Girly Girly

 

 

 

When we first brought Mollie home, she weighed a hefty four pounds and fit into my purse. With all the cool non-chalance of being in the perfect bedchamber, she would burrow into my open bag , find a comfortable spot and nap,  as if the purse were made especially for her.

 It’s interesting how a dog projects their sexual orientation. Our first cavalier, Soans, was a handsome, tri-colored construction-truck alpha. Sweet but territorial. We would joke that if he could stand on his front paws, he would spin like a fuzzy lazy susan spraying 360 degrees while proclaiming, “mine, mine, mine”. 

Our second cavalier, Max, a gorgeous chocolate- tri, didn’t have the same level of testosterone, none-the-less, you wouldn’t mistake him as anything but a boy. 

2009, Max was two and a half years old, and we decided to get him a companion, a 12-week-old black and tan, petticoat girl. Mollie literally wiggled with curiosity and love – not for us, but for Max. As soon as she saw him, she made a beeline for his side, as if shouting, Yipeee, one of mine. It took Max a few weeks to return the sentiment.  However, once their bond was threaded, they were braided together for life.

 

 

During her teething phase, she gnawed off the tip of a leather belt, chewed one new Birkenstock sandal to shreds and disfigured a diamond earring into an unrecognizable shape while digesting the diamond…no, I did not check her poop, instead I had a jeweler straighten the setting and put in a cubic zirconia. Now I can’t tell, nor do I care, l which earring is real, and which is “fake”. I marveled at her fashion sense.

Over the 13 years she was with us, she became anointed with many nicknames, including Shatze, Mollie moo moo, Princess, and the Dowager Princess when she reached the elegant age of 11. But my favorite was Girly Girl.

She didn’t have a frou frou wardrobe, she was more Golda Meir than Princess Di. She liked to walk about in her naked fur, all shiny black and tan. She loved belly rubs, leash free romps in the park. She loved resting her front paws around our necks and nuzzling us with her throat. Most of all she loved Max.

Food was her Vogue, and she was a non-discerning gourmet.  Her dining etiquette, however, could have used a bit of advice from Emily Post.  Though gentle, she could snap a treat from your hand faster than a magician. When dinner came, she would sit primly waiting, gazing at me with goddess like reverence, razor focused, as I made her bowl of farm to table fare. When ready, she would race to her dining spot with the speed of a Formula 1 race car driver, sitting in nervous anticipation until I served her. And like Houdini, her food would disappear with sensational speed.

The only thing that ever slowed her down was when I put blueberries in her bowl. I watched with amusement as she delicately removed every berry from her food and spit, yes spit it out onto the floor with energetic contempt.

After 13 years, 2 months and 18 days, a heart that beat with wild exuberance, broke, and stopped. Mollie passed away on December 18, 2022.

She was by Max’s side when he died three years earlier.  Today I imagine how happy he was when her spirit ascended and met his on the other side.

 

I miss her sweet energy, trotting behind with unquestioned loyalty and trust. The cozy cave in my heart keeps expanding. Nestled inside are the four-legged companions who gifted me with their loving presence. How blessed to have been chosen to be stewards of these amazing beings.