Molly

Today I had one of those moments that I don’t really want again for a long time. I sat in the animal hospital with my mom, dad, and brother, saying our last good-byes to our golden retriever Molly. She’s over 11 years old, and hasn’t been the healthiest dog in the last several years, but I wasn’t expecting the heart-wrenching emotion that we experienced saying good-bye to her.

I won’t describe the euthanasia scene. It’s enough to say that I’ve never seen my dad cry like that before, and my mom couldn’t stay in the room. My dad just cradled her head, and she quietly passed away. It’s amazing to me how attached we can become to animals. How that dog was somehow a part of our family. I can’t imagine how many holes in daily life she is going to leave now. I guess you don’t really understand how much something is a part of your life until it’s gone. Mike describes “last moments” pretty well on his blog, because that was exactly what it was like. I just wanted to pet her, kiss her, and say, “Hi, baby,” like I have for years.

So I started thinking about all my memories with Molly. Like when we went to get her as a puppy from Dad’s friend out in Spanish Fork. When we brought her home, Gus was so intimidated by her that he used to shepherd her around. Until she got much bigger than him (which didn’t take long), and he still tried to act superior. But she could fit his whole neck in her mouth – and did so frequently. Just playing of course.

Molly loved the snow. She especially loved deep snow, because then she could leap around. No one was more excited for snow to fall than her. We would throw snowballs, and she would go chase them and bury her face in the snow where it fell. Of course, she loved to fetch tennis balls, too…and we used to spend hours out in the back, just throwing balls for Molly to retrieve. And she would bring them back and drop them at your feet, totally covered in slobber! And if no one would play with her, she would bounce the ball around herself, and toss it in the air herself. She even used to get on the trampoline and bounce herself and the ball around – or bounce with whoever was out there.

She loved to go out for walks, or running. I used to take her running with me, and she would either stop to smell something, and stop me short, or be way ahead of me, or even just stop, right in front of me, causing me to trip over her. It was never dull with her. She loved car rides, and all you had to do was open up the door, and she would jump in the car and take her place.

There were lots of little things about her that will always make me smile to think about. She would wag her tail and whack stuff with it – including Gus. If you were sleeping anywhere within her range, you were likely to be rudely awakened by a lick in the face. If she was begging for food at dinnertime, she would put her head on your knee and look up at you longingly, with her big, brown doggy eyes. She often fell asleep in Gus’s bed, even though it was a tight fit, because Gus would steal her bigger bed. She did what we called “carpet swimming,” because she had allergies, and an easy way to scratch her stomach was to drag herself along the carpet.

She loved the family, and was protective of the kids. When we all slept outside on the trampoline, she wanted to be right there in the middle – to cuddle and to protect. She always followed Mom around like a shadow. You always knew where Mom was, because the dogs were right on her heels. She loved Dad, who called her Big Red, and no matter how big she was, she would jump up on his lap for a good scratch. She somehow knew that she was HIS dog.

What endears me to Molly, though, is the fact that her presence made home seem like home somehow. When I was away on my mission, if I ever had bouts or moments of homesickness, I would usually think of and miss our two “puppies.” When I imagined that ultimate moment of arriving home, after the airport and seeing family and friends, it was walking through the front door and seeing Molly and Gus there to greet me – like they always were. That would mean I was really home.

She was a dog with a big heart and a lot of love, but with an ailing body in recent years. She is happy and free now – free from her allergies and pains. But we’ll miss our Murly, Big Red, and Molly.

Hopefully I will get some pictures of her up soon.

Posted by Marsie at October 8, 2003 04:30 PM