Frankie: The Princess Poodle Chronicles

Every dog owner has their own secret (or not-so-secret) quirks when it comes to their pets. Some let their dogs sleep in their beds, some prepare elaborate home-cooked meals, and some (okay, me) have a standard poodle who runs the house like she’s royalty.

Meet Frankie. A princess, a food critic, a bed hog, a super dog, and the ruler of our household.

The Royal Walks

Most dogs get excited for their daily walks, bounding across fields and sniffing every questionable object in sight. Not Frankie. Frankie does not do grass. She is above grass. She is a concrete-only kind of lady. When we take her for a walk, she positions herself dead center on the narrow concrete path, forcing me (and anyone else walking with us) into the dirty, insect-ridden, bindi grass.

If I dare to suggest she step onto the grass herself? She stops, lifts one delicate paw like she’s stepped in lava, and glares at me as if I’ve committed treason. The walk does not continue until I correct my foolishness and resume my role as her personal escort on the grass.

Dining Like a Queen

Food is another area where Frankie’s high standards truly shine. Most dogs inhale their food in three seconds flat. Frankie? Frankie examines her food. She carefully inspects each piece of kibble before delicately consuming it one at a time. If I give her something new, she sniffs it thoroughly, looks at me as if to say, "What is this peasant offering?" and only eats it once she’s sure it meets her strict royal criteria.

And medicine? Oh, you think you can hide medicine in crispy chicken skin or mince? No. Frankie has the CIA-level detection skills to sniff out a pill even if it's wrapped in maple-flavoured bacon. She will unwrap the bacon, extract the pill, and then eat around it with surgical precision. I have seen her remove a tiny tablet from the deepest depths of a spoonful of beef mince like she was performing a medical procedure.

Frankie, however, is not precious about food in general. She will allow birds—and who knows what else—to snack from her bowl. She watches them with mild interest, completely unbothered by their intrusion. If we say, Frankie, get the bird! she gives us a long, exasperated look, as if to say, Why would I? Do you think I’m going to waste my time and energy chasing something I will never catch?

But, ever the obliging royal, she’ll pretend to chase it, just enough to make us happy. She slowly rises, takes a few half-hearted steps in the direction of the bird, watches it fly away, and then turns back to us with an expression that clearly says, There. It’s gone. Are you satisfied? Next time, you chase the bird. See how long you last.

The Sleeping Arrangements (Or Lack Thereof)

On special occasions (which, let’s be honest, are becoming more frequent), Frankie is allowed onto our bed. We have a king-sized bed, which, in theory, should comfortably fit two adults and one dog. But theory and reality do not always align.

Frankie starts small, curling up like an innocent little fluff ball at the foot of the bed. But sometime around 2am, she expands. I don’t know how, but she grows a full meter in all directions and suddenly, one of us is hanging onto the edge of the mattress for dear life. I wake up with a paw in my face and my partner trapped in a tiny corner, while Frankie snores blissfully in the middle like she owns the place (because, let's face it, she does).

Super Frankie at the Dog Park

When Frankie used to go to the dog park, she had a very specific playgroup—only small dogs. At first, we didn’t understand why she ignored dogs her own size. Then we figured it out. Frankie wasn’t playing with the little dogs—she was playing over them.

She would leap over them like a canine superhero, soaring through the air like some kind of elegant, four-legged athlete. The little dogs didn’t seem to mind—they happily ran around while Frankie turned playtime into her own personal agility course. It was less “chase” and more of a “hurdle event,” with Frankie majestically launching over her tiny friends like it was the Poodle Olympics.

But her talents didn’t stop there. Frankie was also ridiculously fast. At the dog park, while other dogs would chase after their balls, Frankie would beat them to it, get to the ball first, pick it up, drop it, and then stand over it like a champion. She wouldn’t run off with it—just hold it hostage, ensuring that everyone knew she had won.

We are a competitive family, but I didn’t realise that spirit could rub off on our dog. Frankie wasn’t interested in fetching—she was interested in winning.

The Workday Detector

Frankie has an uncanny ability to detect whether I’m working from home or heading into the office. I don’t know how she does it. I wear the same clothes, follow the same routine—yet somehow, she knows. She watches me like a hawk, tracking my every move with the scrutiny of an airport security officer.

And before I’ve even fully decided myself if it’s a WFH or office day—Frankie already has. If it’s a work-from-home day? She stays close, ready to position herself in the prime lounging spot near my desk, prepared to judge my Zoom calls. If it’s an office day? She walks off on me, flicking her tail like a snubbed royal. Her entire demeanor says, Fine. Go. See if I care.

Honestly, I feel like she knows my schedule better than I do.

The Bark of Mystery

For a dog with such a dramatic, regal presence, Frankie hardly ever barks. She remains composed and elegant—until, of course, the water meter person, the Woolworths or Coles delivery, or Lite n’ Easy arrives. Then, out of nowhere, she lets out a deep, thunderous bark that sounds like it belongs to an entirely different breed.

Every time she does it, my husband and I exchange looks, silently asking, Where did that come from? This isn’t the refined, delicate bark of a princess. This is the bark of a security guard dog ready to take down an intruder. And just as suddenly as it started, it stops. Frankie turns away from the door, lifts her head with an air of finality, and struts off like her royal duty has been fulfilled.

That’s done it. I have sorted them. Time for refinement again.

The Things We Do for Our Dogs

Would I ever let another human push me into the grass, steal my bed space, and force me to hand-feed them individual pieces of food? Absolutely not. But Frankie? Frankie gets away with it all.

Because at the end of the day, we all have a soft spot for our pets and the ridiculous things they make us do. And if spoiling my princess of a poodle means surrendering my bed space and my dignity? Well… long live the queen.