We Lost Frank

This is not a fun post to write, but since a lot of you have been along for the journey, I wanted to give you an update on our oldest boy, Frank.  I’ve held a lot of this in over the Christmas season, and I’m told that writing this is therapeutic.  Apologies for being long-winded, but I assume you get it.

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Named after “Franklin’s Tower”, we got Frank right after we moved into our house, and he was immediately the source of fun.  He was a great puppy, and as with most male Golden Retrievers, he aimed to please.  He loved walks, wrestling, tennis balls, and sleeping with his head on my foot.  He turned two a few weeks after we brought home his little sister Goldie (“Golden Road”) from the same breeder.  We had just found out that Mrs. RCS was pregnant with our first, and we wanted Frank to have a companion.

There’s a picture in my office that is one of my most cherished pieces.  It’s a picture of Frank looking at L as she’s starting to go into labor (sitting on a Yoga Ball).  Frank is very concerned, as is indicative of how he became in his teen, adult, and senior sessions.  Frank was the protector.

By protector, I don’t mean that he was aggressive towards anyone.  He never bit anyone and never showed aggression.  But with our kids and Mrs. RCS, Frank Dawg was making sure they were A-OK.

A couple of stories:

It didn’t take long for our first boy to start crawling and walking.  H was a determined and curious little dude.  We spent a lot of time upstairs in the playroom (bonus room above the garage) and in his nursery.  Frank, being the protector, would sit in the playroom doorway or sit at the top of the stairs to ensure that H was always corralled.  I didn’t notice it until later, but it was obvious that he knew that neither path beyond him was good for H.  He was protecting him.

Second, and this one is sort of amazing…  We live in a cul-de-sac, with dear friends right across the street.  They have kids, dogs, etc., so it wasn’t unusual for all of us to be hanging out in the hood doing whatever.  One day, we were sitting in the front yard; Mrs. RCS was pregnant with our second, and our youngest was sitting in her lap.  I had gone inside to refill drinks or something, and I noticed a jogger coming down our street.  I didn’t think anything of it, until the jogger made his way around the cul-de-sac and started heading towards Mrs. RCS and the youngsters.

What caught my attention was Frank running at top speed towards him, and hip-checking him in the right leg, sending the jogger straight to the asphalt.  As I’m sure you can imagine, time stopped.  I immediately ran out to check on the jogger (who was fine, and never ran down our cul-de-sac again), and to check on Frank, who was sitting RIGHT NEXT to Mrs. RCS with his ears perked.  Calm as a cucumber.  And protecting.

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We had never had a single health problem with Frank.  He received A+’s on all of his annual check-ups, blood work, etc.  He’d have the usual ear infection (like all sporting dogs), but that was it.

About a week before Thanksgiving, Mrs. RCS and I came home from a date, and he was extremely tentative on his back legs.  Not cause for alarm – he would go hard after tennis balls and be pretty sore after the fact.  The soreness stuck around for a couple of days, but he was still raring to go.  We did the usual thing of calling the vet, getting some Cosequin for joints, and adding more protein to his diet.  It took a couple of days, but he was in better shape after that than he was before we changed his food.

Over the next month, Frank seemed fine.  He’d have his days (just like any 10+ year old dog), but no cause for concern.

I took off Thursday and Friday before Christmas Break to go fish in North Carolina.  It’s an annual trip that Mrs. RCS insists I do.  I left on a Thursday morning and fished all day with Ringo.  I ate dinner at the Junction and checked in at Brook Trout Inn.  Mrs. RCS had an event back home that night and got home around 11.  She let the dogs out, both went to the bathroom, and Frank took two steps forward and lay in the grass.

He eventually made his way inside and lay down on the rug in the living room.  Mrs. RCS gave him a kiss on the head and went to bed.

My phone rang at 5:55AM on Friday.  The caller ID showed Mrs. RCS.  This was strange, as a call that early generally warrants really important or really bad news.  Otherwise, she’d text.

I answered it, and all she said between the tears was “Frank is gone…”

It hit me like a ton of bricks.  After talking through it for a minute, it was clear that Frank had recently passed, as he was still warm.  He had gone in his sleep.  Peacefully.

We did the impossible, and tried to remove emotion from the conversation: we had two boys who were getting up any minute to get ready for school.  We deduced that Mrs. RCS was not going to get Frank’s body up to our room, as that would raise WAY too many questions from the boys.

Instead, we agreed that we’d tell them that he is very sick, and they need to give him some love before school.

They did – in spades, as sweet, concerned boys do.

Between that conversation and her dropping the boys at school, I packed up and headed south.  I was already back in cell range by the time she called.  I pulled over somewhere in South Carolina and tried to make sense of what happened with my grieving, shocked bride.

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I got home a little before 10AM.  Coming in the door – what moved me wasn’t my crying wife – it was Frank’s sister Goldie, who was beside herself.  She was so confused…she met me at the door, barking (very unlike her), panting and running circles, as if to ask me to fix what was going on.  That was a whole element that I hadn’t considered.

Mrs. RCS and I had a few moments in silence.  We held hands and prayed together, asking God to welcome this good boy to his yard.  To thank him for the almost eleven years we were blessed with Frank-dawg.  For his protection and his unwavering love.  We asked for peace in our house and to fill our hearts with the countless good memories of our boy.

We took Frank to our vet, and dropped him there with his blanket and his chewie to be cremated.

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That afternoon, we picked the boys up from school and told them we had to have a family meeting.  We broke the news to them that Frank was very sick, and had gone to heaven to be with Griffin, Daisey, Scotch, and the other dogs that our boys knew, and that had passed.  They were both crushed.  Surprisingly, they didn’t have many questions.  Instead, they shed many tears.  So did Mrs. RCS.  So did I.  That was the worst part.  That ten-minute conversation felt like hours.

As we were all composing ourselves, Mrs. RCS said the most eloquent, appropriate thing to our boys, and I’ll never forget it.  She told the boys:

“You know, we lost our dog Frank, and it’s very sad.  But remember: Goldie lost her brother.  She is going to need double the love from all of us.”

…another one of those moments where time stopped.  I literally watched this click in both boys’ heads.  They both looked up.  Their eyes widened a little.  They looked around and spotted Goldie, and both walked over and sat with her.  Gently stroking her head and neck.  Our youngest put his head on her.  It was a moment I’ll never forget.  The definition of love from our innocent, crushed boys.

I know they were both hurting.  Devastated.  But they found purpose in Goldie girl.

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We made it through Christmas with only one incident.  My oldest boy came and sat with me on Christmas night, and said, “I wish Frank had made it through Christmas”.  It was tough to hear, but he was right.  It would have been nice to have that ole boy around on Christmas morning.

Today we have Frank’s ashes on the mantle.  We plan to bury him in the back yard and plant a tree in his honor.  We don’t have any immediate plans to do it, but we will when the time is right.  Goldie is doing great – she’s become the queen of the castle.  I sense that she is lonely, which is to be expected.  She hasn’t known life without a companion.  The boys are in good spots.  They miss Frank, but understand that he is in a better place.  We talk about him in our prayers almost every night.  Mrs. RCS and I are sad, but focused on the good memories.  There isn’t talk of another dog, but that’ll come when the time is right.

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I know that this is what you sign up for when you get a dog.  I’ve gone through it a few times now, and it never gets easier.  I am so thankful for the time I’ve had with all of my dogs.  I am so thankful for Frank.  I always will be.