Molly was a beautiful soul and my best friend. She will always be deeply loved. A year ago today she passed on; she is gone from this world but I will always keep her in my heart and in my thoughts. This page is in memory of her.|
We had a wonderful time together.
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For fifteen blessed years on this earth there lived a wonderful chocolate Labrador Retriever, and her name was Molly.
I was the lucky girl who would have her in my life.
When I was thirteen I wished I had a dog again. Our family's Golden Retriever, Tyler (a gentle old boy), had passed away the year before. Going through life without a furry buddy at home felt like half an existence. As a shy girl mostly lost in my thoughts, I lacked strong connections with people. I was lonely.
"Nothing worth having comes easy." How true that was, trying to persuade my parents we should get a new dog! My brother and I started on a single-minded quest to do just that. It took us many months. We did extra chores, performed well in school, kept on our best behavior, and -- in a written, signed contract we drew up ourselves -- promised we would be good caretakers.
Then one day Mom took us looking. We were so excited. As soon as she agreed, I knew my dog was waiting somewhere out there, somewhere close, soon to be found.
That's when we met Molly.
She was only a few months old. I never saw a puppy like her. She had wolflike orange-rimmed eyes, dewy and gentle, not easily forgotten. Her ears and paws looked too big for the rest of her. Her coat was soft, glossy and dark brown. My heart melted and something clicked.
She was so shy and awkward. She didn't seem to know what to do with herself in the company of two eager kids. She wasn't like other puppies romping around and tumbling over themselves; there really was something different about her. It felt like we were kindred spirits, two bashful creatures in a big, big world.
We took her home and I was head over heels. We were careful not to be too energetic as we knew this was a big change for her. We brought her outside to see the backyard and she burst out of her bubble, running from one family member to the next, playfully nibbling our fingers and jumping into our laps. I knew she had an inner spunk waiting to come out! But when we took her inside, she hid behind the microwave cart and started to cry. This was going to take some time.
I'll never forget that first night. We set up a bed for her in my room. She whimpered and cried, in an unfamiliar place, missing her pack. I was in bed too. I turned over and called out to her, telling her it was all right. It seemed to help just a little. After an hour or so she fell asleep.
Before I dozed I thought: this is it, this is the brand new start. I thought ahead to all the years we'd have together. I tried to wrap my head around everything we could do, all the fun and adventures we could have, all the places we could go.
The future always seems so full when we're young, all the possibilities existing at once before the fateful narrative chooses just one thread of story. I thought of Old Yeller and Travis, of Old Dan, Little Ann and Billy. I hoped our connection would be as meaningful as theirs. A girl and her dog, together always.
In the back of my mind there was a little shadow: I knew our friendship couldn't last forever. I realized that one day, I'd be looking back through memory at that moment. But what did that matter? That night was so well protected from the distant future by all the years we would share in between. For a young girl it seemed so long, and time moved so slowly after all. We might as well have had forever.
There it was, the first day, and Molly had already taught me something -- what it is that's beautiful about every new beginning.
More to follow...
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Death is nothing at all
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You can shed tears that she is gone