Molly, 1994-2008. RIP.

The second dog in my life, Molly, was euthanized this morning. Old age can be rough on big dogs, and she had lost most of her hearing, sight and all of her appetite over the last months. In the past few days, she apparently couldn’t get herself to stand up and Dad made the decision to put her down. This is a terrible choice to have to make, but her quality of life had drastically receded past a point of no return. We can at least take comfort in the fact that she isn’t suffering any more.

My parents and I adopted her during the spring of 1997, when she was a little north of two years old. Like the dog she succeeded, Rollo, she was a golden retriever, but that breed title was in name only, since she had no interest or ability in retrieving. We tried many, many hours to get Molly to bring the ball back to us after we’d throw it, ready to give her ample cookie rewards for a successful fetch, but she would never bring it back to us.

Though Molly didn’t have any real fetching ability, she had a great capacity for love and affection. Countless times I’d be typing an email or a letter at the computer desk, or reading at the kitchen table, and she’d mosey up, sit down and start pushing her muzzle against my elbow or forearm until I’d acknowledge her presence and start petting her. I’d scratch her on the chest or behind the ears, which was her favorite, for a couple minutes, and then go back to whatever I was trying to do. Unsatisfied, Molly would immediately re-assert herself, nosing me in the elbow until I quit whatever I was doing and give her at least one hand (preferably two), of attention. This sequence of events would go on for an hour at least, or until I’d just give up, get on the floor and scratch her on the tummy with all four of her paws up, reaching for the sky.

(photo by Jenny Buchanan)

After I left for college my parents, alone in their empty nest but for Molly, embarked on a steady campaign to spoil the dog. Among other things, they purchased a minivan with tinted windows, so they could to take her on their frequent doctoring trips to hospitals in Olympia and leaver her in the car while they got their chemo treatments. My Mom also decided that dry dog food, or, dry dog food with wet dog food on top, wasn’t good enough for Molly anymore and began feeding her cooked ground beef on top of the dry food. Molly’s ample build subsequently expanded, unsurprisingly. Molly also got to enjoy the sublime human food pleasures of popcorn, crackers and potato chips under Mom and Dad’s new and relaxed rules. I thought this would surely lead to some sort of early health problems and I’d get a little frustrated whenever I witnessed my parents giver her these bits of salty stomach shrapnel. Molly hung on for 14 mostly agile years, so I guess my fears might have been misplaced, or possibly also jealous.

I shouldn’t complain too much, overall, though. We loved her, and she loved us back with all her heart. That’s about all you can really ask for in any relationship.

Goodbye, old dog. You were a good friend, and you will be missed.