anniversary of molly-muff’s death

I once had a dog. The best dog in the whole world. But four years ago she left me, and I haven’t been able to get all the way over her loss yet.

Her name was Molly. We called her Molly-Muffin, because when she layed down she put all 4 paws out, and she looked like a ragamuffin. She was a lhaso-apso/pekingnese mix (but she looked like a shitzu). She was an creamy off-white color, and her hair was long and curly.

This is the story of how she came to be my pet.

The kids and I had gone to the animal shelter in Bangor, because I had made a bunch of blankets for the kittens and puppies, and we wanted to donate them. There was an older couple standing in line behind us, and they had this cute little dog on a leash. I bent down to pet her, and asked them why they were getting rid of her. They said that she had "nipped" at their 3-year-old granddaughter, and they  didn’t want to take any chances with their new baby granddaughter.

I fell in love with her right there (and I had not been looking for a new dog). I asked them if I could have her. They said "yes". The animal shelter didn’t like the sound of that, and told us that if we wanted to make an exchange, then we would have to leave their (the animal shelter’s) property. So, we drove across the street, and they handed Molly over.

She was a part of the family from that moment on.

This little girl slept with me, followed me all over, rode everywhere with me. She would lay on the armrest in my Explorer, and put her head on my arm while I was driving. I loved her like I have never loved any pet in my life.

Then she got sick. The vet said that she had a urinary tract infection, and we needed to put her on a special diet, give her antibiotics, and make sure that she stayed dried when she pottied (this was during the winter, and there was alot of snow on the ground) and also keep an eye out for blood in her urine.

She seemed to get better in a few months.

Then she started squatting to pee, even though most of the time she didn’t pee, and I noticed blood in her urine. I took her back to the vet, and he said that she had a bladder stone, and that she didn’t have an operation, she would die. I did not have the money for the operation, so I made the hardest decision of my life – I called the animal shelter and asked them if they could take her so that she could get the operation and go to a good home.

The animal shelter asked me, if they paid for the operation, if I would be willing to keep her? Hell, yeah!! Anything so that I didn’t have to lose my very best friend.

Molly got the operation, and the night that she came home, I spent most of the night in the rocker, just rocking her and singing softly to her.

I went to bed really late, and then I woke up to my husband telling me that Molly had died. I went out to see for myself, and I held her and cried. She died curled up and lonely. I wasn’t there for her when she needed me. I cried for days. I called the vet to see why she died if she got the operation that she needed to live. I blamed myself.

My husband dug her a grave in the woods beside our house, and he buried her, and then built a rock fortress over and around her so that no wild animals would dig her up. I put one of my shirts in with her, and said Goodbye. I made a plaque for her grave, and it still sits there today–I have to say Hello to Muff everytime I go by. I really miss her.

Sometime the summer after she died, I found myself sooo lonely for her, and I went and talked to her and told her that I was getting another dog, but that no animal could ever take her place.

And I got a pug. Her name is Tara. I do love her, but not as much as I loved Molly. Tara is not cuddly, does not like to be held, and only sleeps with me occasionally – because she is totally hyper, and I find myself getting short with her.

I still miss Molly. I still dream about her occasionally. She is the screensaver on my laptop. I still think of her when I hear a certain song. But I don’t cry as much anymore. Tears won’t bring her back.

~Kat