When my daughter Shannon asked me to take care of her new cockapoo puppy, Frannie, for an overnight, I was more than happy to do it. I had no plans and figured the two of us would have a great restful weekend together.

Shannon and her husband, Chris, arrived on my doorstep Saturday morning, loaded down with Frannie’s accessories. There was a Tupperware tub full of treats, a cookie jar brimming with kibble, a shiny red water bowl, assorted toys, a cushy bed and a hand-knit turtleneck sweater.

“Hmmmm,” I said. “How long did you say you were going to be in Boston?”

“We’ll be back tomorrow afternoon,” Shannon replied innocently as Frannie careened through the house at top speed, dashing here, sniffing there and looking for things to get in to.

The frisky pup wasn’t the least interested in any of the toys that had been deposited in my living room. She was much too excited about my fuzzy slippers, especially when they were on my feet and I was walking away from her. She bit at my heels as I carried the laundry basket to the bedroom and delighted in stealing socks and various pairs of underwear. So much for folding the laundry…

As I attempted to collect the strewn clothing, I extricated a salty sand dollar from Frannie’s mouth, a piece of tape, a silicone ear plug, a fabric softener sheet and a balsam branch. When I put members of my snowman collection up where Frannie couldn’t reach them, she barreled full-bore into the bowl of fruit on the end table. Several clementines crashed to the floor. Frannie had a jolly good time rolling them in the hall with her nose, then proudly bringing them back to me, one by one.

“So much for tidying the house,” I thought, as Frannie sprinted into the guest room with the colorful ball I had so carefully made in a felting workshop.

When Frannie proceeded to sniff every corner, I attached her pink leash to her pink collar and went out into the snowy morning. That was just the beginning of going out every hour on the hour for the next two days. As I was expecting a few important phone calls, I was tempted to leave this message on my answering machine: “I can’t come to the phone right now. I’m busy watching a little four-legged ball of fluff make yellow snow…”

Frannie proved to be quite the smooth operator. Her routine consisted of sniffing and pawing at the door, making me race to get coat, boots and leash. Immediately after doggie duty, which consisted of a mere trickle on the snow, Frannie leaped back to the steps, then to the warmth of the kitchen rug, where she sat prettily and expectantly, waiting for the obligatory treat.

As I offered her yet another Snausage, I wondered how many of the darn things she was supposed to have. Four? Twelve? It was certainly a quandary. Was I supposed to be keeping track? What if she got sick? How many Snausages and Milk Bones had she had so far?

Eventually, Frannie decided to forego her new bed and curled on top of the red ottoman for a nap. I was exhausted, too and rested in the rocking chair to catch my breath. I thought of how this small puppy had taken on my daughter’s personality, even though she had only been part of the family a few short weeks.

Just like her owner, Frannie has sass, spunk and plenty of “bling-bling.” The two of them even resemble one another with their wild, curly blond hair. A positive testament to the theory of dogs and their owners looking alike.

After Frannie’s long snooze, we went for a companionable walk in the moonlight. As she snuffled along in the snow, I knew I would miss her when Shannon and Chris retrieved her the next day to take her home, but I knew I could have her back for visits whenever I liked. I truly look forward to many more weekends with Frannie, my grand-puppy.

Karen Carlton is a freelance writer living in West Bath. She may be reached by e-mail at [email protected].