My girlfriend left my dog at the shelter while I was at work. When I went to take him home, he was gone.
I knew he was meant to be mine the moment I laid eyes on him at the shelter—a 4-month-old Great Pyrenees with one eye and one paw missing. This was a time when I was in the darkest depths of my existence, having attempted suicide twice following the devastating loss of my parents in a car accident. Adopting him felt like a pact between two spirits, each incomplete but whole when together. From the moment I named him Frankie, we were inseparable.
Frankie was more than just a pet; he was my lifeline. His unwavering loyalty and boundless affection helped fill the void left by my parents. Knowing he was always there for me, I even installed surveillance cameras at home to check on him and ensure he had everything he needed when I was at work.
He became my world, loving food, belly rubs, and any display of affection. In my eyes, Frankie was the most important “person” on the planet, not just a dog.
Leslie and I had a special relationship, and I had been upfront about Frankie from the start. She seemed to understand, and Frankie and she grew close over our three years together. Everything was going well before we started discussing moving in together.
