Frankie

I reached Frankie’s kennel on this particular morning – bright and early – while he was out, playing. I mopped it, dried it and laid out his toys in the manner he likes them. Lastly, I folded a blanket to make his bed; twice, thrice and then again. It was a nice one, thick, with a yellow paw print design; I placed it down neatly, shaped just-so for his size. I left just before he returned.Regrettably, for Frankie, a blanket can never just be a blanket; it has to be a magic carpet, a superhero’s cape, a knight’s roll of parchment. His eyes are so full of whimsy and magic – and, by extension, mischief too! – that even the most mundane of objects find themselves transfigured into something remarkable, something outside of the ordinary. I come to his kennel a little while later and found the blanket – formerly so nicely laid – curled up, thrown about, ragged on, rolled in, nibbled at, wrestled with, everything except, so it seems, slept upon. That’s Frankie in a nutshell and it would take ...