Poor Frankie

We inherited a sweet little dog recently from our oldest daughter and her expanding family. She had originally bought him as a puppy at Canton First Monday soon after we moved here so that makes him about five years old now.

At the time, the family collectively agreed that Frankie was a good name for the Chi-Pom-Pom (chiahuahua pomeranian pomeranian mix). If you know Guv'nor and his love for the Chelsea Football Club you might remember that one of their star players a few years ago was Frank Lampard. And the phrase "come on Frankie my son" has often been heard around the house during matches.

So we got Frankie several weeks ago, about the same time as Daughter was going off to college and Son was coming home. And since we already had a dog and a cat around the house, one more wasn't going to be much trouble. Plus Frankie is definitely an indoor kind of dog which the other two aren't. Son quickly adopted him and they both look after each other. He is a sweet little dog even though he barks at every little thing.

The other day I was at home by myself and about midday I realized it had been particularly quiet. As you know our dogs bark at everything. So I stepped outside and called Frankie. No response. He usually barks and comes running.

Then I thought, maybe he's inside asleep somewhere. So I walked around the house calling for him, upstairs, downstairs, in all the rooms. No response. It was very odd for Frankie not to come running.

So I went back outside. I walked all around the house calling his name, clapping my hands. I walked out to the chicken coop. In and around the garage and carport. No response.

The only conclusion I could make was that Frankie had been snatched up by something. He might have run into the woods after something and the something got him. Or he might have been running around in the yard and a hawk swooped down and grabbed him up. He does only weight about eight pounds.

So I gave up and carried on with my day, hoping he'd turn up eventually. All I could think of at the time was, I don't even have a good photo of him.

Later that afternoon as I was about to go feed the goats, I thought I'd drive around and look for Frankie while I was out in the Mule.

Then there he was. Sitting and waiting on the Mule seat. I'm guessing he had been there all day. I sometimes feed the goats in the morning, and I sometimes take him with me. So while I was out doing chores in the morning, he must've run and got in the Mule to wait for me. Only problem was, I didn't go out that morning.

Poor Frankie. He'd been waiting all day for me. He was pretty happy to see me. And I must admit I was pretty happy to see him, too.

I'm still not sure why he never barked when I was outside calling him. I must have walked right past him and never thought to look in the Mule.