Frank Tinh

My sweet Frank,

You came into my life as a 12-week-old miniature doxie on a cold winter day in February of 2015, and from that moment on, you became my whole heart. You were my little boy—not from my womb, but an angel sent from above when I needed you most. We were inseparable, except for that one unforgettable time you swallowed my crew sock and had to spend four days in the vet hospital. Even then, you were teaching me—mostly to be neater, more careful, and always aware of what might fall on the floor and end up in your mouth.

You weren’t perfect, and I loved you all the more for it. You could be a little gross sometimes—licking your own toe-jam or chewing on undergarments like they were treasures—but that was part of your charm. I will miss your beautiful almond-shaped eyes, the smell of your armpits and paws, and the soft underside of your chest that felt like velveteen. I loved the way you strutted your chunky butt swaying back and forth, your belly rubbing the ground when you walked. You were such a sausage dog, and you wore it proudly.

You usually had that serious little face, but I knew exactly how to make it melt—scratches under your armpits or on your hind leg, belly rubs that earned me your big grin. On sunny days, I always knew where you were, basking from one warm patch of light to the next, soaking it in until you got hot, getting a drink, and starting all over again. You taught me how to slow down and appreciate simple comforts.

You loved sitting by the window or out on the balcony, watching the world go by—especially if someone walked past wearing a hoodie. That was your cue to bark and growl like you were protecting the entire building. It still makes me smile. I will never stop laughing when I think about how you slept, somehow taking over the entire bed and crawling impossibly deep under the blankets. I never understood how you could still breathe, but you always did, perfectly content.

You were the ultimate lap dog. Walks were never your favorite, but tearing cardboard boxes apart absolutely was. Teddy, your first toy, once white and stuffed but no longer white or stuffed was always your favorite. You loved the good things in life: angus steaks, cooked chicken, and a little cabbage or lettuce on the side. You hated waking up early as

much as getting your nails trimmed, so our life ran on your schedule—no appointments before 10:00 a.m., ever.

You were my navigator on our trips from Chicago to Connecticut, my steady companion mile after mile. And when Che Pho was diagnosed with cancer, you became my therapist. Without saying a word, you gave me strength, comfort, and unconditional love when I needed it most. The lessons you taught me—how to love without limits and how to be strong in quiet ways—will stay with me forever.

Now the house is quieter, and my heart aches for you. I miss all of these things about you, Frank—every habit, every quirk, every moment that made you you. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for being my little boy, my angel on earth, and my greatest teacher.

Winter is here again, and you are gone but your warmth, your love, and your memory still live in my heart. Rest easy, my sweet Frank, my sunshine seeker, my sausage dog. Until we meet again. I love you.

Your Mama Forever