My Hungry Dog

Frannie in Santa Cruz, May 2010

Last Thursday, we lost our sweet Frances. She would have been 15 today.

I'm not sure I can convey exactly how heartbroken the husband and I are. We are devastated, numb, anchorless. 

I have been trying very hard to think of how wonderful her life was, from the moment I picked her out of a litter of wiggly chocolate lab puppies in March 1996. She was eight weeks old.  I was 22 and had just lost my dad. I was looking for something good to focus on.

In a rare moment of life giving you exactly what you need at the right time, I found Frannie. She was happy, curious, sweet, and instantly loving, all the things a puppy should be. She was also highly destructive, chewing shoes and insoles, table corners, remote controls, and computer discs. She ate everything in sight and was unstoppable at the beach, at the park, anywhere she could fetch, run, chase, or swim. She was the friendliest dog on the planet, introducing me to countless people throughout our life together. She was also fiercely loyal and protective. She made me feel safe.

I loved these things that were part of her from the very beginning. But as she got older, I discovered all of the other lovely qualities she had that were even better. She was extremely sensitive, and when I was sad, she would come sit next to me and just stay there quietly. She was generous, welcoming other dogs into the house by dragging out her toys for them to play with, letting them lie on her bed and drink out of her water bowl.

Perhaps above all, she was brave. When she was diagnosed with cancer the first time, she went through surgery and chemo with her tail wagging. The staff at the vet's office were amazed by her resilient spirit and cheerful nature. When she had vestibular disease, extreme vertigo which can last for days, she stayed courageously in the hospital for several nights, and afterward put up with wearing a little harness so we could help her navigate slippery spots in the house. Toward the end, we carried her up and down the stairs, which she also put up with, grudgingly.

When the cancer returned in July 2009, when she was 13, we knew we couldn't put her through any more and we decided to all live exuberantly together for as long as she had left. We thought maybe a few months. A year and a half later, she was still going strong.

In fact, Frannie propelled through life full-force until the very end. She enjoyed every single day, going on walks, visiting friends, eating roast chicken and hamburgers. Over the last few months, I started to feel like a short-order cook, frying up a little burger in our cast iron pan every night and then breaking it over her kibble. She would stand very close to me, waiting impatiently, and then wolf down her dinner the way only a labrador can.

And, in spite of how absolutely broken I feel now, I know that she had a wonderful life, and I am proud that we played a part in it. Not because of the surgeries or medicine or all the chickens we roasted for her, but because of the attention we paid to her. Every day of her life, and in particular in the last four and a half years, we showed her we loved her, by petting her soft head, talking to her, taking her places, helping her when she needed it, and letting her do things on her own when she needed that too. If there is one thing I am proud of, it is that I did not squander one single day I had with her. And ultimately, all you have with those you love is time. You cannot save or stockpile days to cash in later; you begin with the clock running, and no matter how valid your reasons or good your intentions, you are losing every second you're not with them.

So I guess I feel grateful, not just to have been with her for so many years--nearly half my life--but that somehow my little pea brain grasped early on that every day was special. 

I don't believe in heaven, but I do like to believe that Frannie's essence is still somewhere in the cosmos, leaving a trail of happiness wherever she goes. She certainly left an indelible mark on this world and on me.

Thank you to my mom, my sister, our dear friends Liz and Neal, Stephanie and Scott, Kami, Amy, Claire, all of the guys at the office--Martin, Randy, Michael, and Earl the hound dog, and everyone at Mission Pet Hospital, not only for making these last few days bearable with your kind words and gestures, but for making Frannie's life so happy. Mostly, thank you to Alby, who just may have loved Frannie as much as I did, and who got me through the worst day of my life. I love you all.

Good soup, fussy cook

 

Now here's a nice little soup for y'all, to get you through the workaday week. Who couldn't use a comforting soup right about now? January always feels long to me. Sure, some of you just had a long weekend. But for those of us punching our own clock, Monday was a work day like plenty of others.

I'm feeling beaten down a bit by the routine, in spite of the fact that my routine is not routine, that it's a heck of a lot better than a lot of people's day-to-day.  But I still have to work to survive, a concept I suspect I will struggle with until the day I exit this world, seeing as I will probably have to work until I drop dead. 

While I find this rather depressing, it's reality. Meanwhile, the husband and I continue to daydream about our inevitable our move to Hawaii, where we will develop a taste for poi, shiver in weather that dips below 70, have dogs with unpronounceable Hawaiian names, and flaunt year-round tans. Please don't tell me that people have to work in Hawaii, or that sometimes they are unhappy: I will surely cry.

So, yeah. I need a vacation. Big time. For now, though, I can take comfort in simple dishes like this one, which was stress-free to put together and delicious to eat. Despite its pedestrian ingredients and rather dull name (sausage, chickpea, and potato soup), this was a hit. I shall certainly make it again, although next time I plan to add some kale or chard; it cried out for a bitter green, both in taste and appearance. Even without it, though, it did the job of soothing my fussy nerves and getting me through another day.

Chicken adobo

 

In keeping with my non-resolution  for the new year, I made something brand new this week, something I have been meaning to make for ages: chicken adobo.

I got the tip-off about this article in the Times from my cousin Joaquin a few days before I saw it in print. By the time that rolled around, I was already committed to making the recipe.

I've made soy sauce chicken dozens of times, which I always think of as similar to adobo--both have that winning sweet-salty combination. But adobo leans heavily on the vinegar. While it does mellow a bit through simmering, you can still taste a little sharpness. I like it.

One thing I left out of this recipe was the chilies. I actually meant to include them--at least one or two--but the store I went to only had big chilies, like anaheims. I actually bought one of these, shrugging to myself in the grocery aisle that what difference would it really make (a lot? none? who cares? I was feeling cavalier), but strangely, when I got home, the chili had escaped my grocery bag. Ran for its hot little life, I guess. So I made the adobo chili-free, which, I have to confess, was fine for me and the husband, as neither of us really goes for the hot food too much.

I loved this recipe. It ended up being a combination of soy sauce chicken and fire and smoke chicken, another favorite. It was my first time working with coconut milk, if you can believe it, and I was a little appalled opening the can. I had neglected to shake it and it stared up at me in a giant clumpy paste. But I turned it out into a bowl and whisked it up a bit which helped considerably.

Not only did I enjoy the flavors of this chicken (marinating for a few hours does wonders), but I have to say it beat my soy sauce chicken in the texture department. After you simmer the chicken for 30 minutes or so, you pull it out and broil it while reducing down the sauce. You may notice that I got a little distracted and let the skin get a bit darker than I might recommend. I forgot how rapidly the broiler can take something from crispy to burnt.

In any case, the chicken was delicious served with plain rice and stir-fried bok choy. The next night it was even better, though, in part because the flavors had further developed, and in part because I made fried rice with the remaining rice, and it's hard to beat any dinner that contains homemade fried rice. I'm sure you'll agree.