A mini story about Frank and his dog

Sometimes I think about Frank and his dog, Rascal. I first met them at my last place which overlooked the water on the North Shore. It was a beautiful place, quiet and serene, where I would wake up to the sun and fall asleep looking over at the moon.

Frank and Rascal were the first ones I met there back in the summer of 2023. Frank was probably around 70 years old when I met him, always struggling to hold on to his little turbo jet of a dog. I had walked over to the pathway that is right by the water when we crossed paths and started talking the way neighbors usually do. I learned that Frank was a father and a grandpa; he lived on his own and seemed to like it that way.

Since that meeting, for the following six months, we would always stop to talk whenever we bumped into each other. He was always on the go, either walking his dog or driving somewhere to see his family.

One evening, I was coming back home with my family, when I saw Frank with a walker and what seemed to be a young man, perhaps his son, helping him get to their car in the parking lot. I looked at Frank, smiled, and then said, “Hi Frank, long time no see, how are you?” and he returned the happy remark saying he was fine and that indeed it had been a while. We said our goodbyes and it really was goodbye because I never saw him nor Rascal again.

I think about Frank from time to time and wonder how he’s doing. I don’t think I’ll ever forget looking out the window and seeing him try his best to gently pull Rascal back home from their walks. He would give in to Rascal sometimes, though, and that dog sure was the definition of a rascal.

The first time I met them, it was such a perfect summer evening, and I’ll always remember that warm welcome. Who knew that the simple kindness of a neighbour would leave that sort of effect.

Your everday girl,

Sara