When This You See Remember Me

We said goodbye to Molly on August 17, 2009. I still don’t have words for the giant hole in my heart.

After more than a year of fighting the congestive heart failure her kidneys failed. She was bright and loving us until the end. Euthanizing her was among the most difficult things we’ve ever done as a family. Lab values showed that she had no kidney function at all and her blood was full of toxins. Her last day alive was a misery of vomiting and diarrhea. I spent her last night on earth sleeping on the floor next to her so she wouldn't be alone.

But that’s not how I want to remember her… I want to remember her like this:

Molly was not a lap dog. But if you wanted to pet her... she was there to be petted. In fact, at times she demanded it. She would jump up next to you on the couch, reach out her paw and grab at your hand until you started petting her. We tried to break her of that habit and never did, we were somewhat successful at getting her to be more gentle about it... but she knew exactly what she was doing. Of course she wasn't above shoving her whole head under your hand.

She loved the sun and the wind and digging. But, more than anything, she loved people. And I love her like a sister, and miss her every day. I think we all do... even Merlin.