Molly

I miss you much, Sweet Girl.

It hurts, that loss of shadow by my side, the clicking of your nails on the hardwood floors. It is painful to see only one dog wagging, rather than two when I return home, grocery bags in hand.

I catch myself singing out: Hey girlies!

And then I remember.

Your physical pain had twisted noticeably; the few steps off the porch into the yard might as well have been an arduous mountain descent. You did not complain, but oh, how it hurt to see you declining.

The second to last morning before you died, I said my quiet goodbyes, unrehearsed and fervent, in the early morning hours, the birds singing as a lump rose tall in my throat. I cupped your head in my hands and kissed the spot between your eyes, my words falling desperately short of everything I felt. You listened patiently, tail wagging, eyes cloudy but steady, soulful and true.

I cried because you trusted me, a tender fact that made my decision both resolute and painful. After you died my neighbor texted, compassionately reminding me I made the right choice. A bit of healing ointment for my crumpled heart.

You outlived every dog we have had thus far, and your next birthday would have been your twelfth. A faithful life, a quiet dog. Many of our other goldens have been wildly rambunctious, but never you. You were a low-key puppy from day one, playing and sleeping peacefully, even amid thunder and rain.

In fact the only noise that frightened you was our smoke detector’s shriek whenever the battery was on the fritz. At that, you trembled, quaking like a frail leaf, and I realized then that every man and beast is vulnerable, scared of something.

Molly girl, you kept my thoughts safe under lock and key, listening as I read and reread freshly written chapters aloud from my desk, as I endeavored to make syllables sing. You heard my book before anyone.

Faithful love is sticking close to your people, you taught me, always welcoming them home, never complaining, but rather living each day with gratitude for life’s simple pleasures: food, love, and a soft bed.

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We cried as you drifted to sleep, the IV drip flushing cold into your leg. We stroked your head and whispered goodbye, knowing you would never wake on this fallen earth. The veterinarian was soft-spoken and kind as our family wept, our arms cradling you on the soft purple blanket.

And then?

You were gone.

It is the end of an era in expansive ways. Many exhilarating changes stand beckoning on the horizon, calling my name, and I lament that you, my sweet shadow, are no longer by my side.

I loved you, Molly, which is why I let you go.

The Bible does not say if I will see you again, but I see no reason why not. God created you and saw that it was good, and therefore I have great hope that you will run to me in heaven, eager to be scratched behind the ears, your eyes clear and bright.

If so, let’s plan to take an amble through the woods, you and me, for old time’s sake.

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Whoever is righteous has regard for the life of his beast,
    but the mercy of the wicked is cruel. ~Proverbs 12:10

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