The Big Nap

I think I've finally centered myself enough to sit and write about Mollidog. I've tried a few times these past few days, but I've found myself too distracted and sad to come up with coherent thoughts. But I refuse to miss out on the therapeutic benefits of writing about it, so here goes.

I spent all of last weekend preparing for our trip to the vet. As I previously mentioned, we were in Minnesota for Joe's Grandpa's funeral, which was very difficult for me. I had this sense of time running out and wanted nothing more than to be home snuggled with her on the couch, soaking up every last minute I could with her. Still, I think being with Joe's family and even attending the actual service helped me start the healing process. Maybe it helped put things into perspective - I really felt like a jerk crying over my dog while at the funeral of someone's father and grandfather. But I also know my heart has never broken for the death of a human as it did this dog.

As odd as it sounds, I think I may have needed a break from the stress of caring for her in order to see that it really was time to let her go. After a mere three days with her, Mame said she couldn't believe that I'd been nursing that leg for nearly four months. And I'll admit, it wasn't easy. And I was far from perfect. But yes, I loved that dog enough to sit with her up to 4 or 5 times a day and remove her blood soaked gauze and tape, wash her leg or entire body, and re-wrap the cancerous sores on her poor little leg. And I just accepted that I couldn't keep her from oozing onto the couch or the bed. And I knew it was up to me to keep her pain free. I just never considered there to be another option. She was my Mollidog.

While we were in Minnesota, Mame and I spoke once on Saturday so I could tell her that we'd made it. On Sunday we spoke twice - once so she could double check Molli's medication dosage and once because another tumor on her leg had burst. On Monday Mame called 5 times. She was going to take Molli to the vet for more medication and to discuss possible amputation (which we all knew wasn't going to work, but we all felt better exploring the option). On Monday night, she called a 6th time to tell me Molli couldn't wait for the weekend for her nap. I gave permission to make an appointment for Wednesday afternoon and the vet gave enough medication to keep her as comfortable as possible until then.

From then on, there was a faint "tick-tock" sound in my head.


My brain told me it was time. She was in pain, and she would only get worse. Our apartment is carpeted and I could never keep up with the bleeding. She was getting weaker from the blood loss. I just couldn't take care of her anymore. But my heart wouldn't stand for it. It argued that she had too much spunk left - that she still wagged her tail, even when I changed her dressing, and that her eyes would still light up at the idea of going outside. And every single time I took her out, up the the very last time, she would limp out there, throw herself on the ground, and roll in the snow like it was her job. And really, it was.

Still, I knew it was selfish of me to keep her here. I knew she would only suffer more. And even though I knew I'd have guilt and maybe even regret for putting her down, I also knew that I would never forgive myself if I made her suffer more than necessary. And so I was resolved.

I should mention that while Molli never lost her spunk, the light in her eyes, the wag of her tail, or the perk in her ears, it was clear she wasn't well. A healthy Mollidog would not only wag her tail at the prospect of food or perk her ears up at the mention of "ride in the car" or "outside." No, a healthy Mollidog would bound from the couch, jump in the air, twirl around, shift from foot to foot excitedly, and if you really got her riled up, bark and try to tackle you and lick your face. But she just hadn't been up to it. Mame said she rarely left the spot she'd settled into under the chair in the living room the entire time I was gone. But the instant I walked in the door to pick her up, that pup was in her feet, bounding for the door, jumping, spinning, barking, the works. In and instant she was on a chair with her paws on my chest licking my face like it was the best tasting thing she'd ever encountered.

Talk about crushing my resolve....she walked all over it. I was having trouble with the idea that in less that 24 hours this energetic puppy would be gone. At least I was until I got her home.

Molli needed a bandage change right away. So we got her home and got down to it. The last week or so I had been having Joe help me - he would hold her head so she wouldn't lick the wounds while I worked on them (she would lick his hands instead). So I got out all my supplies, slapped on my gloves, and started cutting away the old bandage. For months now, Molli's cancer has had a scent about it, but it's never bothered me. I'm an pretty strong stomached person - blood, guts, smells, etc don't get to me. So me telling you that I had to choke back vomit more than once while changing her dressing should give you an idea of how bad the smell was. The lower part of her paw was necrotic and infected. Things other than gauze and tape fell from her leg when I removed the outer wrapping. If it hadn't been my Molli's leg, I probably would have thought it was cool. If I hadn't been convinced before we got home that it was time, I certainly was after that. So I took a few deep breaths, got ready for bed, and snuggled with her under the covers for the last time.

In the morning I got up and Molli and I drive Joe to work. We ate breakfast together - I made myself some toast I didn't eat and made her some chicken noodle soup. We went for a walk down to the mailboxes and we stayed out until my ears were frozen. We made Joe lunch and drive over to give it to him and wish him a happy birthday. We went to Target and the laundromat. We hung out at home and glared at the cat together. And she ate half a bag of dog treats.

Later in the afternoon we went to see Laura at the Title Company to give her some extra dog food and so Laura could say goodbye. Then we drove to the vet (in Gwinn) the long way - Molli always liked the back roads because I'd go slow enough for her to keep her head out the window. So I cranked the heat, rolled down the window, and we cruised to Gwinn. About halfway there she ran out of energy and couldn't keep her little head out the window or her little eyes open. So she snoozed on the seat next to me as we spent our last hour together.

Mame and Steve met us at the vet. I walked in the door with her and was doing quite fine until they asked me what I wanted to do with her body (I'm sure they asked it in a better way). Then I started to cry and lost a contact. It had fallen into Molli's fur, so I told her she could keep it and I popped in a new one. I did a lot of nervous chit chat before I went into the room with the pup.

When I first brought Molli home, she always slept on this really soft blanket I got for Christmas a few years ago. So whenever we'd travel, I'd bring that blanket and she'd curl up on it and snooze like she was at home. I brought that blanket with us. I didn't want her to have to lay on the sterile metal table. And so I lifted her onto the blanket on the table and she laid down on it. I folded one corner over her bad leg so that it wouldn't be a part of my memory later. The vet came in and started the IV, which she yelped about but still wagged her tail. The gave her an anesthesia, so she got sleepy and I bent over and wrapped my arm around her and kissed her on the head. I told her she was a good puppy and that she'd get all the treats she wanted and get to go on tons of rides in the car and everything. Her tail stopped wagging.


It really all happened quite quickly. The vet ran the med through her IV. Her respirations slowed and got labored. She had a mini convulsion. And in about 15 seconds, I knew she was gone. A moment later the vet checked for a heartbeat, but I knew it had stopped. That little light behind her eyes had clicked off and I knew she done suffering(her eyes didn't close, and I really wanted them to). And so the only thing left to do was sob....which Mame was already doing, along with Steve. Of the three of us, I was doing the best. I snuggled with her body for a little bit, and when I was ready the vet picked her up to take her to the back. The vet was so gentle, and when she gathered Molli in her arms, Molli's head was cradled in her elbow like a baby's. Finally, Molli's eyes had drooped and the way her little head was positioned made her ears perk up. She looked so adorable. And that's the last time I saw her.

I swallowed the lump in my throat for the rest of the day. It was Joe's birthday and I was hellbent on celebrating it. So I picked him up from work. I made corn muffins to go with the chili Molli and I had defrosted and put into the crock pot. I took the bottle of wine I'd opened the night before and poured us each a glass. We ate dinner. Then I gave him his present and cards.

While we'd been at Target earlier in the day, Molli and I had been picking up Joe's birthday present and card. While I was choosing a card, a card with a dog on it caught my eye. I was a birthday card from the dog. I know these have existed for a long time, but this was the first time one caught my eye. So I picked it up, took it home, and Mollidog signed it. Here's what it read:

FRONT
This birthday card is from me. The Dog. I know what you're thinking.

Where did the dog get the money to buy a card?
How'd the dog get to the store to buy the card?
How'd the dog even get the card into the envelope?

INSIDE
How'd the dog send a card all the way from puppy heaven? (this one was in handwriting that looked a lot like Molli's)

Let's just say I know people.
Happy Birthday from...that's right....the dog.


That was the first card he opened. Then he opened the one from me (and the cat) and opened his iPod shuffle. All the while we continued to talk normally while tears streamed down my cheeks. Finally, I lost it. I was hysterical for the better part of an hour. Not just crying, but violent sobs. It was only a matter of time I suppose. I've done better since then. I've cried myself to sleep once or twice. I burst into tears at the sight of the cat drinking from Mollidog's bowl on Thursday. But when Kristy brought over this gorgeous charcoal of Molli that she drew for me, I was able to stay composed. I'm a puddle right now of course, but that's a given. Tomorrow I'm going to work on the shadowbox Joe got for me to put her stuff in. One day at a time.

But I miss her.

More than once I've called her when I go outside. I started talking to her the other morning (when I was home alone, I used to tell her my plans for the day - i.e. "Ok pup, I'm gonna get in the shower and then we're going to go to the post office"). When I wake up at night (which is more often than not this week) I do a double take because I think the shadow next to me is her. And everytime I drop food on the floor I have to remember to pick it up because she's not there to eat it.


The crazy thing is I was never a dog person. And truthfully, I still don't think I am. I'm certainly more inclined to like them now, but I'm not your typical dog person. But for some reason or another, three years ago I just knew I needed to adopt a dog. And it took me months to do so. I went to the humane society twice a week for two months before I found her. The day I adopted Molli I was there to look at a different dog for the second time to decide if it was the right dog for me. But I never made it to Bertie's cage because I stopped dead when I saw Molli. I looked at the dog tender and said "I want to see that one" and she's been my pup ever since.

I'll never find another Mollidog, and I really hope I'm not dumb enough to look for one. She was a one of a kind pup, and even though it really hurt to have her take her big nap I'm forever grateful that I got to be with her as long as I did. I'll always love my little Mollidog.