My Sweet Molly
In 2008 I lost my dog, Molly. She was 14 when she passed away. Originally, I got her for my children thinking that all kids need a dog. Well, that wasn’t in Molly’s plan. She was a one-woman dog, and she made it very clear from the beginning that woman was me. She played with the kids but she would always come to wherever I was for a cuddle or the last bite of whatever I was eating. We were together every moment I was home. Where I was, she was. She slept with me, ate with me and followed me everywhere. In fact, she would follow me so closely, that the back of my calf would be wet from her nose. Molly would wait for me to sit in my rocker and jump up and lie down in the crook of my leg while I read or watched TV, or in many cases, with a child in my lap. She didn’t mind sharing. Molly was such a special dog, she even used the cat litter because she thought she was a cat! She even helped me clean, or at least she thought she was helping. Molly would follow me from room to room with a dust cloth in her mouth and wait patiently for me to finish. She would growl if anyone tried to take her cloth away.
As funny as Molly was, she also loved oranges! I couldn’t eat one without her begging for a slice. The kids enjoyed that so much because I would throw her a piece and she would jump up and catch it mid-air. The only thing that she hated was getting a bath. On bath day I swear that dog was psychic! I would nonchalantly gather things for her bath and ignore her so she would think one of the kids was getting into the tub. She would just stare at me and then when I started to work my over to grab her, she would take off and hide in the smallest place possible so it was hard for me to get her out. I loved that silly dog so much! The day she died was so hard and unexpected. She was seemingly fine one moment and gone the next. Even after all these years I grieve for her still.
Over the years I have thought about getting another dog but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Currently, I have three cats, and although I love cats, none of the ones I have were chosen by me. Two of my sons gifted me with them because they didn’t want cats. Jasmine’s (Minnie for short) mother abandoned her when she was just a couple of weeks old. My daughter-in-law nursed her with a bottle until she could be weaned. She is snow white and so cute that I just couldn’t say no when they asked me to keep her. Then, my oldest son gave me Twinkle (aka Fat Girl) because he said they were never home and she wasn’t getting enough attention. She is a multicolored gray with long hair and, you guessed it, fat. Not as fat as she used to be though. I put her on a diet so she’s slimmer now. Minnie’s benefactor also found a stray cat behind his grandmother-in-law’s house that was meowing pitifully in the dead of winter, so Pumpkin came to live with me, too. Yes, Pumpkin is orange and a rotten little boy who gleefully torments the other two and feels no remorse before, during or after his exploits—much to the disgust of the other two.
From my earliest memories, I have always had dogs and cats and have loved every one of them. Although I miss Molly every day and only have cats now, somewhere in my future is another dog. I don’t know when or what kind, but someday I will get another dog; not to take Molly’s place because no one could, but perhaps one that needs a loving home who will be able to burrow its way into my heart and find its own place in my family.
