Woman's Best Friend

Rest in peace, little Mama

This is my first Substack post. I’d been procrastinating—waiting for the perfect piece to post. Given the heavy weight of grief I am carrying today, this piece may not be written perfectly, but I think it’s the perfect place to start sharing my journey with anyone who wants to listen.

We had to say goodbye to our golden retriever, Molly, Monday night. She had hemangiosarcoma. Her left lung was filled with blood. It all happened suddenly, so we are clinging to the hope that she didn’t suffer for long.

Molly’s soul was so pure and so perfect. I believe God sent her here to watch over me and my girls because He knew we were heading into rough waters. Molly was so important to us. Speaking for myself, she offered me unlimited, unconditional love. More than that, she grounded me. She centered me. She brought me out into nature, by necessity, several times a day, every day for six years. She was so slow and so deliberate on her walks. By definition, I guess you couldn’t really even call them walks. They were treasure hunts or “sniffaris.” She was meticulous, lest we miss the one spot where a new neighborhood dog may have left a mark.

While Molly investigated every nook and cranny along the paths, I was able to stop and take in my surroundings. Over the past two years, I became familiar with the local trees, flowers, and animals. I watched in a slow timelapse as the seasons changed their appearance but not their character. They stood there watching over us and over the neighborhood like sentries. I felt protected by them at a time in my life when I needed that. When unexpected snow squalls or rain popped up on our walks, we ran to the trees for protection. They shielded us from the sun and wind. They gave me and Molly cover while we slowly inched our way along trying to read the doggy “guest books” that dotted the path. I will always cherish my daily walks with Molly. It’s not an exaggeration to say that they healed my heart and soul.

When we adopted Molly, she was a street dog from Istanbul who didn’t know how to play or walk on a leash. She was scared of other dogs, trucks, and fireworks. Over time, she calmed down considerably and learned to walk confidently and fearlessly. The best part is that she eventually learned to play. She loved it when I grabbed a “stuffy” and gently pretended to trick her with a soccer fake out or tug-o-war. I always let her win.

She loved snuggling with the girls, even if they laid right on top of her. She acted like the girls were her babies. It was so sweet. She loved napping, belly rubs, chasing snowballs, rolling in the smelliest grass she could find, napping, eating peanut butter, keeping a watchful eye over the neighborhood through any window or porch, napping, visiting the goats next door, and playing with her friend, Bao, and her cousins, Max and Maggie. Did I mention napping?

Molly was the best dog ever. She was sweet and happy—always smiling, even when I knew she was in pain. She was stoic. She never showed us she was uncomfortable. Ever the loyal dog, she would walk with us even when we could hear those old joints of hers creaking and cracking.

Molly walked beside me and the girls through so many significant life transitions. Through it all, she remained a loyal, stoic, protective soul. Molly was the stocky, fluffy, silly embodiment of pure love. We are so blessed to have had her in our lives, if only for a few years.

In my heart, I believe that God has been calling Molly home for a while now. This wasn’t her first health scare in less than a year. But Molly was stubborn and was (purposely?) terrible at recall. I think Molly stayed here, by my side, as long as she could to ensure I was safe and settled into our new home. Only then, after she was sure that we were going to be okay, did she finally relent and retreat to the rainbow bridge.

Rest in peace, Buppy. Thank you for your companionship. I love you.