Fifteen years ago we met.  You stood tall and proud above all the others.  I couldn’t help but fall in love with you.

We napped well.  I think it was your super power.  I once called you furry valium, able to calm even the turbulent storms.

We traveled, sharing you with friends and family.  You loved New York City with all it’s smells and huge park.  We kept each other company that trip when I couldn’t walk.  You didn’t mind, it meant another nap.

When people met you, they couldn’t help but hold you or scratch your ears.  You reciprocated by making sure every crumb was tasted and accounted for.

The kids asked if you were their furry brother.  We said, “What do you think?”.  They decided yes.

When Dad got sick, you made it your mission to calm and comfort.  The tenderest memory I have of that terrible time, was you, cuddling beside Dad.  You knew when to walk softly and were always up for a post-chemo nap.

Anne LaMott has written that the love of a dog is a living reminder of the unconditional love God has for us.  Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.  What I do know is the love you gave to us and ours wasn’t always motivated by treats.  It often came just in time accompanied by a cuddle and a sloppy kiss.

Today was a terrible day.  We had to let you nap forever-free from pain.  When we came home, we napped though it was a little colder without you under the covers.

Farewell Frank.  There will never be another like you.