Eight years ago, Michael and I were newlyweds. We got married in mid-July. Michael moved back from out of state the week before our wedding and started a new job the week after. Another week later we closed on our house and we moved in at the beginning of August. We began the huge task of remodeling our house, prepping and painting walls, ripping up carpet and arguing about hardwood floor samples, not to mention adjusting to married life and living together for the first time. We were dealing with a lot of stress all at once. A LOT of stress. And we certainly didn't need more.
But a couple of months later I came up with the great idea that we should get a dog.
After a lot of discussion, Michael reluctantly agreed. His only condition was that he wanted a "manly" dog and not some little, yappy, fluffy, white, "sad excuse for a dog", which happened to be just what I had in mind. Great, more stress in our marriage.
We both wanted to rescue rather than buy from a breeder. There are so many wonderful pets in shelters and we would encourage anyone looking for a furry friend to start there. I got on Petfinder.com and tried desperately for weeks to find a dog we could agree on. Michael shot down every idea I had.
So when I found a complete mess of a dog named "Sassy", I was afraid to even show her to him. The name alone would make him say no. Plus she was little, white, fluffy and probably yappy, too. As expected, he said no, but I was determined. I pleaded with him until he finally agreed to let me contact the foster home to find out more about the dog. He didn't know I had already submitted an adoption application.
I was told that there were nearly 100 applications for this dog, but they liked ours best. Hmmm. Really? If you had seen the pictures posted on line of this filthy, matted, emaciated dog at the pound, you would know what a load of BS they were giving me. I should have known, too, but it didn't matter. I was convinced that "Sassy" was meant to be our dog.
When I told Michael I had made plans to drive 4 hours away to "see" the dog that Saturday, he said no, it was too far away. I think he knew if I went that far, there was no way I wasn't bringing the dog home with me. He told me to call and cancel. I said no. I'm pretty sure there was mention of divorce if I brought that dog home, but I didn't care. I knew him too well. I knew he loved dogs, ALL dogs, and I knew he loved ME.
I made the drive, I met the dog, and the first time I reached for her she tried to bite me.
She had been shaved down, but was still filthy and smelled like feces. Plus she had fleas crawling all over her.
I thought Michael might leave me when I got home, but I took her anyway.
She NEEDED me. And she had potential, I just knew it.
I drove straight to the groomers and dropped her off for a bath and a flea dip.
Then I took her home. We were in the back yard when Michael got home.
He walked out the back door and started laughing.
"What is THAT?"
After being shaved, she looked even worse than in the pound photos.
"Is that supposed to be a DOG?"
Later that night, when he thought I was out of earshot, I overheard that same man,
in his best high-pitched baby-talk voice, saying,
"Who's a pretty dog?
Are you a good girl?
Yes you ARE!
You ARE!"
I think I fell in love with him all over again.
We talked that night about a name for her, since neither of us was a fan of "Sassy".
I liked "Lucy" and Michael liked "Molly".
Since I got to pick the dog, I let him choose the name. So Molly it was.
That was eight years ago this week.
Her estimated age at the time was one and a half to two years old,
which makes her almost ten years old now.
She has become the most loved and spoiled dog either of us has ever had
and we can't imagine our lives without her.
We were a family of three for almost eight years before Carter came along.
My parents even referred to Molly as their "grand-dog" and brought her presents for all the holidays.
We've had so much fun with her over the years and it's hard to believe that she is the same dog
that used to cower in fear and tried to bite me the first time I met her.
Her life has been great and we feel lucky to have her.
Here are some pictures of her over the years:
The very first week. I tried dressing her up to make her cuter.
Um. Yeah. Fail.
I asked my friend who worked for a vet if she had a guess at the breed.
She replied,
"I'd say she comes from a LONG line of mixed breeds!"
Look at those ears! Yowzers!
The day after we got Molly, we drove to visit my sister and newborn nephew in Detroit.
Here we are with our brand new "babies".
Having fun in the snow.
Molly with the guy who said he'd leave me if I brought home a little white dog.
Guess someone had a change of heart.
I think this was for her first Cinco de Mayo.
No idea why the nativity was still out...
Her hair eventually started to grow back.
And she started to get cute.
At least WE thought so.
Cuddling with daddy.
After all the arguing we did, she has become HIS dog.
First spring at home.
Getting ready to "help" Mommy in the garden.
Daddy even lets her on the couch now!
One winter day she ignored me calling her in.
She wanted to stay outside and dig in the snow instead.
I'm pretty sure she regretted her decision when she realized how long
it would take for the snowballs to melt off her legs.
Exhausted after a long day playing.
And in major need of a haircut!
Our original "family" getting ready for Christmas.
(Molly overdue for her holiday haircut.)
Can I get on the bed, Mom?
Please?
I realized I don't have any pictures of Molly standing
where her tail isn't a big wagging blur.
She's just so happy all the time!
While I was sick in bed with hyperemesis gravidarum for most of my pregnancy, Molly
tried to entice me to play by bringing me toy after toy, hoping to find one that appealed to me.
Unfortunately I could barely lift my head at that point.
Once I was over the worst of it, I did let her sleep on the bed with me.
She had major bed head in the mornings.
Poor Molly has had to adjust to a whole new life since Carter was born.
Everyone who comes to visit walks right past her to see the baby.
She has lost her spot between us on the bed and has to sleep down by our feet now.
Instead of being rewarded for barking to alert us when guests arrive or the UPS guy makes a delivery,
she is scolded for waking the baby and banished to her crate.
And probably the worst thing is that she has to watch me head out with Carter
for our daily walks, while she is left behind.
Despite it all, she remains the most happy, exuberant, silly and loving dog I've ever known.
I love her like crazy and when the baby is sleeping or playing with Daddy,
I try to take the time to scoop Molly up, cuddle her and let her know how much she still means to me.
She was and always will be our first "baby".
The first morning home from the hospital after having Carter, I took a long shower.
Afterward, I walked into the nursery and found my whole "family" asleep in the chair!
When I saw them all looking so peaceful, I burst into tears (happiness/hormones).
Then I grabbed the camera.
Molly's favorite place when I'm nursing Carter:
Curled up on the nursery ottoman.
Happy 8th Gotcha Day, our sweet, sweet Molly!
Ten years is too old.
You need to live forever, okay?
