Molly Biron
RIP my sweet girl. My grandparents were married for over 50 years & when my grandfather died my grandmother said, “I had so much left to say to him.” At the time I thought, “What could she possibly have left to say?” But as time passed I came to understand. Molly was 18 when we unexpectedly had to put her to sleep last Thursday. She was very old for a large dog but she was vibrant, happy & strong. A friend told me recently, “You know she’s going to die.” Well yes but not now – not so soon. There’s never a right time regardless of how old & there’s always something left to say, to do. “Well, it’s only a dog.” That person has never loved a dog. And we loved Molly. Not only loved her but liked her as well. She was easy to be with, gentle, sweet. I got her at the Peninsula Humane Society looking for a dog to be with my last German Shepherd, Konky. I loved her the moment I saw her & knew she was coming home with me. Unfortunately Konky died soon after & Molly was left alone. Not good. I arranged playdates for her but that wasn’t working. I brought her to one home where she jumped on their couch, snarfed down their cat’s food, found the litter box & ate it’s contents & then peed on the rug – all within 5 minutes. We were not asked back. Fortunately we found Buddy who was cotton candy to her spiciness. They were quite a team. Got into plenty of trouble together. Once was called by someone in the neighborhood who opened her car door to get inside when 2 dogs jumped in ready for a ride. Luckily they were friendly & both had tags with our name & phone number. When Buddy died 2 1/2 years ago Molly was alone again. She was our focus. Our day was spent making sure she was well cared for & happy. She loved Donald & would seek him out when he was home. But I was her “person.” There’s nothing like being a dog’s “person.” You’re the extra special everything to them. And when you have to put them to sleep you feel you’ve betrayed them even though you know it’s what has to be done. I have no idea when my eyes will go back to their normal size or when I won’t have to carry tissues for unexpected & inapproriate crying fits but I don’t care. I do know I’ll never stop missing you girl. And I know when we make our trip to the Bernardus in Carmel Valley next month I know they’ll ask, “Where’s Molly?” And I’ll have to point to my heart & say, “She’s here, right here.”