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.