Franklin

This is Franklin.
As I write, leg propped on chair, heating pads engulfing it, Franklin is quiet. Sometimes he rises to rest his head in my lap, big brown eyes from beneath giant schnauzer brows ask, “Mommy not feeling too good?”
He settles in to snooze the day away, knowing he’s in charge of the household. Franklin and I are home alone.

Over the years, he’s grown into a welcome companion in our somewhat isolated old, country house. No one would dare approach me past his hefty growl and large, commanding size. At 107 pounds, he’s all watchdog—on his turf. But gentle and submissive with our small-statured vet, who pries open his jaws to inspect Franklin’s teeth--as if he’ll soon put his head into the lion’s mouth.

Five years ago, after several weeks of trying to get this 8-month-old puppy settled into his third new home, ours, I would’ve gladly given him away. He was a disaster.

He had started life in a breeder’s home, probably not placed as a young puppy in hopes he’d become good breeding stock, but soon growing too large to be that. By that time and having been kept in the yard only, he had had no housebreaking or obedience training. His first placement…and second…were too stressful to the new owners—they ran an ad in the paper, and, almost full-grown, Franklin came home with me.
Unfortunately, moving through three homes was also too much stress for this young dog.

The first night, we kept him in a large cage in the kitchen, not having any other way to confine the unruly newcomer within our house. We thought we’d given him a wonderfully cozy place to sleep—a large, (expensive) cushy mat covering the base. What more could he need?
The next morning, we discovered why the initial whimpers of the previous night had abruptly stopped. The lovely mat—torn into shreds the size of golf balls.
Oh, Franklin.

The next few weeks began the process of undoing his “separation anxiety”.
Sleeping in my sleeping bag on the kitchen floor, Franklin eagerly curled right up on top of me. Persuaded that beside me was as good as on me, we gradually gained more separation each night.
Soon, he was on one side of the kitchen gate; I, visible but untouchable, on the other.
I moved upstairs, to the second floor landing. Now unseen, but still, my voice his comfort until morning.
Then, after weeks of calculated inching, I casually disappeared behind the bedroom door.
No sight, no sound—and it was alright.


You’d never know now that this dapper dog had a rough start. He’s become confident, caring and trustworthy. His glossy coat defies a year-long treatment for demodectic mange. He’s an animal that is admired. His proud head and pointed ears give him the appearance of being in control—and, usually he is.

We’ve failed in obedience training. This very intelligent animal knows all the rules—he just chooses when to obey them.
And, as frustrating as it can be to have him show his high-spiritedness, he’s affectionately called, “the son I never had." His puddle-splashing, snow-diving, Dennis the Menace personality makes us laugh, so full of life he is.
Yet minutes later, his head resting on your chest as if he understands how exhausting a long day of work can be, says faithfully, “It’s okay if we don’t play today, as long as we’re together.”
Oh, Franklin.

These photos had to be taken outdoors in his run.
Franklin is afraid of cameras and I was unable to get him to pose for this photo shoot inside because of the flash!