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I once made the stupid mistake of buying this really pretty and warm black wool coat. I loved that coat.
Then came Molly. We already had the Dog Love-of-My-Life, Bo, who I’ll tell you about in a later blog. But I wanted Bo to have a friend. I used to take Bo everywhere with me in my old beater of a car. I didn’t care that his nails scratched the upholstery or that he slobbered on the rear windows. He went with me everywhere and we both loved it.
Sadly, my beater gave up the ghost and we were forced to get a nice, used SUV. I couldn’t afford to abuse it, so Bo had to stay home. It sort of broke my heart, every time I had to leave the house. He needed a friend to keep him company at home.
We wanted a yellow lab, because labs are the sweetest and best breed we know. Brains? Well, some might have it. I think Bo pretty much missed the brains gene. I don’t care because he’s my baby, and I can speak baby talk to prove it. One day, I apron-dialed “ok, Google” and I actually recorded myself talking Baby Talk to Bo. Embarrassing as all get-out, but kind of funny, if pathetic.
Anyway, I kept sending out my wishes “to the Universe,” as Oprah might say. I’d been checking craigslist for weeks.
One day I was on my exercise bike. I was very religious about that at the time, an hour a day, 7 days a week. In between knee and hip replacements, anyway. So, for some reason, I felt compelled to jump up from my bike, 30 minutes still to go, and hurry to the computer to check craigslist.
You cannot make this stuff up!! Seven minutes prior, some young gal in an apartment had a yellow lab for sale. The apartment life didn’t suit a hyper young lab (gee, ya think?). I responded immediately and that weekend, my husband and I drove over to her place to check out Molly.
This young nurse was just coming in from a run with this beautiful but crazy, out-of-control yellow lab. This dog wouldn’t stop running for a second! At 55 pounds, she was easily 20 pounds underweight, no doubt because she never slowed down long enough to eat a decent meal!
Ugh, I thought. I like Mellow Yellows. The ones with the broad snouts, the English Yellow Labs. This one was thin-snouted and so hyper I didn’t even know how to respond.
So, of course, we did the logical thing and took her home, thinking she’d grow up, in time. That’s what you do when something has “red flag” written all over it, right? (Why-oh-why does this scenario keep playing itself over and over in my life, anyway)?
Molly is now seven (maybe eight). It’s not that we don’t know her birthdate, it’s just that I can’t be bothered to remember what it is. I can barely remember the kids’ birthdates, let alone the animals’! All I know is we “celebrate” it every Thanksgiving. “Celebrating” consists of many “Happy Birthday, Molly’s” and one extra serving of food. I mean, she’s a dog.
Anyway, when we got Molly home, she settled in with Bo as though they were litter mates, reunited. It was a sight to see, I’m telling you. They were playing and running around each other from the get-go. They didn’t even pause to sniff each other’s butts!! Still, she was a bit – ahem – “needy,” shall we say? As in, if I left the house even so long as to go out to the garage, she’d howl like the Hound of the Baskervilles. I’m pretty sure half the neighborhood could hear her, and they’re a distance away. I found myself staying at home as often as I could wing it, pretty much so the neighbors wouldn’t get together and throw us out!
At 2 years old, she acted like a pup. At 7 (or 8), she acts like a bigger pup. She leaps, she jumps, she races around the dining room with Leo, the kitty. (Sadly, most of old Bo’s leaping days are behind him). She also sheds.
I truly believe that Molly’s number one job in life is to shed. Look at all the functions this serves:
It makes her Mommy finally get rid of her beautiful black, wool coat because the cost of dry cleaning far outweighs the original cost of the coat, bought at a consignment shop. Think of all the money we’ve saved!
It gives her human Dad something to do on Sundays. Boy, does vacuuming give my husband a workout, both physically and emotionally. Lucky for me, my bad back prevents me from being able to vacuum. Aww, darn!
After I let the dogs out, the sound of his swearing follows them out the door, giving the country neighbors something new to talk about. Picture the Dad in “A Christmas Story,” when he discovers the Bumpus’ dogs have stolen the Christmas turkey. That’s pretty much it, every Sunday around here.
The obscenities fly. The Dyson fills up. All the way up, every week after week. With beautiful, blonde Molly hair. That’s quite a feat, you’d have to admit.
I’ve tried, in my rare but well-meaning resolutions, to take her out on a twice weekly basis with her two different brushes. Molly doesn’t really mind the grooming but frankly, I don’t love the process. If it’s raining, as it is about 8 months a year here, it’s a miserable and soggy process. The dogs end up wetter and stinkier than when I first took them out.
The driveway is littered with thick, white clumps of hair that either stick to the slick driveway pavement or get blown away to all corners of the yard. Much of it goes straight into my nose, sending me into sneezing fits. But these two nifty gadgets do a bang-up job of removing her fluffy, endless undercoat. I understand this is a great de-matter, although we don’t have that problem.
The first one is for an Olympic shedder, like Molly. http://amzn.to/2fSzuXL The second is for a normal shedder, without mats or a thick undercoat. This has a button that releases the hair, too! http://amzn.to/2yqmPFA Check these out, if you’re interested. I did a lot of research and was rewarded with two great tools!
Nearly every day around 3:30, the UPS man comes lumbering down our very long, windy driveway. The 2 dogs, feeling it’s their moral responsibility to protect me, proceed to bark as though they’ve never seen this poor UPS guy in their lives. Keep in mind this is the very same driver we’ve had for nearly 10 years! He is a very patient man, maneuvering his way around the two dogs who are wagging their tails madly, glad to have an “exciting” diversion, but getting in the way of his progress. Not until he has handed me my packages (yay) and is on his way do the dogs shut up. Every Christmas I make him cookies or toffee, just because he’s so very good about not looking annoyed with my animals. If it were the 50’s and I had money, I’d throw in a bottle of good Scotch, too. (My dad used to put a 6 pack of beer on the garbage can at Christmas. Man, those were the days.)
Then Bo and Molly collapse into two big puddles and snore for the rest of the afternoon. That is, until my husband pulls down the driveway later that night and Round 2 begins.
Our beautiful Molly is as rambunctious as she ever was, and we keep wondering when or if she’s ever going to grow up. I’m not placing any bets.
Other than humping poor old Bo and running away for hours at a time, she’s the perfect dog. She sleeps by my bedside every night and has taken care of me after every one of my surgeries. I can’t speak for my husband but Bo, Leo and I all love her a lot.
Anyway, if you ask me, clean carpets are vastly overrated.