Franklin's Big Adventure

Because our moving to a new house isn't stress enough

Our Franklin, a mix of husky, poodle and King Charles Spaniel. Body of a stallion with the legs of a rabbit.

This sweet boy gave us quite the scare yesterday.

Workmen in our backyard had left open the back gate, which we only noticed after Franklin was missing. Walter, our ten-pound Yorkie-poodle rescue, had stayed put, which was our second shock of the day.

Both dogs are microchipped. Unlike his little brother, 13-year-old Franklin has never tried to run off. On the rare occasion when he has slipped through the front door, he immediately turns to look at us like an abandoned child and dashes back into the house.

Seven-year-old Walter is another story. We adopted him nearly six years ago, after a friend rescued him from the streets. He loves adventure at least as much as he loves us, and to say he wanders doesn’t quite capture the way he soars through the air like a flying squirrel. Both dogs are microchipped, but Walter wears an Apple AirTag that allows me to track his every move. Whenever I leave the house, this alert pops up on my phone: Walter has been left behind. So much drama from this guy, even when he isn’t with me.

Granddaughter Carolyn says goodbye to Walter, who must wait outside to avoid leaping out the front door to join her.

I never thought Franklin needed a tag. Not our loyal, docile boy we adopted when he was just nine weeks old. He would never leave us.

Until yesterday.

Franklin is low to the ground and his eyesight is fading, and my immediate fear was that he could wander into traffic and drivers would never see him. Total panic. We started running through our Cleveland neighborhood screaming for Franklin, who can barely hear. Sherrod traced their typical walking route, and I ran down the street in the opposite direction.

I should add that we had just completed another exhausting, three-hour round of packing and sorting with the organizer who now knows more about our home life than any of our children. We were two grungy grandparents running the streets and howling for our deaf dog. So far, no videos have surfaced.

After about 15 minutes racing past front porches, I decided to search backyards. Two doors down from our house, there he was, exploring our neighbors’ patio and sticking his nose in their window. He was calm as can be when he felt my hands on his back, flapping his tail against my legs as I wrapped his harness around him and kissed his head.

I spent the next five minutes screaming Sherrod’s name as I wandered the neighborhood with Franklin. This was fruitless, and I looked ridiculous. Again. So, Franklin and I sat on the front porch steps and waited another half-hour for Sherrod, whose joy at the sight of his boy will be a memory I hope never to forget. That, and Walter’s screeching so exuberantly behind the front door window that he became airborne.

Franklin’s AirTag arrives today.

Meanwhile, at our new home, five talented men are currently installing a fence. For weeks, we have been discussing the need for a fence that sits low to the ground and includes a “terrier barrier” to make sure Walter stays put. Again, because it never occurred to us that our aging Franklin would even consider leaving us.

Our house sits on a corner, and so the fence must include an electric gate across the driveway if we want to let the dogs out without leashing them. This alarmed Sherrod, as he feared we would come across as exclusionary and unfriendly.

“You can see right through the fence,” I said, repeatedly. At one point, I sketched the railings, and drew (sort of) our dogs peering out from behind them. “It’s clearly for the dogs, not our privacy.”

He was unconvinced. “We’ll look like snobs.”

After several days of this, I made what I thought was a joke: “Okay, how about I order a special sign for our fence? Maybe something that reads, ‘Our dogs own us, hence this fence.’”

“Perfect,” he said. “Thanks, honey.”