Dogs are tricky, some come with great labor and others are just flawless. My Frenchy was one in between. I can recall when my Mother had first swept her into my home, like the memory had just happened. It was as gloomy night with no stars appealing to the eyes. I was tending to my sister, when I heard the door. Mother had pushed it open revealing her flushed face and seemingly perfect hair. Her hands held a subtle pink leash, and at the other end of it, a small dog with a bright ivory coat. Pure delight had spread to my face, and I guessed Mother saw it.

Mother had let go of the leash, and Frenchy ran to me. I felt her bones quaking and her heart tremble. She was quivering because she was scared, and it was a strange new environment. Before I had time to react, Mother said. “She needs to eat”. I brushed Frenchy off me and dashed towards the dog food my Mother had just bought. As I opened the bag a familiar aroma surrounded my small nose, I thought to myself, “She’s sure to love this!”. Frenchy put her nose into the air and sniffed. It wasn’t long before all the food in Frenchy’s glossy new bowl was gone.
The next day I gave her a name and announced it to my Mother. It was especially lively outside like the first breath of dawn. I probably shouldn’t have roused my Mother, but I deemed it important. As she woke up involuntarily, “Ma’ it’s Frenchy”, I said. She looked confused, like I had given her the answer to life without subject. She lied there for a minute, then it must’ve clicked, “Oh, the dog! Is that what you’ve decided?” she spoke. Later, I vocalized very clearly that her name is Frenchy.
As the day continued, it completely crosses my mind to feed Frenchy. It’s not a problem although it may seem. She used her sharp inconsistent nails to claw at the bag of food. I didn’t notice because I was gazing at an immense computer screen mindlessly. Frenchy then proceeded to bark, her yelps pierced my ears like someone had thrown a book titled “Shrieks” at my head. I looked back and saw a despairing dog, that gaze crushed my very life force. Nevertheless, when I skipped towards the brilliant red bag, Frenchy hopped up on her hind legs and wagged her diminutive tail.
Through the next few weeks, Frenchy would be considered an intellectual at a university. She’d scratch at the back door for the bathroom. She would shoot her piercing whines at the colossal food container when she was ravenous. Some of Frenchy’s actions were mischievous, and as a pristine dog owner, I didn’t know what to do. I never wanted to ask for help because I thought I could do it myself. She refined my perspective, molding that I didn’t know enough to control her as my responsibility. So, I consumed my pride and asked my Mother for guidance.

My ignorance shuddered through the month, convulsing because of the knowledge I was inheriting. Mother and I went to the nearest pet store to buy the things I would need to groom Frenchy. The store clerk was full of color, from her torso to her feet. She had untouched incredibly white har, and leafy green eyes. Frenchy was immediately fond of the store clerk. The clerk was adoring to Frenchy as well, in her hand she held a miniature green snack. She spoke, “Aren’t you quite cute! You’d love a snack, wouldn’t ya’?”, her eyes lit up like every dream in her mind was coming true. She snatched the snack from the lady’s small dainty hands and chewed in awe. Frenchy’s mysterious dark brown eyes were never full of despair again.

I learned how to care for a dog. To never treat it as a chore and really put your heart into what you are doing. If it’s helping someone or just taking care of yourself. I also learned that it is alright to ask for help occasionally. In this case, she was just too precious to me, Frenchy was worth more than any old pride. She was the most emotional dog I’ve ever met, and I do regret not spending my moments with her dearly. Hold them close and hopefully you never have to let go.