The sound of sharp but short nails click across the kitchen floor. You can’t see what’s making the noise, but you know undoubtedly what it is. You call their name. The clicking noise gets louder, until eventually you see paws smack down on the carpet of the living room, and watch as a black fur ball rounds the corner like a horse in a derby. His tongue is flopping around the outside of his mouth, and his eyes are bulging from his head, happy as ever to see you after a long day, or because you had to go out front of your house for two seconds. This is what I experience every time I enter my home.

I remember the day we got him. Originally, it was a Father’s Day gift, so he was for my dad. However, with my dad at work, and all my brothers preoccupied, I was the only one around when he first arrived. As a result, over the next 2 weeks, he slowly became more attached to me. This made me elated. Frank the pug was all mine. I have always wanted a dog that would follow me everywhere, and come to me over anyone else. When were trying to get him to do something new, like go to the bathroom outside, he would look to me to make sure it was safe and okay. This is a bond I have never felt before, at least not from this perspective. He is a great puppy, but he doesn’t come without problems.

Frank is very clingy. He gets really nervous when I am not around, and is only really comfortable when I’m with him. This was not a problem during the summer, as I could always be home. However, as soon as school started, I could not always be home with him. He started misbehaving, and being an all around nuisance. It did not get better once I got home either. He would get so excited that he would start biting and clawing me. I could not let him sleep in my room yet. We would have to do cage training.

The dark room is lit by nothing but a single candle, sitting on the fireplace mantle. The light orbits the small glass mason jar the wax is stored in. It slightly illuminates the glass in front of the fireplace, allowing it to rochochet around the room. The small radiance can be used to make out a couch that had been sat in recently, but has since been abandoned in favor of a bed. The recliner still has it’s footstool kicked out, and a blanket sits half on it, and half on the carpet. Most of the moonlight is blocked by the closed blinds suspended by the locked backdoor. In the back of the room, in the darkest corner, slumbers a single descendant of the ancient wolves. The vessel that holds him is made out of cheap plastic metal, and it glimmers as the candle light hits it. The faint sparkle of two spheres can be seen through the small bars of the cage. The stare widley and blankly in my direction. I’ve been spotted. A sharp howl is can be heard around the house, and Frank rattles his cage, attempting to break out of it.

Whenever I let him out of the cage, I would have to put him outside in order to insure he would not go to the bathroom inside the house. As a hot wind sweeps over the backyard, rippling the complacent nature of the water in the pool, a shadow is cast over the small waves bouncing off the concrete edge. Frank, in all of his smooshed face glory, begins to the lean back on his hind legs, storing enormous amounts of potential energy. The look of determination in his eyes can almost be visualized as an aura emanating off of his dark brown irises. His shoulders drop, causing folds to emerge from his thick black fur coat. His mandibles shift slightly, teasing to me his sharp white teeth that are hiding underneath his joule. His back legs extend backwards with a force that could be felt throughout the yard. His jaw unhinges like an anaconda, and latches down on the back of my calf. I involuntarily release a shrill yawp, and rear my head behind me to see a beast, with his front canines dug into my leg.

The scratches and bites on my leg are a clear indicator of puppy ownership. They ranged my achilles, all the way to my cheeks and ears. He would bite anything he could get ahold of. That was no just for people either. He had been known to harass out older pug whenever no one was looking. He would nip her on the but, and send her running for cover under the table. The flaps hanging off couches were gnawed and mangled, and the lazyboy recliner switches were completed shredded by his teething habits. Despite all of this, there was something about the way he did all this that made him so lovable.

Frank is the stereotypical dog. He chews on shoes, chases his tail, and bites to express gratitude. However, he has his own personality. He knows what kind of food he likes, he enjoys slow ethereal music over fast pace hip-hop. He likes the lights dim when he sleeps, but not completely off so he can still see you’re there. He is his own soul. There is no other dog in the world exactly like him, and I wouldn’t want him to change even a little bit.