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.”