Molly

I have been doing quite a bit on Facebook lately. Posts here get copied over to there. So, those of you who follow my blog, also get to see it on Facebook (double the pleasure?).

Anyway, on Facebook, I did the 25 things post. Here was number 9:

9. For over 10 years, I thought my dad had shot my favorite dog in the garage of our house in Wyoming (Molly the Border Collie for those who knew her). I didn't miss that house at all when we moved shortly thereafter.

OK, so I hope I don't get a lot of flack about the fact that I also have a lovely and talented cousin named Molly. If I remember right, we had the dog before Molly was born. So, there is no relation to the name there. Just an amazing coincidence.

That said, Molly was the best dog in the world. Anytime I meet another dog, I compare it to her. She was the dog that helped raise me - not that I didn't have parents (my mom is the greatest). But she would keep me safe and out of trouble. When strangers would approach, she would stand between us kids and them. She wouldn't bark or growl unless the stranger came too quickly or got too close. She also kept us away from the horses - sometimes (I once got too curious and ended up right under one of them - laughing and playing in the grass). I am eager for my brothers to chime in as well - as my memories of her might have been over sweetened by made up stories I would tell myself about her.

So, my family got Molly while we lived in a small town in Idaho called Albion. We lived in a small house on a decent sized piece of land with horses, cows, and a large back yard. Molly was free to run as far as she pleased and was always around for her mealtime and when it was time for us to play.

My dad got a new job at a new bank opening in Green River, Wyoming. We packed up and moved East. We made some great friends there, but were happy to leave when the time came. While in Wyoming, we lived in a suburb type area and downgraded the size of our yard - which left Molly tied up to the side of the house. She did not like this. We did not like that she couldn't run freely and play like we used to.

I think she started getting cabin fever and we decided to get rid of her. Now, to a 3 year old boy, "getting rid" of a dog meant putting it to sleep. And you put it to sleep by shooting it (like a horse).

The last time I remember seeing Molly, my dad was taking her into the garage. Here is where my memory gets fuzzy. I don't know if I imagined him with his Winchester 30-30, if Aaron had the pellet gun in the garage at the same time (or even a different time), or if I simply made the story up.

But, after watching my dad take Molly into the garage, I never saw her again and assumed the worst. That's right. Mr daddy, in the garage, with the gun. It took me a while to willingly set foot in the garage again and I always considered it the place that my beloved dog was "got rid of."

As I got older, I wondered why anyone would shoot a dog in their own garage (imagine the mess). I also knew about animal shelters and what happened there to the unwanted and older dogs (much more humane than shooting them in a family's garage in most cases, or so I hear). This lead me to believe that Molly had been put to sleep in a calm, painless manner and was running around dog heaven with all the other good dogs (sniffing each other, barking at car shaped clouds, and eating rib bones for every meal!)

Notice how I never asked my parents what really happened to her... I think I was 15 or 16 before I finally got the real story on Molly. It was true that Molly wasn't happy being tied up. It was true that my dad took her into the garage (the gun story could not be confirmed or denied). In the garage, he loaded Molly into the family van or his truck and drove her away. Much to my surprise, he didn't take her to a pound to put her down or in hopes of an adopting family to take her home. Through one of his contacts from work, he found her a loving home with a big yard to run and play in. Or at least, that is what I think happened...

At any rate, I hope she made another family as happy as I was to have her in my family. She has likely passed on since then. I hope to be the one to feed her rib bones for every meal when my time comes.