a squeaker inside it, Frankie apparently considered it his personal responsibility to remove it. He would carefully tear the toy apart until he’d found the offending squeaker and pulled it out.
Frankie was never an overly excitable dog. He could certainly have his playful moments, but they tended to come in short bursts. Most of the time he was simply Frankie, completely chilled out and happy to be around the family. This video of our youngest granddaughter Sienna, when she was about a year old, probably shows that better than I can describe it. She was quite happily crawling around beside him while Frankie simply carried on being Frankie.
Frankie and Harvey
Harvey was Frankie’s brother from the same litter. Our friends chose Harvey that day while Frankie chose me, and because we lived next door to each other at the time, the two brothers spent a lot of their early years together. Harvey was frequently at our house, and to be fair, all these years later he still is.
Even after we moved across the village, Harvey continued to spend a lot of time with us. That never really changed. He’s an old boy now, but he’s still a regular part of our household and still spends plenty of time here with us.
Trips to Brean Sands
For a time we had a static caravan at Brean Sands, a couple of hours away from home. Frankie was never particularly keen on the journey there, but once we arrived he loved it. Going down to the beach every day became part of our time there, and Frankie absolutely loved being on the sand.
One trip to Brean was rather more memorable than most. It was out of season and we’d taken Frankie down to the beach. At the time I had a little Volkswagen Transporter that I was converting into a camper, mainly so we could have a kettle and make a cup of tea while we were there.
The tide was right out. Anyone who knows Brean Sands will understand what that means. It’s the Bristol Channel and when the tide goes out, it feels as though you could pretty much walk to Wales.
Becky had taken Frankie on his lead down towards the water while I was further back playing with a remote-control beach buggy I’d bought, obviously to make sure I retained some connection with my childhood.
Something suddenly caught Frankie’s attention. It might have been a seagull, a pigeon or something else entirely, but whatever it was, Frankie decided he needed to investigate immediately.
Unfortunately, Becky wasn’t quite ready for the sudden departure.
Frankie took off and pulled her straight down onto the sand. She landed heavily on her arm, which was pushed into her ribs.
Many, many hours later, A&E at Weston-super-Mare confirmed that she’d fractured two ribs.
So Frankie had a lovely day at the beach. Becky, rather less so.
Harvey was often part of our trips too. He and Frankie didn’t just spend time together at home. Harvey travelled with us and came away to the caravan, so even after we’d moved across the village, the brothers still shared plenty of their lives together.
Knowing when it was time
We never really noticed Frankie getting old. He was the same chilled-out dog he’d always been and, for most of his life, we’d been incredibly lucky with where we lived. He could wander out of the house, head down into the field and have a run around whenever he wanted. He stayed a pretty fit dog.
Eventually we had to leave the house with the field and move back into suburbia. Frankie finished his days with us in a four-bedroom house with a tiny back garden, so the days of taking himself off into the field were over and walks were back on the lead.
But even then, I don’t remember him really slowing down.
It was only towards the very end that things changed. Frankie developed a growth around his hip and back leg. Eventually it became large enough to restrict the movement of his leg and getting around became difficult and painful for him.
Of course we would have liked to keep him with us forever. We could have continued with painkillers, but eventually we had to accept that we would have been doing that for ourselves rather than for Frankie.
Once he could no longer get around comfortably, Becky and I knew it was time. We made the decision to let him go to sleep.
When we took Frankie to the vets for the final time, he wasn’t just with Becky and me. Our two daughters came with us, the grandchildren were there, everybody was there for him.
He was surrounded by the family he’d spent his life with.
And Frankie was still Frankie. He was happily taking treats right up until the very second he closed his eyes.
It was an awful decision to have to make, but it was the right decision for Frankie. He left us with his family around him, knowing that he was loved.
The best dog
I think I’ve probably said it about every dog we’ve ever owned, that they were the best dog.
But Frankie really was the best.
He had a personality that I’ve never seen in another dog before, and I’m pretty sure I’ll never see again.
Even now, I still wake up in the morning, come downstairs and look for him.
Writing this brief story of his life has brought me to tears more than once, and I think this is probably where I need to stop.
We loved him. We still love him, and we’ll always miss him.