I don’t know how many dogs you loved before Molly. And I only met Molly during her last few months with you. So, I never saw her when she was a puppy, learning to trust you, learning how to become your best friend.
But I could see how, as with all our old, loved dogs, how she loved you. How she depended upon you for your wisdom.
We all know how much our dogs give us. We always think it’s for so little in return: a good, loving home, care when needed, a nice walk, a kind cuddle.
But there is so much more in that contract and, yes, I think it’s a contract.
When we find a dog, through however we did it (and there are so many ways they end up in our lives), we need to come to an agreement about the relationship.
At first, it’s usually relatively easy although there is some trauma: chewed up items, separation anxiety. But the dog is hard-wired to become our friend and, as I’m sure Molly thought, needed only to learn what you wanted.
That’s the easy part for the dog. She always listens. She learns quickly what you want and how you want it done. On the other hand, we’re not quite as adept in learning what the dog wants.
But eventually we do and it’s at that point when the contract becomes sealed. Sometimes we’re lucky and we figure it out early in the relationship. I think that, in general, dogs honor their share of the contract more so than people. But our turn comes, when our dogs age. We watch their once strong limbs weaken; their bright eyes dim from cataracts; their appetites turn more finicky; their attention to our needs lessen.
We hold on, oh my God, how we hold on. We’ve loved everything about them. You adored your Molly. She was your best friend; saw you through illnesses, moves, life changes. She was always there for you, and, in the end, you were there for her. You knew her limitations and you accommodated your life to handle them.
As much as we hold on, the dog does as well. She doesn’t want to leave us. Who will love us as much? Who will provide us with that level of comfort?
People always ask how they will know when it’s time to let go. Those of us who have been there more times than we wish say, “You’ll know. She’ll tell you.”
And Molly let you know she couldn’t handle it anymore. You did what that contract written and sealed into your heart required: you went to her side, and you were with her as she left you.
Because you loved her, you’ll love again. A dog will enter your life, and you’ll wonder how you ever managed without him.
That’s what they do, these heart-thieves. They find us and it starts all over. One more time.
Air. 
Leave a comment