When I was petting Molly this morning, I noticed that it was 7:27.

I said to her, "Did you know that 727 was the designation of a very successful line of airplanes made by the Boeing corporation?"

She just stared at me. When she was younger she would have hung on my every word.

I guess familiarity really does breed contempt.

This morning I couldn't decide what kind of oatmeal I wanted for breakfast, so I asked Molly what I should have in my oatmeal. She said, "Salmon". 

Yeah. No. I don't think so.

Nemesis (yes, that is his real name) teaches his new little brother Chaos (also his real name) the technique for taking on a much larger dog. You can hear me laughing in the foreground, and Nemesis and Chaos' mom laughing in the background.

This morning Molly told me that I am her "Topgrrrrr". Aparently that is what the kids are calling the alpha dog these days. Go figure.

This morning at breakfast, Molly told me that she's planning on building a Large Doggie Collider. She believes that if she smashes two Great Danes together with enough force she can get chihuahuas to fly out, releasing immense energy.

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.