Let’s be Frank here

Who knows what goes on in the head of a dog? For 75 days, I wondered about that intensely. You would too, if your pet of 13 years, suddenly and completely disappeared walking a route he had more than likely traversed one hundred times this year alone. Frank was such a friendly, handsome, well-mannered dog; it is easy to see how someone could instantly fall in love with him. I never could have imagined though that an entire community including people throughout the state of Georgia and beyond would wrap their arms around a missing dog they had never even met.

Frank and his partner Fran had walked off the leash since they adopted me over a decade ago. I was living in Shelby, North Carolina and was out running one day when I noticed I had two tag alongs. I stopped and discovered neither dog had identification. My brother Evans was getting married in Macon that weekend, so I had to figure out a plan. I boarded the dogs at the Cherryville Animal Hospital and ran an ad in the paper. No one claimed them. I asked the people at the Shelby Rescue Unit if I could keep Fran and Frank in the fence behind the unit if I cleaned it up and maintained it. That became their home for the next seven months. Then I moved back to Griffin.

As soon as we were settled on Forrest Avenue, the pooches and I walked everyday everywhere. Compliments came from passersby about how well behaved the dogs were. I never trained them. I trusted them and they trusted me. Their leashes were with me if need be. Frank was very sociable. Fran less so. On two occasions, police officers stopped us because concerned citizens had notified them about two untethered canines roaming the sidewalks. Both times, the officers had to admit that the dogs, while off the leash, were very obedient. It was not too long after that, I began walking the dogs later in the day. Then it gradually became evenings.

Fran stopped walking with us about three years ago, due to her arthritis. When she left this earth last May, Bailey the Beagle mix became Frank’s new walking partner. I always wondered if he was a bit jealous of Frank’s freedom. It was about that time when Frank began taking liberties. Often times he got too far ahead of us, but always came back to see what the holdup was. Other times he purposely lagged, so that he could get more walking in with the second set of canines.

On the night he went missing, Frank was lagging. I know now, he was taking everything in one last time. When he caught up with us, he stopped to see what Bailey was sniffing, looked up at me, and then moved on down the sidewalk. That was the last time I saw him.

It was Memorial Day weekend and no one was around. When Frank disappeared, I became desperate. He always made it back home. Did he become disoriented? Had a car hit him? Did someone pick him up? I went back to South Hill Street and began knocking on doors. It was after 10 and I imagine most people were apprehensive about answering. Joey Pruitt answered his door. I had never met him. He offered to drive me around in the rain to look for Frank. We did not locate him, but it was that initial act of kindness that turned this arduous journey into an amazing wave of support and generosity the likes of which I will probably never experience again in my lifetime.

In a matter of no time, Frank was everywhere. Moreover, people were coming together and volunteering to help. Some of them neighbors, some of them strangers all wanting to contribute. Fliers and posters were designed and distributed. Search parties were organized. Social media was flooded.  News outlets were alerted. It was amazing to see so many people wanting to make a difference, to do the right thing.

Each week the numbers continued to grow. Frank had a legion of followers with one goal in mind: to get him home. Every time I thought I was going to sink, the determination and kindness exhibited by an entire community and beyond lifted me like a wave on the ocean. I just knew we were going to find Frank. I just knew it.

And we did. After nearly 11 weeks, a sighting was confirmed. A boy on a bike path behind the Kiwanis Fairgrounds discovered Frank, still wearing his collar. He cut off part of the collar with the rabies tag on it and took it to his mother who called the vet’s office to identify the animal. Once I got the call, I left work early to collect Frank.

I found him underneath an oak tree. He had discovered a quiet place to rest that night. I am convinced he chose this for himself. I spoke with him for a while, collected his remains, and left. Evans came over that Saturday for moral support and to assist in digging the grave.

Frank is buried next to Fran in Bart’s Garden, a pet cemetery, in the woods behind my house. I am so grateful to have him back home. I have found comfort and answers in the people and animals of Griffin, Georgia, and beyond.

Bill Millican
Griffin, Ga.