Molly meets a husky puppy at the dog park.
Awwwwwwwww.

 

When you want to keep on playing, but are too tired to stand up:

 

One year ago today, I picked up Molly from the Milo Foundation in Richmond, CA, and invited her into my life. Though skeptical, she acceded that my house was probably better than life at the shelter. But, given all the different homes she’d had during her brief 7 months, she definitely had no faith that this was more than another whistle-stop.

She was a complete and total pain in the ass. She peed on the carpet of the stair landing before going outside. She whined incessantly. She was constantly either dogging my heels or finding weaknesses in the fences and running away. She ate pillows. She shredded toys. She shredded shoes. She stole and ate toilet paper, post-it notes, and just about anything else she could find in the trash or on my desk. She stole food from the kitchen counters. She dragged me around the block.

We had many long conversations (aka, arguments) about what I considered acceptable and what she considered necessary. I mended holes in fences. I tried to remove anything “interesting” from anywhere she could reach. With less to tempt her, she became satisfied with her toys. Gradually we figured it out.

 

I particularly remember the first time I took her to the Alameda dog park. It’s a huge dog park with an equally large population of pups. No sooner had we entered the gate than she was off, running across the park at warp speed. She ran, she jumped, she played. She ran, she jumped, she played. She ran, she jumped, she played. She was inexhaustible. Clearly it the best day of her life thus far. When she came over to me for a break, she just shook her head in wonderment. She told me that she could not believe places like this existed. Then she ran off to rejoin a pack careening around the fields. We were there for hours.

Somehow a year has passed. We have learned each other’s rhythms, though there is no doubt she wishes I had more energy. She’s become a teenager, disapproving of my aged demeanor. We don’t talk as much. She’s got friends of her own, bones to chew on, and holes to dig. But I’m still her dad. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

This morning while vacuuming up some dirt, I asked, “Molly, what it is about vacuum cleaners that freaks dogs out so much? Is it the sound? The way it blows air around? The smell?”

She said, “yes.”

Molly is constantly, constantly, asking me for things; "I need food. I need water. I need to go out. I need a walk. I need you to get the ball from under the couch." But as soon as I ask her for the slightest little thing its suddenly, "I can’t do that. I don’t speak English. I'm a dog."

Well how convenient for her!

This morning at breakfast I asked Molly if she would confer with flowers.

She said, “Heck no. That can take hours. Who has time for that? If I had that kinda time I might as well consult with the rain!”

“Hey, it’s April Fools day. Happy April Fools day!” I said to Molly as we ate our breakfast.

“What’s that?”

“Well, it’s a day when people play tricks on each other.”

“What kind of tricks?” she asked, “Shake, roll over, high-five?”

“Not really. Not tricks like that. It’s more like tricking a person into believing something that isn’t true, or rigging something so that it doesn’t work right and makes them look foolish.”

“And then you get treats?” She asked, looking quite confused.

“Not treats exactly. The person ‘playing the trick’ finds it funny when the person being tricked falls for it, or they get to feel superior when the other person looks foolish.”

“Well, that’s not very nice.” She observed. “What’s with you humans being mean to each other and even having a special day to be extra mean? I don’t get it.”

“You know what, Molly, you are absolutely right. Maybe I shouldn’t have said ‘happy April fool’s day’. It’s not really a nice day at all.”

Molly laughed. “Haha! Gotcha! April Fools!”

Then she spun around three times, rolled over, and took a bow.

Just now, while playing tug-o-war, Molly let go of the toy. My arms flew back and I clocked myself pretty damned good.

She laughed and laughed.

I hope I don’t get black and blue.

This morning at breakfast I asked Molly what her plans were for the day.

“Well”, she said, “there’s nothing really on the calendar.” She paused and lapped her tea thoughtfully. “I suspect I’ll run, play, chew on a bone, dig, sniff…”

“No! No digging!” I growled. “You’re a dig-a-holic. No digging!”

“Oh. Yes daddy. No digging.” She looked downcast. “Since I can’t dig, I’ll probably dog your steps all over the house until you take me to the park, where I’ll run, play, sniff things, catch up on the news… yah know. Otherwise,” she took another sip of tea, “I’ll probably nap a lot.”

“Sounds like a Molly day!”

“You betcha. It’s a Molly day. It’s a Molly day today.”

“Molly, please don’t stand on my chest while I’m meditating.”

“I’m just trying to help you”, she said.

“In what way does it help me meditate to have you stand on my chest?”

“I’m keeping you grounded.”

“More like, you’re helping distract me from meditating so I’ll play with you.”

“It’s dogitation, daddy. You focus on the dog standing on your chest, and it frees your mind.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. You free your mind and realize that you, and I, and the ball are all one.”

“Are we? Are we now?”

“Yes. And since we are all one, it is natural for you to throw the ball for me.”

“I’m guessing that you, and I, and the dog treats are all one also.”

“Ahhhhh, it’s working. Your mind is become clear and focused.”

“Mmmmm, my mind is clear and yet, I still have a dog on my chest.”

“Yes, but you have a dog with Buddha nature on your chest.”

“Indeed I do.”

“Daddy, why wont you talk to me?” Molly asked.

Because I am doing a silent meditation, I thought at her.

“Daddy? Did I do something wrong?” She implored.

I petted her vigorously. How do I tell her everything is OK without breaking silence? Hmmm.

“Daddy, I’m confused. I don’t understand. Talk to me!” She said, getting more strident, in spite of the petting.

Oh well. Molly is more important than silence. “I’m doing a week-long silent meditation. I’m being silent.” I explained.

“Is that why you haven’t been talking to me, or singing, or playing music, or watching TV?”

“Yes, Molly, that is why.”

“Can you at least belch and fart?” She asked.

“Yes, I can still belch and fart.”

“Good! Otherwise, you might explode!”

I smiled at her.

A few minutes later she exclaimed, “This is soooo boooooring.”

“It is calming”, I asserted.

“It is stupid”, she replied. “What is up with this nonsense, anyway?”

“I am trying to silence the jumbled mind.” I told her. “To be mindful. To be in the moment. To be concentrated while also being connected.”

She screwed up her face. “Dad. Look. Look at the ball over there.”

I looked. “Yes?”

“Dad, it is a ball. It is on the carpet. It rolls, it bounces, it stops rolling. It has a shape, a smell, a texture, and a taste. The ball rolls. You chase it. It bounces. You catch it. You chew on it. You rip it into pieces. Now it is no longer a ball, but it is still the ball. The ball no longer rolls or bounces, but it is still the ball.”

“Molly, you are indeed wise beyond your years.”

“There is your butt,” she went on, “it has a smell. You lick it…”

“I think I got it with the ball metaphor.” I interrupted.

“Are you sure?”

“I think I need to contemplate the ball for a while before I am ready for my butt. OK.”

“There is so much to be learned from your butt. Your butt…”

“Yes, Molly. I am sure I am not ready to contemplate my butt. I will let you know when I am ready. In the meantime, I am going to consider the ball in silence. OK?”

“Daddy, you’re weird.”

“Hey,” I said, “I’m only human.”

“More’s the pity,” she replied.

Molly is 99 and 44/100% dog.

We don't know what the other 0.56% is.

 

Molly asked if she could bring her chew toy to the dog park today for “show and bark.”

“Dogs have ‘show and tell’?” I asked.

“Well, kinda, but it’s ‘show and bark’.”

“So you bring a toy to the dog park and then bark about it?”

“Lord no. You bring a toy to the dog park, someone steals it from you, then you run around and bark at them.”

Molly has informed me that she doesn’t find it at all funny when I put my fingers in her mouth or grab her tongue while she is yawning.

Well, I think its hysterical, so ptttttthhhhht!

This morning, at breakfast, I asked Molly if she’d like it if we held a hootenanny.

She said, “Hell yeah!”

I asked her if she knew what a “hootenanny” was.

She said, “Nope, but it sounds like a humdinger!”

I never know when she’s pulling my leg.

Today, after finishing a pig’s ear, Molly laid back and sighed with contentment, “Yup. It’s a doggy dog world all right.”

“The expression is actually ‘dog eat dog’”, I pointed out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it means that if you are going to get ahead, you have to eat your competitors.”

“That’s ridiculous”, she snorted, “dogs don’t eat dogs.”

“Well. OK. What’s a ‘doggy dog world’ then?”

“The more doggy you are, the better things are.” She declared.

“And you think you’re a pretty doggy dog, do you?”

“Are you kidding? I’m the doggiest!”

“If you’re so very doggy, why do you talk?”

She shrugged, “nobody’s perfect.”

This morning, while sitting on the couch petting Molly, I asked her, "If you could be anything you wanted, what would you be?"

"Do you mean like a dentist, or like a giraffe?"

"Anything at all, you name it."

"Well," she said, "I think I'd like to be your dog."

"Your wish is granted."

We both smiled.

“Molly, I can’t find your belly button.” 

“What makes you think I have a belly button?”

“I dunno. Because you are a mammal?”

“Well, you know what they say about assumptions.” She grinned.

“Did you know that in Yiddish we call it a pupik?”

“Of course, dad, I was raised in a Jewish enclave in Brooklyn.” She looked down her nose at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, well. What happened to ‘speaking multiple languages shows good breeding’? Huh?”

“Yes, it does, but Yiddish? Really? Give me a break. Who speaks Yiddish anymore? Nu? Chaval al hazman!”

Um, yeah.

This morning, at breakfast, I asked Molly what kind of boy she likes.

“I either like them big and stupid,” she told me, “or a little guy that I can dominate. And they have to smell nice. Some of these guys, whew, give yourself a lick or something!”

Well, I guess she’s a girl who knows what she wants.

“Bad, Molly!” I wagged my finger at her, “Bad!”

“I’m so sorry, daddy.” She whimpered.

I’m coming to realize that Molly is a dig-a-holic. I went outside this morning and discovered that she had completely unearthed the strawberries. 

“Why Molly? Why do you do this? We’ve talked about digging over and over again.”

“It’s…” sniff, “it’s just… I thought I smelled something, so I gave it a little paw. Just a little paw. Then I scratched it a bit, and this time I was sure I smelled something.” Her head was down, and her shoulders slouched. “I dug a bit more, and I thought I’d found it, but it wasn’t there, so I dug a bit more, then more, and before I knew it the soil was just flying. The more I dug, the more I needed to dig. Finally, I hit rock bottom. I’m so sorry about the strawberries. I like strawberries.” She was really crying now.

“It’s OK. It’s OK. The strawberries will be fine. It’s OK. I know you can’t control it. We’ll get you some help.” I petted her and lifted up her chin. “We’ll get you some help.”

Perhaps she’ll grow out of it. Perhaps I am just enabling her, turning her into a lifelong dirt addict. I wish I knew what to do. Ugh.

I'm getting worried. Molly's dig-a-holism is getting worse. We might need to perform an intervention

https://youtu.be/7ee68wqG0C8

I’ve never had children, but, I imagine that walking into Molly’s side yard is a lot like any parent walking into their teenager’s room; holes dug everywhere, dirt all over the place, and strewn with shredded pieces of plants, paper, and old toys.

Today Molly asked me, “Daddy, why do you call me ‘Molly’?”

“I can’t really say. Don’t you like that name?”

“Is ‘Molly’ a good name?” She countered.

“Sure. Yes. I think ‘Molly’ is a good name.”

“It’s just that, at the dog park there’s Puffin, and Lola, and Parker, Yukon, Mr. D, and two Bens. There’s even a ‘Holly’. But there are no other Molly’s." She looked thoughtful, "At the shelter they called me ‘Maya’, and my best friend was Flower. Are those good names?”

“Sure. Those are fine names. But I don’t really see you as ‘Maya’.”

“I don’t seem ‘Maya’?”

“When I met you, I thought you looked like ‘Molly’, and I still do. Don’t you think the name ‘Molly’ suits you?”

“It suits me. I just wanted to make sure it was a good name.”

“It’s the perfect name for you.”

This morning while taking Molly for a walk, I asked her why it is that after she pees, she often turns around and sniffs it.

She told me she has to smell-check her posts.

 

Molly and I finished watching the Inauguration.

I said to her, "The world is a better place now."

She just smiled and closed her eyes.

As Molly sat on the rug, chewing on a Nylabone, I asked her, “What is it about those things that you enjoy chewing on them so much?”

“Well daaarrrdy,” she failed to enunciate around the chew toy, “oou killth somethimg, theng youth givv me the bonhnhth.”

“Huh?”

Clearing her mouth, she repeated, “you kill something, then you give me the bone to chew on. It’s nice.”

“Well, you know that they’re not really bones, right? They’re just some kind of plastic. I didn’t actually kill anything.”

“Wait… what???”

“It’s not really a bone. It’s plastic.”

She dropped the Nylabone, “It’s plastic!?!?!”

“Yes, it’s plastic.”

“All this time you’ve been giving me fake bones?!? You haven’t been out hunting, and you didn’t give me a bone from your kill????”

“Yeah, I order them online.”

She stood up and started to walk away.

“Wait. Where are you going? You seem to like them so much, so I gave you more.”

“I’m not talking to you.” She said without turning.

“Oh, come on Mol…”

“I’m not talking to you.” Getting farther away she said, “You see, this is what it looks like when I’m not talking to you.”

Oh, fur Pete's sake. No good deed goes unpunished.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, dah!” Molly, just back from a hike, was shouting as she bounded up the stairs, completely out of breath. She skidded to a halt in my office. “Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, guess what!” Needless to say, she didn’t give me time to ask “what”, let alone guess. “Today…”, breathing hard, “on the walk…” she tried to collect herself, but was too excited, “…on the walk… Nero, threw up!” She put her paws on my desk. “And, and Jason had us all lie down, but Betty kept going over any trying to eat it, so Jason had to keep on stopping and dragging Betty back, and Nero kept on puking!”

“Wow, Molly. Is Nero OK?”

“Huh? Oh, sure, he’s fine. He just drank that slimy water. We all told him not to, but you know Nero, he’s golden retriever. He’ll eat or drink anything! You don’t even need to dare him.”

“Well, actually, I don’t know Nero. How do you know the slimy water won’t hurt him?”

“Cause it’s just gooey water. No biggie.”

“Well, you know, some gooey water can have stuff in it that is dangerous.”

“Yeah, that’s what Jason kept telling us. And he kept on insisting on poking at Nero and feeling his tummy, and then Jason cut the walk short, and drove us all to the vet where he left Nero with his humans.”

“I know about that part.”

“What do you mean, ‘you know’? You weren’t there.”

“Well, I didn’t know exactly what happened, but Jason texted me. He said that one of your pack got sick, and so you were going to be late coming home.”

“Wow. You can do that!?!?”

“Yup.”

“You can talk to Jason while we are out on a walk?”

“Yes. Sure.”

“Huh. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“Well, it’s important that Jason be able to reach me if there is a problem of any kind. Anyway, let’s get you a treat.”

“A treat, a treat, a treat, a treat, a treat, a treat!” She shouted as she went skidding off to the kitchen.

I sure hope she calms down soon. Sigh.

“Hey Molly, you’ve been kinda quiet lately.”

“Yeah, I know. Between the holidays, the Georgia runoff election, and the madness in Washington, my head is spinning. Its all so much, I can’t get my thoughts connected.”

“Yeah. I hear you, kiddo. I hear you.”

This morning I asked Molly if she had slept like a dog.

“I think the expression is 'slept like a log', daddy.” She said. “I don’t think you can use a simile to compare a thing to itself. Asking a dog if she slept like a dog is kinda like asking a cow if it gave milk like a cow, or a car if it drove like a car.”

“Good lord!” I was stunned. “When did you start considering the intricacies of English?”

“I ate a book called Word Power Made Easy.”

“Is that where that went.” I sighed. “Molly, please don’t eat my books.”

“Oooops.”