I drove across town to Caprock, my whole body braced for heartbreak, and when I walked in, the girl brought out a little terrier wearing a tiny orange vest that read SEARCH DOG, and beside her stood a young girl in a matching junior-volunteer shirt, beaming.
I stood there, my dread giving way to astonishment.
That little girl of his was the daughter of a search-and-rescue volunteer, and Daisy was not a pet at all, she was a trained search dog, and my Frank had been secretly funding and helping run a volunteer search team that found lost children and wandering elderly folks.
The story unfolded, and it was a Frank I never knew. Years ago, a child had gone missing in our county, and the search had haunted Frank. He had quietly gotten involved with a volunteer search-and-rescue group, and had funded the training of a little terrier named Daisy, whose small size and sharp nose made her perfect for searching places big dogs could not reach.
The little girl who helped weigh Daisy was the daughter of the teams lead volunteer, a child who had grown up around the group and adored Daisy and adored Frank, who was like a grandfather to the whole team.
My allergic Frank, sneezing and dosing himself with medicine, had been funding and supporting a search dog for years, a dog who had helped find lost children and confused elderly wanderers, saving lives.
The team leader came to the clinic when they heard I was there. He told me Daisy, with Franks support, had helped find eleven missing people over the years, including three children and several elderly folks with dementia who had wandered off. Eleven families, he said, still had their loved ones because of Frank and Daisy.
He showed me the letters, from families whose children Daisy had found, from the daughter of an old man Daisy had located in the woods before the cold got him.
I wept in that clinic. My husband of forty-three years, who I thought I knew all the way through, had been secretly helping save lost souls with a little search dog, and never breathed a word.
I could not let that end. I told the team I would take over Daisys care and keep supporting them, the way Frank had.
And I do. Daisy still searches, and I fund her still, and every first Saturday I bring her for her checkup, take my allergy medicine like Frank, and the young volunteer helps me weigh her.
My daughter did not know why I drove across town. Now she knows her daddy secretly helped find lost children with a search dog. That little girl of his was the volunteers daughter, part of the team that saves lives. I lost my Frank, but I found the heroic, hidden work he did, and I get to help it go on. Eleven families still whole because of him. I am so proud I could burst.