But still ours.

My Children Had Never Known Life Without Him

Our daughter Jillian was four.

Our son Laurence was six.

For them, Frankie wasn't an old dog.

He was simply Frankie.

They had never known a world in which he wasn't part of it.

One afternoon, Jillian wandered into the kitchen wearing mismatched socks.

She had a stuffed unicorn tucked beneath one arm.

I was rinsing out Frankie's water bowl.

She looked toward the living room.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Can Frankie sleep in my bed tonight?"

I smiled.

She had asked this before.

"Sweetheart, his knees are too old to climb onto your bed."

Her little face fell.

"But he can sleep on the floor."

"He can sleep right beside your bed."

She smiled again.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

A few seconds later, Laurence came into the kitchen dragging a stuffed rabbit behind him.

He looked at Frankie seriously.

"Frankie's old."

"He is," I said.

"Really old."

I laughed.

"Sixteen is pretty old for a dog."

Laurence thought about that.

"Does that mean he's going to be gone soon?"

The question caught me off guard.

Children have a way of asking the questions adults spend years avoiding.

I knelt beside him.

"We don't know when, sweetheart."

He looked at Frankie.

"But he's still here."

"Yes."

"So we love him while he's here."

I kissed his forehead.

"Exactly."

I didn't know then how much those words would come back to me.

My Mother-in-Law Never Felt the Same Way

Diane, Kenny's mother, had never liked Frankie.

She never tried particularly hard to hide it.

"He smells."

"He sheds everywhere."

"Why does he have to be in the house?"

"I don't understand why you treat an animal like a person."

"I don't want that dog around my grandchildren."

Those comments had become so common that sometimes I stopped responding.

Kenny, however, never stopped noticing.

At first, he tried to keep the peace.

He would say things like:

"Mom, he's old."

Or:

"Frankie is harmless."

Or:

"Just ignore him."

Diane would sigh.

Then she'd change the subject.

But eventually, her dislike became more direct.

One afternoon, Frankie was lying beside the couch while the children played.

Diane walked past him.

He lifted his head.

He wasn't bothering her.

He didn't bark.

He didn't move toward her.

He simply watched her.

She swung her purse toward him.

"Move!"

Frankie startled.

He got to his feet slowly.

Then he looked at her.