Molly came to us in a somewhat unusual way. My brother thought it would be a great idea for him to get a basset hound puppy. And when the puppy wore off at about 6 months and the responsibility of taking care of her sunk in, he found it was no longer convenient for him to keep her. So we took her in.
My brother flew Molly from San Antonio, TX to the Orlando International Airport in Florida. In the spring of 1993, my husband and I drove from Gainesville, Florida where we were in our second year of law school to pick her up. We stopped on the way to pick up a hamburger from TGI Friday’s for her.
Molly was finally unloaded with the rest of the baggage. And at this point in her short life, that’s what she was, my brother’s excess baggage.
Since the combined weight of the carrier and Molly was quite heavy, we asked airport security if we could take her out and walk her on a leash out of the airport. They were fine with that, but when we opened up the door to the carrier, Molly made a break for it and started running through the airport. She could move quickly on those short little legs and she was very strong. We finally apprehended Molly and walked her out to our car. Once we gave her the hamburger, she decided that we weren’t so bad after all.
When my brother was trying to sell me on this dog, he told me “she eats dog food, is housetrained, and doesn’t run off”. Well, he was right about one thing, she would eat dog food. At first, we found ourselves constantly stepping in pee puddles on the carpet, and when we let the dog who would not run off outside unattended (okay – yes, I confess we were morons), she would make her way over to the pool area around the corner from our apartment and socialize with the college students who lived in the apartment complex.
Molly made fast friends and my husband used to call her the Mayor of Spyglass (our apartment complex). Molly also had a dog friend named Jake, a beagle who lived across the street from us. She would stand outside his apartment waiting for him to come out and play.
We also discovered that Molly had great tracking skills. When Thunder, Chow Chow #1, would bust through the screen of an open window and escape, we would put Molly on the leash and have her track his scent. When she would pick up his scent she would run like crazy and find him.
Molly had several notable traits, some endearing, some not so endearing. Like most basset hounds, she LOVED to eat. One endearing trait was the food dance. She would literally do a little dance for food when she could smell that we’d brought something home that was good to eat.
One not so endearing trait was when she’d wake us up early on weekend mornings to EAT (when mommy had a hangover). She would come into the bedroom, and you could always hear her coming b/c of the sound of her nails clicking on the hard wood floor, and then me, but more often my husband, would get up to let her outside, only to be led into the kitchen where she would bark to be fed; thus her nick name: the Molly Alarm. We never had to worry about oversleeping with the Molly Alarm that was set for the crack of dawn. She even had a snooze or sorts; if we didn’t get up right away, she’d pee on the floor and then try us again about an hour later.
When Thunder passed in 1999, we got Bruiser (Chow Chow #2) and she and Bruiser became fast friends. Even though Molly was almost 7, she would play gently with Bruiser who tried to dominate her from the very start as Chows are prone to do. Bruiser grew up to assume the position of Alpha dog in their dog pack, just as Thunder had held that position before him. But Molly accepted her Omega status gracefully, for the most part.
Molly used to always want to eat Bruiser’s food even though we fed them the exact same thing. Bruiser, like most Chow Chows, will not over eat. So after he finished eating what he wanted, he would leave the leftover food in his bowl unattended. Molly would then literally tip toe over to his food bowl walking very slowly and gently so that her nails would not click on the wood floor, only to be discovered at the last minute when Bruiser would run over and give her the “look” with teeth bared to let her know, that even if he didn’t want his food, it was not hers for the taking. Often times though, persistence paid off and she would get to eat his leftover food in the end. There was nothing funnier though than watching Molly “tip toe”; stalking her prey that was Bruiser’s leftover food.
The thing that I regret most is that Molly was never the top dog. She never got as much attention or affection as Thunder and Bruiser. Thunder and Bruiser always got taken for long walks, whereas Molly was never really interested in anything more than going for a slow, short stroll down the street. You could not take both Molly and Bruiser for a walk at the same time b/c their gait was so dramatically different. So Bruiser would get walked and then Molly would get a short walk afterwards, sometimes, if I felt like it.
But Molly was always there to greet us when we came home, she always welcomed a pet and a belly rub, and she would roll onto her back and waive her short legs and big front paws in the air and grunt with pleasure. And she always enjoyed food. My husband indulged Molly much more than I in all respects and she truly was Daddy’s little girl.
With the exception of some minor skin infections that bassets are prone to, Molly enjoyed very good health, though she trended towards being on the heavy side. Then in March of his year, my husband noticed that her stomach was really distended. As I said, she’s always been quite portly so I didn’t really think much of it. The vet commented on it when my husband took her in for her annual and her shots; he speculated that it might be a sign of liver dysfunction since her blood work frequently showed elevated liver enzymes.
We took Molly in to have an ultrasound on April 4, the same day I went for my 18 week comprehensive ultrasound and my husband had a job interview for a job in St. Louis. The results of Molly’s ultrasound revealed that she had a tumor on her heart. I met my husband at the vet’s office to go over her results and prognosis early that evening.
Now the veterinary office that we go to has 3 very good vets and one very bad, chubby, inexperienced Dr. Know Nothing. And as luck would have it, we drew Dr. Know Nothing. I swear I cringed visibly when she walked through the door. Suffice it to say that the discussion with Dr. Know Nothing was fruitless. The only thing I remember was Dr. Know Nothing shaking her head repeating the word “right”. “Do you have a recommendation?” I asked. “Right, right” she said, head shaking…
We ruled out surgery b/c frequently the tumors cannot be resected and dogs end up being put down during surgery. Chemo would not have cured her or extended the length or quality of her life. We asked Dr. Know Nothing whether a diuretic would pull the fluid off her and her heart and she said it would not. This - she knew.
We took Molly home basically to die. As she was so filled up with fluid, the result of poor cardiac function, her breathing was a bit labored. My husband finally called Dr. Magnificent, who’d donated a gift to the Vet School in memory of Bo Bo, and he prescribed a diuretic, ace inhibitor and beta blocker, all medications to take the load off her failing heart. Within a week, Molly had dropped 10 lbs. of fluid and was almost back to normal. We were shocked at what a difference it made.
After a couple of weeks, Dr. Magnificent recommended that we reduce her medication since she had stabilized. It was hard to believe she had terminal cancer. Still, I was afraid that Molly would drop dead during the middle of the week or have to be put down during when my husband was in Cincinnati.
My husband had decided to stop commuting to his job in Cincinnati by the end of May and either work remote or quit. But as luck would have it, the lunatic he worked for got wind that my husband had given notice to terminate the lease on the apartment that he was living at in Cincinnati. After a “come to Jesus” meeting, they agreed that my husband could work remote through the end of May from St. Louis, wrapping things up.
Shortly before I was admitted to the hospital in May, Molly began to blow up again with fluid. We increased her medications but she started refusing to eat. My husband bought her all different things to temp her. One day she would eat shrimp cocktail (expensive tastes that one), the next she would not. Then she would eat deli sliced roast beef, then she would not. Finally, she would only eat Pupperoni and then she quit eating all together.
Right after she quit eating, I was admitted to the hospital. I could not bear the thought of her being put down without me ever seeing her again. Luckily, I was released to bed rest at home. Molly wasted away for 2 more weeks until she no longer barked when Bruiser barked at passersby, she didn’t wag her tail, and frequently did not bother to get up when my husband would return home from running errands. She basically just slept on her bed all day. It was clear that it was time; Molly’s gas tank was on evil.
We finally made the call to Dr. Magnificent and he agreed to come to the house and put Molly down. Somehow, this always feels more like an execution to me than anything else. I have a really tough time with this. But watching Molly grow weaker by the day, with no hope of getting better, and only the certainty that she would deteriorate further, leaves you with no choice at some point. With her backbone and ribs sticking out, she did not resemble the old, portly Molly in any way.
We said goodbye and Dr. M injected Molly while my husband petted her. And then she was gone. That was the end of Molly.
Rest in peace my dear friend. We love you.
If Tears Could Build A Stairway, And Memories A Lane, I'd Walk Right Up To Heaven And Bring You Home Again.
