Frankie is 10 years old, the runt of his litter.
He was tiny, with a very big head. So big that when
he was running and then stop, he balanced on his
nose and two front paws. I would push his rear down,
and he would take off again, like nothing happened.
In 1997-1998, Frankie and I lived together in a
waterfront apartment, alone exept for each other.
We developed a strong bond during that time. Frank
talks to me all the time. It isn't that he can't talk,
it's that I don't talk very much of his language.
He is very loving and affectionate, I love him so much.