Missing Molly

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Suddenly …
our sweet pooch Molly is gone.

She seemed fine last Saturday, but on Sunday she stopped eating and began to look extremely uncomfortable. We took her to the hospital on Monday. They discovered that her chest was full of fluid, pressing on her heart and lungs. 

They drained the fluid, ran some tests, and discovered, to our horror, that (besides some heart problems we were aware of) she had a lethal form of cancer that would soon take her life. We brought her home for hospice on Tuesday, and she passed away on Wednesday. We were very fortunate and grateful that our sons Razi and Danny were in town for most of this. And our friends have been wonderfully supportive as well.

Molly was a gentle, loving pet who came to us through the Milo Foundation, a pet rescue organization near us here in the East Bay. They specialize in rescuing captured dogs and cats from the “high-kill” animal shelters, especially in the Central Valley.

The first time Susan and I saw Molly at Milo, she was strutting her stuff, full of good cheer and enthusiasm. We loved her honey brown and white coat and enjoyed the fact that she had some white on her muzzle, which was also not as pushed in as in many Boxers. She had only been at Milo a couple of days, and we snatched her up. We knew immediately we were destined to have her and give her a good home, surrounded by love.

We adopted Molly in late October 2015. The good folks at Milo estimated, at that point, that she was eight months old. That meant she was born around the time of my 68^th birthday in February, the same week I retired. So I’ve always been able to track Molly’s age. She lived with us for nearly ten years. 

And yet she wasn’t housebroken when we got her. Years later, we had her DNA tested and determined that she was 100 per cent Boxer. We’ve always wondered how and why a beautiful, purebred dog like her was running around in the feral streets of someplace like Fresno.

Known in the family as Molly Wolly (or sometimes Molly Wobbles), she was predeceased years before by her non-biological sisters Sophie Dophie and Montana Banana, as well as her BFF Lillie Rose, a white Golden Doodle she adored. She is survived by our granddogs Kyle and Indigo (aka Gogo). 

And what a watch dog! If you knocked on our door or rang the bell, she projected ferocious barking, but as soon as we let you in the door, she’d become your best friend. The best of both worlds, in a way.

We had never had a Boxer before and quickly learned they have a well-deserved reputation for goofy behavior. Their furrowed brows can make them look worried, like they just remembered they owe you money. Molly had a cute habit of side-swiping playmates with a front paw that looked like a roundhouse right from a pugilist. And she had great eye contact.

But ultimately, she had the same design flaw as all dogs: their lifespans are so much shorter than ours that loving them can break your heart multiple times. For Susan and me, this was the third time.

We miss her tremendously. She was a good dog.