One of God’s greatest gifts to me was born on a farm in
Northwest Ohio on December 31, 2003. When we met she was feisty with big ears, big
feet and a strong tail. She was bullheaded and energetic. The first two years
were rough. She ate a cellphone, a sewing needle, a whole bag of grapes, and a
frog.
She bit into a permanent marker and as we chased her she
sprayed black ink all over our new carpet and new couch. She dug up and hid
poisonous daffodil bulbs all over the backyard requiring me to chase her at
least once a day at nine months pregnant. She ate an entire roll of adhesive
tape and ran in circles for hours, high off of the glue.
She once jumped out of a moving car and unsuccessfully tried
to swim out to attack dolphins at the beach. She clumsily bolted through
screened in porches, broke our blinds, and destroyed countless stuffed animals
who threatened to harm her baby humans. She was every viral dog video rolled up
in one body.
In spite of having AKC Champion blood, she also had every
embarrassing dog problem in the books: chronic anal gland leakage, incontinence,
chronic ear infections, extreme food allergies, prolapsed eye lid, ear
hematoma, excessive plaque, and dog acne. This earned her the nickname Molly
MoneyPit. Some might say that we got a lemon. But she was so much more.
She faithfully greeted me at the door of six different homes
in five states.
She comforted me through two of my miscarriages. She was my
first baby. She consoled me through every fight in my marriage (and always took
my side, sometimes defiantly jumping on the forbidden bed to glare at George).
She was gentle to all four babies that we eventually brought into our home. She
scared off a burglar at our home in Tennessee, moving into point position at
the front door for the only time in her life. When my three month old son
pulled a blanket over his face, she heard his shallow breathing and sat in his
nursery crying until I came in and removed the blanket from the crib. Then she
ran off happily. She fought her way back from pancreatitis so I could find
comfort in her soft fur after the death of my father last summer. She was faithful to me, when no one else was. I learned that friendships come and go, but the love of a dog is steadfast. Other than food, water, and lots and lots of medical care, she never had any expectations of me and she loved me without condition. In that way, she taught me to be a better friend, mother, and wife.
She was so much more than “just a dog.” She was a true gift
and I’m honored to have shared almost thirteen years of my life with her.
