You Rock, Molly!

Happy Friday!

I just realized it has been over a month since I last posted something here- yikes! Time is really flying. Molly, Clinton, and I have been completely into a routine the last few weeks, and I'm sad/overjoyed to say that there is really nothing new to report on the Molly front. Our sweet girl has been the picture of a perfect dog the last little while. I don't want to jinx it, but I do kind of miss her shenanigans. Aside from being cute, she has given me no material to work with as far as creating a post. I don't want this page to go stagnant, as I know Molly is totally worth having her own blog, so I thought I would pull a "tail" from the archives.

As I mentioned in my very first post, the first year with Molly was a rollercoaster: a  fury of day- to- day mishaps, hilarity, and sometimes (okay, a lot of the time) frustration. The first month was probably the worst of it, getting to know this new little member of our family while trying to make our house "dog friendly" and figure out how we were supposed to do this. Molly had some funny little quirks that we noticed right away that either other dogs do not have, or nobody really tells you. One thing she used to do that particularly baffled me was chew rocks. I don't know what the appeal was, but she loved to do it, despite my pleas for her to stop. I feared she was going to do some major damage to her teeth, and like me, later on regret she did not take better care of them:

Braces for Molly were not in our budget

Anyway, this rock chewing habit wasn't a huge problem. She wasn't cuckoo for rocks or anything, it just happened that she would pick one up here and there and munch on it for a while. However, one day, we saw an extreme case of rock chewing that actually led to rock eating.

I had Molly over at my mom's one afternoon, and while we were outside, I noticed she kept going to this spot on the driveway and sniffing/chewing rocks. I kept taking her to other parts of the yard to distract her, but being stubborn, she would run back to this spot. She was furiously picking up rocks in her mouth, and chomping down like they were the best thing she has ever tasted. I found this really strange but didn't think too much of it. We went in the house, and a while later, forgetting about the rocks, I let her outside- by herself (remember, Molly used to be way better behaved and would never leave the yard at my mom's- her nose didn't work). About 5 minutes later, I went to let her in, and noticed she was back at that spot. I mentioned it to my mom, and she explained that when she came home the previous day with groceries, she dropped a container of chocolate milk and it exploded onto the driveway. Well, that would explain Molly's infatuation/need for the rocks in this one area. That was the last time she went outside off a leash that day. I knew there was no stopping her.

Not long after we got home, I was puttering around our apartment when I came across a small pile of rocks. I thought it was strange, and pondered where they came from. A few minutes later, I saw another...and then another. Wait- where is the dog? I turned the corner, to find Molly squatting on the dining room floor- pooping rocks. Plain old rocks. You could put them back in the driveway, and nobody would know the difference. I didn't know what to do- my dog was pooping rocks! I debated calling the vet, but somehow I already knew that Molly had a stomach of steel, and this little mishap would do no damage. However, my frustration level went through the roof. Molly managed, after doing everything else you do not want your dog to do, to come up with something completely new and unexpected. It's as if she said to herself "Okay, I have pooped on the floor, peed on the floor, cried all night, eaten from the litter box- time to create something new. Time to Mollify this place." And that she did- by crapping rocks.

Life Lessons

For as much as we criticize and cringe at Molly, there's a lot to be said for the way she lives her life. Often I think I could learn a few things from her. I'm not sure if it's the age I am at, or just a point I have reached, but I find myself lately trying to figure out the kind of person I want to be. When it comes down to it, I want to be like Molly- but less hairy.

Molly is grateful for the little things. She treats each day like it's her last. She doesn't care when it rains for seven days straight, or that it's so frigid and cold outside it's almost unbearable. She starts, and ends, each and every day happy. She eats the same food at the same time every morning and every evening- and each time, she gobbles it up like it's the best thing she has ever eaten. She treats dog cookies, lettuce, Timbits, cheese, and anything that falls on the floor the same way. She's just happy. Happy to be alive, and happy to be eating.

She is incredibly affectionate. This is a trait I think I am certainly lacking. I don't know why, but I've never really been one to initiate a hug, or to rub someone's back or comfort them while they cry- and when I do attempt this, it's super awkward. I might not be cold, but I'm certainly not warm either. I don't try to be like that, it's just the way I am. Molly, on the other hand, will hug and kiss every person who will let her, and never passes up the opportunity to cuddle up. When you're not feeling well, she goes from crazy dog to real life heating pad. She will lay beside you and keep you warm until you're ready to face the world again. She'll watch nine episodes of your favourite TV show and never complain, even though she would rather be out for a walk, or playing. She'll give you kisses when you cry (I'm serious!), like she knows you just need someone to say it will be okay. She is the best comfort and the best companion, always reminding you that you're loved, no matter what.

Comforting Clinton when he wasn't feeling well

Molly knows that if you feel good about yourself, you'll be a better person. It's true- when I go out with my hair a mess, wearing sweats, and unshowered, I feel yucky, and therefore I scowl. I try to get through whatever it is I am doing without making eye contact with too many people and praying to God that I don't run into anyone I know. If I have put in a little effort, and feel good about the way I look, I tend to be more smiley, less self conscious, and generally more cheerful. I'm trying not to sound vain here, and am aware that I am failing, but this has to be said. Molly always has her eyeliner freshly applied, and never leaves home without it. While her hair might not be brushed, it is always neat and shiny, and she wears her black collar with pride. Molly always looks beautiful, and is ready for a photo op, should one present itself. You'll never see her untag a Facebook photo- she's ready.

Even as a puppy, she always had beautiful makeup

I think the most admirable trait of Molly's is her ability to forgive. She does not dwell on things, and no matter what you have done to her, she will love you just the same. For goodness sake, we used to lock her in a cage every time we left the house. On workdays, she would be in her crate for nine hours! I know she hated it, but every time we let her out, she showered us with love. "It's okay, really! I got a good nap in, and now you're here, so let's hang out!" We caged her like a shelter dog, and left her alone with the radio on (which is almost worse than the crate), but she never held it against us. Yesterday, when we were out for a walk, I accidentally kicked her in the head (I was in power walk mode, she was in sniff everything mode, and inevitably my foot and her face connected). I immediately knelt down and patted her, apologizing profusely, convinced she understood. She looked at me with her brown eyes (eyeliner and all) and licked my nose, as if to say "Don't sweat it." Molly is so happy to be near people, she forgets all the bad and just focuses on the good stuff- like the walk, the fresh air, the company, and all the smells in nature.

Molly is my idol- she's thankful, loving, patient, has a huge heart, and will hold nothing against anyone. She relishes in the simple pleasures in life, and wags her tail every time any one of us enters the room, reminding us that there is a creature on this Earth that loves us unconditionally. She appreciates the smallest things- from a treat to a simple pat on the head (or the belly, which is her true weakness), and never asks for more. Except when we're eating- then she asks for everything. But can you blame her?

Molly Modifications

I had no clue the impact having a dog would have on our household. I knew things would be different, but when they say it's good practice for a baby, they're right (whoever they are). Of course there were the obvious things, like getting a leash, food dishes, food, etc. But there were some changes we were forced to make that had never crossed our minds...as Clinton says "Oh, another modification for Molly."

1. We have a baby gate- but no baby. This used to keep Molly away from the litter box in our old place, and in our current house keeps her off the top floor altogether (which is where the litter boxes are housed now). Molly knows how to break down the gate, either by knocking it over, or pushing it open with her nose, but for the most part it works.

Pros: everything upstairs is (generally) safe; we don't have to constantly monitor Molly since it confines her to the main floor; when guests come over, we have the option of preventing Molly from clobbering them by gating her upstairs. She will stand behind the gate, and just stare until she calms down. It saves a lot of headaches.

Cons: we have a baby gate on our stairs; the wall where the gate touches constantly has marks on it; the cats have to find new ways to get upstairs- Lucky jumps the gate, sometimes kicking it over with her back legs. She's fast and can jump great heights. Tucker, being a little more "big boned" gets up on the storage ottoman, and squeezes through the rungs on the railing- thus leaving them constantly in need of cleaning as well.

2. We must pick all articles of clothing up off the floor- we have lost shirts, pants, underwear, socks, bras, and just about every other type of clothing you can imagine due to Molly getting hold of it without anyone noticing. When we're upstairs, we let Molly come up too. The problem is, she does need to be watched more closely up there. Countless times, I have gotten out of the shower to find a trail of clothing shards leading to where she has decided to lay down at that time. She always looks ashamed, but not enough to stop her from doing it next time

Pros: we have to keep the floors clear of everything- most people grow out of throwing their clothes on the floor as adults anyway, but not us. This has helped us live more maturely.

Cons: if something falls out of the hamper, it's destroyed. So not only does everything need to be put away/put in the hamper, it has to be done in such a way that there is no chance of it hitting the floor...at any time...ever; Clinton does not own one pair of socks without a hole in them; Clinton's favourite pair of jogging pants are now being used as rags due the ass being chewed out of them when nobody was looking; when I fold laundry, I have to watch VERY carefully to ensure nothing falls on the floor without me noticing- more than once a sock has escaped, and I will find it in pieces on Molly's bed later.

3. Shoes must be put away- sort of: Molly is not a shoe chewer per se, but sometimes she will encounter a pair of shoes that stands out from the rest that she just has to chew on. Usually, these belong to people who are visiting us, so when they go to leave, it is not uncommon for them to find their shoes placed in the bathroom with the door closed- done discreetly by me when I catch Molly with her face in them.

Pros: our entryway is, for the most part, neat and tidy; there is no "shoe pile" at the door, although sometimes they start to collect (shoes Molly has no interest in tend to stay out because of our excitement over the fact that we don't have to put them away if we don't feel like it) ***side note- right now there is a bike in our entryway, which takes away from the lack of clutter- but it's not permanent, and therefore I can ignore it***

Cons: we have lost good shoes to this- Clinton's "vintage" (i.e. "old") Umbros fell victim to Molly, as have a couple pairs of my flats; sometimes she is discreet and we don't notice right away that she has chewed a shoe until we get into public- like the day I went to work, and discovered one of my shoes was missing a bow, or the insole had been ripped out

4. We have to feed the cats right before bed: Tucker, our larger cat, gets incredibly cranky when he is hungry. If he doesn't eat every few hours, look out. He tends to go after Lucky, which eventually leads to some hissing, and meowing. Because Tucker is "cushy", we used to try and watch how much we fed him. However, since getting Molly, we have discovered that once the cats start making noise in the night, she just has to see what's going on. This has led to her getting in and out of the bed multiple times a night, only to come back two minutes later, and scratch us to let her back under the covers (yes, she sleeps in our bed under the covers- BIG DEAL). Nobody sleeps, and therefore mornings are very unpleasant for everyone- except Molly, who takes that time to catch some zzzz's. We've discovered that if we feed the cats right before bed, Tucker is pretty zonked until about 5:30am...which is better than being woken at 2am because he's pissy.

Pros: there are no pros to feeding the cats before bed, aside from the reason we do it, which is to keep Molly asleep

Cons: Tucker's health is probably being jeopardized because of how husky he is getting/continues to get, but we selfishly choose sleep over non-clogged kitty arteries; we spend more money on dry food now (the cats only used to get it sometimes); Tucker expects this feeding, so if I forget, I am soon reminded- about three minutes after falling asleep.

5. Having visitors involves major prep: There should always be something in the cupboard to act as a distracter for Molly if we're having company/someone pops by. Molly should also be walked if we're expecting guests. We usually walk her twice a day anyway, but if we're having people over, we try to really exhaust her because she is BONKERS for new people. I've seen her run laps around the house, jumping on furniture and barking at nothing before slamming herself into someone who has just entered our house. When everyone settles down inside, she then jumps on them, licks them, etc. And if we make her stop, she gets on the back of the couch/chair, and before we know it, she's licking someone's face. Not everyone likes saliva all over them, we've discovered. But when we try to catch her/stop her, she's off again, running around like a lunatic, while we look like complete idiots trying to calm her down. I apologize profusely, red faced, while Clinton probably prays to a higher power to transport him to another place and time. Don't get me wrong- this does not happen every single time- only on some occasions, like when Clinton's relatives who I have never met stop in. "Hi, I'm Clinton's wife, and this is my Gremlin who I accidentally fed after midnight. Excuse me while I try to lasso and sedate her. Make yourselves at home."

Pros: we get lots of exercise

Cons: visitor anxiety; fear of a knock on the door; people unfriend us since they hate coming to our house; eye rolls from Chuck Teed (kidding Chuck- just giving you a shout out!)

6. Our blinds are always shut: our neighbours probably think we're hiding bodies or something because we never have our blinds open. This is because Molly barks loudly at every single thing that goes by- people, dogs, people with dogs (her favourite), squirrels, leaves- you name it, she has barked at it. We figure by eliminating her odds of seeing people passing by, we save ourselves a literal headache.

Pros: it's nice and shady in our house (this is sarcastic- I would much rather let the natural light in)

Cons: no natural light; blinds in constant disarray because every now and again Molly catches a glimpse of something going by, and proceeds to scream at them from her perch.

These are only a few things that we had to change in our house to avoid damage/conflict with Molly. In some ways, these changes have been good, and in others not so good (like visitor stress). However, I know (and fear) that one day, when we put the baby gate away, and can toss our dirty socks on the floor, the house will feel very empty. Therefore, rather than driving Molly to a remote area with a lot of squirrels and freeing her, I vent by posting things like this. It allows me to love her more (which I really don't think is possible), and laugh at reading her quirks on paper (screen?).

PS- I feel like I should mention that I sit here finishing this post after going to bed at 2:30am, and being woken consistently through the night by Molly and Tucker. When I finally surfaced at 7:00 (which is considered sleeping in to me now), I found Molly ripping apart one of my bras in the hallway. Happy Sunday.

Dog Jog Blog

I love animals. I love people that help animals.

This year, my stepdaughter, Ashley, and I decided we wanted to do the annual Dog Jog with our local SPCA. The name is exactly what the event is- people get together and "jog" (though I did not see one person jogging) with their dogs, while raising money for the shelter. This year was an especially important one for our SPCA- last week, they made the announcement that they would be closing due to lack of funds. It was devastating to read this in the paper, as it was hard to imagine what would happen to all the homeless/abandoned/lost animals in our area. Believe me, there are enough to justify a shelter, and it seems lately more and more animals are just being left at their door. It was amazing to see the outpouring of concern by the people of our city, and the amount of money the shelter was able to raise in one week. Combine that with the money they will receive from the sale of one of their properties, and they will be able to stay open- for now, anyway. As they said, expenses will continue to grow, and they still need all the help they can get. IN this moment, though, we can all breathe a sigh of relief knowing that someone is looking out for the furballs who can't look out for themselves.

Ashley and Molly, enjoying the tropical weather, pre-walk

I wasn't sure how Molly would do at an event like this one. To say she is high strung would be an understatement, and I had visions of having my shoulder being dislocated due to her pulling me every which way to sniff every single dog butt in sight. Molly met my expectations upon arriving and heading for the registration booth. When the nice lady asked me our dog's name and age, Molly let out a famous beagle "Aroooooo", which echoed across all of Rockwood Park. "Here we go", I thought.Molly's insanity will be in full swing, and I would probably leave frustrated and embarrassed.

Since we were early, we decided to take a stroll around to kill some time before the actual walk began. The first dog we met was a large, and very sweet, Golden Lab. Molly pulled and pulled with all her strength and determination to get to this gentle giant, only to get right to in its face and cry bloody murder. She yelped as if this dog was trying to bite her head off, when in reality, all he did was look at her with his big, brown eyes. Can you say DRAMA QUEEN? I sheepishly apologized to the dog's owner, who was more than understanding, and off we went. Surprisingly, Molly was fantastic for the remainder of the pre-walk. She greeted all the dogs without the "Stop trying to kill me!" reaction she had displayed earlier, she didn't pull, and she was quiet as a mouse. It was blissful, and I can honestly say she stayed this way the rest of the day.

Shortly before the walk started, we met a nice couple and their Puggle puppy, Mia. I LOVE Puggles, and used to beg Clinton for one. I just think the combo of a pug/beagle is genius! And Mia had just the right features from both breeds- the floppy beagle ears, the little wrinkle forehead, the beagle body- okay, she was like 85% beagle, which could be why I took such a shining to her. But she truly was beautiful, and had a great personality. She was 8-months old, so hearing some of their stories brought back memories of when Molly was younger- memories that seem funnier now than they did at the time. While talking to Mia's owners, we also met up with our friends Robbie and Tyah and their Golden Retriever puppy, Tipper. When I say Tipper is freaking adorable, I mean she is freaking adorable. I could have taken her home in a heartbeat and never looked back.

The walk began, and off we went. We quickly lost Mia and her humans (whose names I regrettably did not catch), as she was a racer and wanted to get going. It was nice to see so many people and their dogs in one place, and I can say that it is impressive how well behaved all these animals were. I really thought it was going to be a madhouse.

And we're off!

The real fun, though, began after the walk. We met up with Mia, and while Tipper ran circles around us off her leash (I wonder what that's like), Molly did her best to get in on the action. When you have a 4 foot leash, you don't get to do much. Mia's owners suggested we take the dogs to the dog park and let them run off their leashes. I was nervous, but Molly was so playful, I decided it would be fun for her. And since she had two new friends, why not?

In typical Molly fashion, she was off like a bullet as soon as I removed her leash. Just running to run, I am sure she was enjoying the freedom. Mia scampered behind her, barking and yelping, saying "Wait Molly! Wait!" in my head. It was great to watch them. Tipper, being so young, took a little longer to get in on the action, but quickly caught on, and was in amongst the insanity before long. Then something happened- something that made me realize Molly is not a puppy anymore, and actually opened my eyes to how much she has changed. She stopped running, she had drool hanging off her face, and she looked as though she needed a puffer. While Tipper, Mia, and the other dogs continued to romp around, Molly stayed off to the side, catching her breath. This floored me- my Molly, stopping play to rest? Wha? And the other dogs just kept on going...and going...and going. Eventually, Molly rejoined the action, but I think it might have been because she was feeling the pressure.

Tipper and Mia, coaxing Molly to rejoin the fun

Though she's the oldest, she's still the quickest- trailed by Mia, and then little Tipper

"I'd appreciate if you'd leave my bum out of this". New friend, Tucker, definitely tried to hook up with Molly once or twice.

After the playing, Molly once again stopped for a break. She was standing alone in the corner, while Tipper and Mia continued to romp, when a little girl and her parents came strolling along outside the gate. The girl said "Aw, look at those dogs!" She stopped and looked at Molly, and said "That one is all lonely." Break my heart! Honestly, if Molly was a kid, and that was a playground, I might have cried.

All in all, a very successful day! Molly made some friends, got some exercise, and to boot helped to raise money for the SPCA! We will definitely be doing this again each year!

Bad to the Bone

Sometimes I wonder if Molly isn't all there. Okay, I always wonder that. I mean this dog has some very strange habits. For example, in the morning, she will often jump up on the bed, and just roll around like an idiot, tongue hanging out of her mouth, and a look of madness in her eyes. There's no rhyme or reason to it, and I do not see the benefit of this exercise (unless she enjoys covering our bedspread in fur), but nonetheless, Molly does it almost every morning, without fail.

I've always assumed that if Molly were an actual child (some would question whether I have accepted the fact that she is not), she would be one of those kids with a really active imagination. I'm sure these days, they would diagnose it as something, when really it means she would just know how to function without an electronic device (weird, eh?). Tonight, she proved my theory to be true. The other day, I bought her a tartar bone at Global Pet Foods. Molly always used to have one of these on hand, and for whatever reason, we just stopped buying them. Maybe we like the fact that she chews up our clothes for lack of anything else to chew on? I don't know why we discontinued her tartar bone collection, but we did- until Saturday. I was at the store, picking up some cranberry concoction for our oldest fur-baby, Lucky (tabby cat/Molly's biggest hater), and saw the tartar bones. Thinking lovingly of my pooch, I grabbed one, and headed home. I've never seen Molly act the way she did when we gave her the bone. She started gnawing on it furiously, and I imagined between bites, she was saying "Thank you, thank you, thank you! My teeth are FULL of tartar- you are the best! I love you so, so, so much. Best. Day. Ever." I noticed, however, that if I even walked by Molly as she chewed on what looked like this deformed chicken ball caked with too much batter, she would growl. I bent down, placed my hand over (not on) her head, and she sneered her lips and snarled at me like I was the biggest jerk on the planet. What the deuce, Molly???? I gave you that gift, and I can take it back if I want to! Not that I was thinking about it, but once the challenge was presented...well, I wasn't backing down. Plus, we wanted to get out for a walk, and the dog would not move. If we tried to put her leash on- growl. Flash teeth. Furrow brows. You know how it is. Molly was not so pretty anymore.

Finally, I got sick of it. I went behind Molly, and picked her up. I held her in an almost upside down fashion, and boy did she get mad. She barked and growled, but guess what? The bone fell out of her mouth, and onto her bed, where Ashley swooped down, picked it up, and put it in the freezer for a later date. I put Molly down, and there she was- my sweet, loving beagle with her you'll-do-anything-for-me brown eyes, and her enthusiasm for the world. No more anger (God, where did that come from?), no more ferocity, just a happy little pup once more, eager to go for her walk. Man, she is like hot and cold sometimes. I only wish I could forget upsetting events like she can.

So, that is all leading up to the hilarity that ensued tonight. Back to Molly's imagination...

I decided since Molly has been so good the last few days that I would give her back the bone tonight. I assumed it would keep her amused for a little while, and add to her already present exhaustion from the heat and her walk earlier in the evening. I took it from the freezer, and her tail wagged instantly- and don't think I didn't notice the flying fur that comes with her wagging tail- ugh (sidenote: I did order a dog brush today called the Furminator. Kind of excited!). I chucked the bone onto her bed, where I figured she would lay and chew it. Apparently, she wasn't ready. But she couldn't just leave the bone on the bed- what if someone stole it? That Tucker is always looking to get at her goods. And Lucky might have peed on it- so what is a dog to do? She picked it up, and carried it around in her mouth for a while. Crying, of course, while doing this. I can only imagine the torment she was feeling- "This is my bone, but I don't want it right now. I can't leave it out in the open, so what ever will I do?" After the agony of watching her pace back and forth, whimpering about her latest situation, she finally took the bone to her bed. Here she goes, I thought.

I was wrong.

Molly had a bright idea- she was going to bury her bone in her bed, of course! Brilliant! All she would need to do was dig a hole, place the bone in it, and then cover it with the dirt she dug out of the hole. Fail proof. Except, oh wait- her bed isn't made of dirt. Nor can she dig through it. But Molly didn't let that stop her. She started digging like it was nobody's business, bone securely in jaw, completely focused, and using all her upper body strength. She dug and dug and dug until finally (in Molly's head), the hole was good enough for her precious possession. I watched her as she placed it down, exactly where she had been digging, and then pushed it in with her nose- just in case, you know. It was then that I thought to take a video (I'm sorry I did not capture the magical digging, because it truly was admirable how much dedication she showed). Here is what Molly proceeded to do next:

That's right...she is "covering" the bone with the "dirt" she dug up previously to make the hole. Then, when she was finished, she pranced away like "Ha! Nobody will ever know my bone is there, and I can come back for it when I feel like it." Good grief. Twenty minutes later, here is the scene:

Blurry, but she was so excited I couldn't get her to be still for one second.

I love this dog.

~Picture Blog~ A Dog of Many Faces

So, maybe you think it's lame to do a picture blog so early in the game, but I feel that it's important that you not only know, but see, the multiple sides of Molly Charlton. She is no regular dog, as you may or may not have heard already. If you've ever had a conversation with me, I am sure I have told you a story- or seven- about my BCF (best canine friend), and you've probably concluded that you're glad you're not me (if you like sleep). This post will give you what I think might be the closest look inside the head of the most fascinating little creature I've ever met. She is a girl with many expressions.

"Insane"

 

 

 

"Embarrassed"

"Happy"

"Mouth-breathing exhausted"

"Jazzed"

"Ashamed"

"What are you lookin' at?"

"Scared"

 

 

"Where we going?"

"Intrigued"

"Suspicious"

"Depressed"

"Shy"

Molly is more emotional than me watching Steel Magnolias- which is saying a lot. But that's one of the things that makes her special. She's dramatic, and is always ready to put on a show. I've seen this dog cry and whimper, only to turn around and bound through the house, as joyful as can be. Good thing she has so many expressions- gives us an idea of what's going on in that thick skull of hers. Only an idea- we will never truly know what happens inside her head, but we're having fun trying to figure it out!

The Dog Days of 2010

From the very first day that I met my husband, Clinton, we discussed our love for dogs, and how it was in both of our future plans to have one. We exchanged stories about our childhood fur-friends (my Standard Schnauzer, Mulligan; Clinton's Beagle, Jody), and even came up with a plan to have a dog together- a Golden Retriever named Mozart. In the years to come, we would often refer to this "Mozart", and daydream about when we had him, what he would be like, things we would do with him, how would our cat react, etc. Clinton even bought me a stuffed dog as a gift once (which looked nothing like a Golden Retriever, but that is beside the point), and named him "Mini Mozart".

As time passed, it was decided that there were other breeds we were interested in, besides the beautiful Golden. Clinton pushed for a Beagle, being slightly biased having grown up with one. All his stories about Jody were sweet, and she sounded like an amazing pet and friend. Aside from thinking that Beagles were absolutely the cutest things going, and having liked all the ones I'd encountered in my life, I didn't know anything about them. I pushed for a Puggle (a Pug/Beagle hybrid) for a while, but Clinton wouldn't budge- forget Mozart, forget Puggles, all he wanted was Oliver the Beagle (a name we decided on when I said I would like to name a son Oliver- Clinton said no, but it would be nice for our dog). All of this was only talk, of course- we lived in an apartment, and I was a student. A dog was something we knew we both wanted- eventually- but we never made any concrete plans to have one.

Then, in August 2010, along came Molly...

As I am sure you know by simply looking at this blog, Molly is a Beagle. If I were to rate how cute she was when we got her on a scale of 1-10, I would give her an eleven. She was perfect- big brown eyes, floppy ears, floppy paws, and a nose splattered with freckles. She loved everyone- the first time I held her, she licked my face furiously, like she was destined to be mine. I soon found out she did this to anyone that gave her an ounce of attention, and would let her get close enough to do so, but was still convinced we had a special bond.

All taken Molly's very first day

 I knew getting a dog was a very big responsibility, but I felt I was ready. Cue the "however"...

However, Molly was nothing like we'd imagined. Every bit of cuteness was matched with an equal amount of crazy. You might think "Oh, puppies are puppies- they're all crazy!", but we knew Molly was in a league of her own. We wanted her to sleep in a crate- she was having none of it. "Let her cry", people would tell us. "She'll get used to it, but you can't give in every time she whines to be let out, or she'll run the show." So we let her cry...and cry...and cry....and cry...and cry. Until it was four hours later, and none of us had slept, including our all-too-nice neighbours downstairs, I am sure. She was relentless- banging against the metal door of the crate, screaming bloody murder for hours on end. That dog didn't need sleep- she needed to be cuddled and held, and by God, that's what she was going to make happen. I remember laying there, thinking "She has to stop eventually." Every hour or so, I would be met with 2-3 minutes of silence, and I would think "Yes! This is it...she's asleep." I was wrong every single time. Not to mention I was too afraid to breathe when she did stop, so either way, I was not sleeping. Eventually, I caved and let her out of her crate. Upon exiting, she squatted, peed on the floor, and then settled in on the couch and fell asleep. Molly and I slept on the couch that night, her snuggled into my neck, and me getting up with her every forty minutes to pee. The couch was Molly's turf- she had some false sense of entitlement to it, and that is where she preferred to be.

Molly, perched on the couch like she owns it

 This continued for a few months, until one day Clinton said "This is ridiculous- you're my wife, and you've slept on the couch almost every night since we returned from our honeymoon. Molly is going in her crate." As if she understood, we all had our first full night's sleep with Molly in her crate. It was...blissful. Not to mention, Molly's new crate was a hand me down from her Greyhound cousin, so it was more like her own condo. That dog does not settle for less than she feels she deserves, that's for sure.

Molly's new pad

Aside from sleep issues, Molly was cursed with having an overage of energy. She got two 45-minute walks a day, and yet she was still always looking for more activity. She chased the cats- Lucky would run scared every time, to Molly's delight. The other, Tucker, would swat at her face with his claws, which gave her an equal amount of pleasure. One time, he drew blood from her nose, and she marched around, proudly displaying her wound, as if it was some sort of prize. As it was with people, Molly would take attention in any form she could get it from Tucker. To this day, you can tell she still idolizes him.



She had more toys than I think I ever had as a child, and yet she preferred to destroy Ashley's stuffed animals...

Molly and her dog, Stuffed Mike

...while leaving her's perfectly in tact. I started closing Ashley's door to avoid all of her things getting ruined by the small beast, but then Molly would scratch at the door, leaving marks all down the last foot of it. As renters, this was a nightmare, and not an occurrence we could continue to let happen. We didn't want to make Ashley put away all the stuffed animals she proudly displayed on her bed, either. The solution- never let Molly out of your sight. Easier said than done.




Not only did she love to eat stuffing and fur, she also loved to eat from the litter box. There was nothing worse than turning the corner into the mudroom and seeing Molly's bum sticking out of the feline washroom, knowing what she was doing. Immediately, I would say "No!", in my loudest, firmest voice, but she didn't care. She'd keep right on going, wouldn't even look at me, until I physically moved her away from it. This was (and occasionally still is) her most disgusting habit. If we didn't catch her in the litter box, we definitely figured out when she had been in there, based on the pieces of litter stuck to her nose, and a smell resembling the zoo resonating from her mouth. Sometimes I think she preferred litter-coated cat poop to her own food.

Molly was excited constantly- from the moment she woke up to the moment she fell asleep, she was ready to go, eager for what the day was going to bring. She needed to be stimulated all of the time, or she would get herself in trouble. This was easier in the early days, when I could take her to my mom's or the beach, and let her run off-leash. Her nose didn't seem to pick up any scents when she was really young, so she basically ran aimlessly, unless we were playing fetch. Exercising her was a breeze, and I never worried about her running off, even though she was fast and mostly a blur.

"I love this sti- oooh, another stick! I love that one too!"

As she got older, and her senses kicked in (i.e. she stopped chasing the ball and started chasing birds...that were flying...in the sky), I realized we could not do this forever. Molly had to become a leash dog, and because of her breed and their tendency to follow scents for days, she will always remain this way. Exercise became walking on a leash at least twice a day, and games of fetch in the house. We tried it outside, but being tied up made it difficult for Molly. I feared she would choke herself. She wouldn't know any better. I'm serious.

Around Christmas of that year, our perfect dog started shedding. Not shedding like "Oh, there's some hair scattered about". Shedding like she left a rug everywhere she went. If you so much as looked at her, your clothes were covered in fur. She has the kind of fur that will show up on anything- it's black, brown, and white. You wear black, the white hairs pop out like they're glowing. You wear white, and all those black hairs are visible. And for everything else, there's the brown hair, making it's way in when black and white fail to be seen. I swept, vacuumed, mopped, lint brushed, did everything I could to make the hair less of a problem. It seemed the more I got rid of, the more appeared in its place. The more I brushed Molly, the faster the replacement hair grew in, and fell out. On the floor, the furniture, and our clothes was the constant presence of Molly.

So, as you might be able to gather, our first months with Molly were hectic, trying, and definitely crazy for our household. It still amazes me what an impact an eight pound animal had (and continues to have) on our lives. Molly's first months with us were filled with frustration, happiness, anxiety, snuggles, tears, and triumphs. She grew out of her puppy looks, but never her puppy personality, and for that I will always be resentful/grateful.

Thank you for checking this out, and please continue to come back to read about more Molly shenanigans. We will never run out of "tails" to tell!