After a family depression and mourning period--one in which Dad commanded: "No more dogs!" and Ann (mother of Maeve) announced: "No more dogs--at least for a while--at least no more little dogs--at least no more sick dogs--at least no more Cavaliers..."
The Universe opened up and laughed:HARDYHARHAR...!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Another nurse at Ann's workplace mentioned that her mother had a dog that needed a good home. Her mother had begun a new relationship and just wasn't there enough to give the dog the kind of attention she had lavished when she first acquired the animal. (GRRRRRRR!)
Ann asked the usual questions (after her blood stopped boiling): "How old is the dog?"
Answer: fairly young...between four and six, maybe?
Ann: "How healthy is the dog?"
Answer: she has a couple of "loose teeth" and needs a new rabies shot...
Ann: "Any weird issues with the dog?"
Answer: no, she's quiet, has gotten used to being alone most of the day, likes to ride, is good with kids and isn't aggressive to other dogs.
Ann: "What kind of dog is she?"
Answer: Do you know what a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel is???????????????????????????????
Ann wasn't sure she was ready. (I knew that this family needed another dog. There will never be one to live, full-time, at 88 Maple Street, of course, but we needed one among the tribe--preferably with Ann, who has the income and situation where a dog can be well cared for, forever, amen.) Ann needed a dog. The loss of Maeve was huge for her. And while it is a painful reminder of the passing of one's fur-child, it is also a tribute to the passed animal, to adopt another animal in dire need.
"Molly" was in dire need.
(I promised, throughout the summer, to come and doggie-sit. To arrive and take dog for walks, to play with her, to spend quality time with her, to feed her her supper while Ann slept getting ready for the night-shift. I promised NOT to teach the dog anything Ann didn't want me to teach--none of Maeve's Wonder Dog tricks (also called "bad habits KK taught Maeve"...) I promised no non-dog food: no guacamole nor any other spicy stuff; no Thai scraps; no Vietnamese spring rolls; no spaghetti with clams; nada, but doggie high quality stuff. I promised to not coddle the dog but keep her independent and retain only a "dog's place" in the family. No anthromorphic transformations into a "fur person". I would also not play my harmonica in Ann's house; in Ann's yard; around Ann's pool; in Ann's woods--nor Brenda's gardens. I would pick up "hidden poops" and not use a high pitched baby voice when addressing the dog. And if we ever had a blizzard that kept Ann in Worcester, over-night, I would somehow manage to plow my way to Otter River and take care of the snowbound hound--even though Brenda is next door, with her boyfriend....I promised.)
We needed a dog, again.
(I needed a dog, again.)
Ann needed a dog again, most of all.
So, Molly came, with her "first human", to visit.
When she jumped out of the back of the SUV, un-aided, it was as if Maeve had had a puppy and the puppy had grown up and now was with us!
Molly, being an American Cavalier, was half the height and weight of Maeve.
Aside from that, her coloring, markings, freckles, little-puppy-on-an-adult-dog face, brown eyes, all like Maeve's! (So much so, Brenda couldn't hang out with Molly on the first visit.)
She was not as demonstrative as Maeve, but she happily, if shyly, greeted both Ann and me.
She then chose to explore the yard, the grounds, the swimming pool area, the decks. She had NO TROUBLE negotiating all the stairs in the house. In fact, this littler version of Maeve, in her puppy-cut hair and clipped tinier feet, zoomed upstairs and down, sniffing and evaluating everything.
Her "first human" showed us her one "trick": Molly would dance, on hind legs, and then in circles, if the word "treat" was mentioned. She also had this very high tiny whiney bark--but only used her voice (unlike Maeve) when asking for a treat, or to go out.
After ten minutes on the porch, and several "treats", Molly jumped into Ann's lap and sat there, quietly. It was done.
(However: The BALD TRUTH EMERGED.)
Molly's "first human" had been an uneducated owner of a highly needful breed. Cavaliers, as we had come to know, have lots of health issues. Molly had terrible teeth. Her "first human" had not brushed them nor ever taken Molly to a doggie dentist. And.... Molly was six years old, not four...
Molly did, however, allow Ann, a relative stranger, to look into her mouth: horror!
"If you take her to the vet and you get these teeth looked after, I will take her." Ann was clear. "I cannot take a sick animal. I just got done with thirteen years, almost, of taking care of a diabetic dog with a heart murmur and I can't ever go through that again."
Molly, with the stinky, drooling, decayed teeth looked up at Ann.
Molly's "first human" tearfully agreed. (She was a nice, older woman with a new boyfriend and just not a lot of time or energy to take care of a needy doggie--nor get educated about those needs. But, she had the dough and the will to find a great home for her little doggie companion.)
A week later, SIXTEEN teeth removed from Molly's infected mouth, a newly groomed and much happier, (if slightly swollen-faced) twelve pound Cavalier sprang into our lives.
First night over, Ann tried to brush Molly. (Ann brushes her animals the way our mother used to brush Ann's and Brenda's hair-- harshly. To Ann, as to my mother, this was a kind of "tough love".) Most dogs resent it. Maeve would often "cujo out" when Ann did it. I have the opposite approach: gentle in all things. (Ann and the family translate that into " ineffective in all things".) However, the dogs seem to agree with me.
Molly yelped that high pitched "yip".
Then, for the first time, she ran away from Ann, and hid in the little round bed that her "first human" had left with Ann--along with four other beds...sigh.
(It didn't take Molly long to forgive, though.) Ten minutes of giving Ann "the stink eye", and Molly was back, bouncing around the parlor.
Soon, her favorite place in the house was upstairs, sleeping with Ann, glued to Ann's side, on the giant Temperpedic Queen bed. Ann got Molly a low stool to jump on, as Molly was afraid of the doggie staircase that Maeve had once used. From the stool, Molly, light as a fairy, sprang onto Ann's mattress, and slept like a compact red and white log, undisturbed by Ann's snores.
Now, with no more infected teeth nor anything rotten in her mouth, she, like Maeve, only smelled of clean dog. Though definitely not as "kiss crazy" as Maeve was, Molly was affectionate as only Cavaliers seem to be. Instead of constant licking of humans, she would softly put her whole face into any human bending in her direction, then, just as softly, bump her forehead against the human head. Or she would nuzzle an extended hand--as long as it moved slowly--rubbing her entire button nose in the palm. Gentle, dainty, very "femme" (where Maeve was fierce), Molly was the perfect antidote to Maeve's passage.
When her follow-up at the doggie dentist came, Ann had her "first person" get Molly's ears checked. Lo and behold, it wasn't the rough brushing of Molly's curls that caused the yelp...Molly had an ear infection--perhaps caused by the rotten teeth! So now, it was a matter of ear drops--which Ann is an expert at delivering to unwilling patients of all kinds.
Molly tolerated the administering of them, though retreated back to her round bed after the procedure. (The only time she uses that round bed on the floor is after "a procedure".) More "silent treatment: and "dirty looks", but then, she forgives everyone and is back to prancing and dancing and following us around.
Typical Cavalier: she loves everyone who visits, though, as with many tiny dogs, she is watchful of where people walk or move too fast. She greets everyone,wagging her tail, at the door. If she likes you, she hangs around to play. If she is indifferent, she heads upstairs, to the giant queen bed, and stretches out as if she owns it--which, I guess, now, she does...
We have worked out our routine for the summer: I go over when I am done with whatever. Ann is usually home from work and asleep. Molly hears me slip in the door. She zooms downstairs to meet me. We dance around for a bit. She gets a treat and a walk outside, immediately. She pees, drinks from her bone-shaped bowl, outside, then patrols the yard with me. Sometimes she poops. (Unlike Maeve, who had mighty poops, Molly's are like Tootsie Rolls...) I pick them up and dispose of them. We hang out in the sun for a while. She studies the bird, squirrels, chipmunks and butterflies at the bird-feeders. Then, it is time for her dinner. I feed her the prescribed amount Ann has outlined--a mixture of the remaining "old food from her first home" and the new "high grade food" Ann has purchased especially for her. Molly Malone insists that I watch her eat--something Ann is not happy about, but, hey, I like to eat with people, too. Molly is very delicate and doesn't make the mess Maeve did when she ate--spitting out the bits she didn't like. ( In fairness to Maeve, Molly is eating only tiny- bite, dry food, unlike Maeve, who had gourmet, cooked soft, dinners, and was twice the size of Molly.) She is always thankful. So far, she eats everything I give her.
After dinner, Molly likes to watch a movie with me. (No lie.) She started hopping on my lap, on Ann's leather recliner, back to me--as Maeve used to do--for "doggie massage". (I was shocked and moved the first time she did this.) She also burps, like Maeve used to do, after she eats. (No one believed me until I made them notice that Maeve always burped after meals--and sometimes would come to me to pat her on the back and butt, until the burp came up! ) I know of no other breed that does this...but these two Cavaliers surely did and do!
At the conclusion of "doggie massage"-- around twenty minutes of being petted-- she jumps down and stretches out, sometimes watching me, sometimes watching the t.v. Often, she falls asleep, digesting. When the movie concludes and the credits are rolling, she wakes up, drags and stretches like a cat along the rug, and lets me know she's ready for another "outside adventure". This is the "official poop after dinner hour". Then, I get to swim for a while. (She patiently hangs on the deck, observing the birds and butterflies, for about five laps.) At that point, she's had enough and wants to go inside.) She is definitely an indoor dog--as was Maeve. She will "keen" and dance until I exit the water, opening the screen door for her re-entry to the house. Once inside, she will quietly wait until I am through with swimming. (I find her generosity admirable.)
Upon my return, we play a bit more and she has "dessert". Then, she is ready to go upstairs, to cuddle with Ann until Ann has to get ready for work. That's my signal to exit. Molly is fine about my going. (As with Maeve, I am merely "the companion", and not "the new first human".) That is how it should be. Isn't that the usual role for every "aunt"?
Molly Malone is less personality-driven than Maeve. She is less overtly affectionate and demonstrative than Maeve. She is smaller,less bossy, and less demanding. (Maeve was a Diva-fierce Queen and was born, knowing that role.) Maeve was Queen of the Fairies (what her Celtic name translated into); Molly IS a fairy (dog). She will never lift her leg to pee. She will probably never "cujo out" when we have to do anything to her. She will never hump her toys, as Maeve routinely did when bored. She won't go after other dogs, just to prove she's "number one". However, she will love us and listen to us and follow us and delight us; it's in her genes; in her blood.
She is her own "fur person"--I don't have to teach her anything.
While she will never replace Maeve: the Wonder Dog, and Maeve's ashes will forever stay amongst us, Molly is a gift of transition that the Universe sent. She is her own little miracle. And like Maeve, we have saved each other.
Namaste to All Beings, Everywhere.
Happy Summer!
The Universe opened up and laughed:HARDYHARHAR...!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Another nurse at Ann's workplace mentioned that her mother had a dog that needed a good home. Her mother had begun a new relationship and just wasn't there enough to give the dog the kind of attention she had lavished when she first acquired the animal. (GRRRRRRR!)
Ann asked the usual questions (after her blood stopped boiling): "How old is the dog?"
Answer: fairly young...between four and six, maybe?
Ann: "How healthy is the dog?"
Answer: she has a couple of "loose teeth" and needs a new rabies shot...
Ann: "Any weird issues with the dog?"
Answer: no, she's quiet, has gotten used to being alone most of the day, likes to ride, is good with kids and isn't aggressive to other dogs.
Ann: "What kind of dog is she?"
Answer: Do you know what a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel is???????????????????????????????
Ann wasn't sure she was ready. (I knew that this family needed another dog. There will never be one to live, full-time, at 88 Maple Street, of course, but we needed one among the tribe--preferably with Ann, who has the income and situation where a dog can be well cared for, forever, amen.) Ann needed a dog. The loss of Maeve was huge for her. And while it is a painful reminder of the passing of one's fur-child, it is also a tribute to the passed animal, to adopt another animal in dire need.
"Molly" was in dire need.
(I promised, throughout the summer, to come and doggie-sit. To arrive and take dog for walks, to play with her, to spend quality time with her, to feed her her supper while Ann slept getting ready for the night-shift. I promised NOT to teach the dog anything Ann didn't want me to teach--none of Maeve's Wonder Dog tricks (also called "bad habits KK taught Maeve"...) I promised no non-dog food: no guacamole nor any other spicy stuff; no Thai scraps; no Vietnamese spring rolls; no spaghetti with clams; nada, but doggie high quality stuff. I promised to not coddle the dog but keep her independent and retain only a "dog's place" in the family. No anthromorphic transformations into a "fur person". I would also not play my harmonica in Ann's house; in Ann's yard; around Ann's pool; in Ann's woods--nor Brenda's gardens. I would pick up "hidden poops" and not use a high pitched baby voice when addressing the dog. And if we ever had a blizzard that kept Ann in Worcester, over-night, I would somehow manage to plow my way to Otter River and take care of the snowbound hound--even though Brenda is next door, with her boyfriend....I promised.)
We needed a dog, again.
(I needed a dog, again.)
Ann needed a dog again, most of all.
So, Molly came, with her "first human", to visit.
When she jumped out of the back of the SUV, un-aided, it was as if Maeve had had a puppy and the puppy had grown up and now was with us!
Molly, being an American Cavalier, was half the height and weight of Maeve.
Aside from that, her coloring, markings, freckles, little-puppy-on-an-adult-dog face, brown eyes, all like Maeve's! (So much so, Brenda couldn't hang out with Molly on the first visit.)
She was not as demonstrative as Maeve, but she happily, if shyly, greeted both Ann and me.
She then chose to explore the yard, the grounds, the swimming pool area, the decks. She had NO TROUBLE negotiating all the stairs in the house. In fact, this littler version of Maeve, in her puppy-cut hair and clipped tinier feet, zoomed upstairs and down, sniffing and evaluating everything.
Her "first human" showed us her one "trick": Molly would dance, on hind legs, and then in circles, if the word "treat" was mentioned. She also had this very high tiny whiney bark--but only used her voice (unlike Maeve) when asking for a treat, or to go out.
After ten minutes on the porch, and several "treats", Molly jumped into Ann's lap and sat there, quietly. It was done.
(However: The BALD TRUTH EMERGED.)
Molly's "first human" had been an uneducated owner of a highly needful breed. Cavaliers, as we had come to know, have lots of health issues. Molly had terrible teeth. Her "first human" had not brushed them nor ever taken Molly to a doggie dentist. And.... Molly was six years old, not four...
Molly did, however, allow Ann, a relative stranger, to look into her mouth: horror!
"If you take her to the vet and you get these teeth looked after, I will take her." Ann was clear. "I cannot take a sick animal. I just got done with thirteen years, almost, of taking care of a diabetic dog with a heart murmur and I can't ever go through that again."
Molly, with the stinky, drooling, decayed teeth looked up at Ann.
Molly's "first human" tearfully agreed. (She was a nice, older woman with a new boyfriend and just not a lot of time or energy to take care of a needy doggie--nor get educated about those needs. But, she had the dough and the will to find a great home for her little doggie companion.)
A week later, SIXTEEN teeth removed from Molly's infected mouth, a newly groomed and much happier, (if slightly swollen-faced) twelve pound Cavalier sprang into our lives.
First night over, Ann tried to brush Molly. (Ann brushes her animals the way our mother used to brush Ann's and Brenda's hair-- harshly. To Ann, as to my mother, this was a kind of "tough love".) Most dogs resent it. Maeve would often "cujo out" when Ann did it. I have the opposite approach: gentle in all things. (Ann and the family translate that into " ineffective in all things".) However, the dogs seem to agree with me.
Molly yelped that high pitched "yip".
Then, for the first time, she ran away from Ann, and hid in the little round bed that her "first human" had left with Ann--along with four other beds...sigh.
(It didn't take Molly long to forgive, though.) Ten minutes of giving Ann "the stink eye", and Molly was back, bouncing around the parlor.
Soon, her favorite place in the house was upstairs, sleeping with Ann, glued to Ann's side, on the giant Temperpedic Queen bed. Ann got Molly a low stool to jump on, as Molly was afraid of the doggie staircase that Maeve had once used. From the stool, Molly, light as a fairy, sprang onto Ann's mattress, and slept like a compact red and white log, undisturbed by Ann's snores.
Now, with no more infected teeth nor anything rotten in her mouth, she, like Maeve, only smelled of clean dog. Though definitely not as "kiss crazy" as Maeve was, Molly was affectionate as only Cavaliers seem to be. Instead of constant licking of humans, she would softly put her whole face into any human bending in her direction, then, just as softly, bump her forehead against the human head. Or she would nuzzle an extended hand--as long as it moved slowly--rubbing her entire button nose in the palm. Gentle, dainty, very "femme" (where Maeve was fierce), Molly was the perfect antidote to Maeve's passage.
When her follow-up at the doggie dentist came, Ann had her "first person" get Molly's ears checked. Lo and behold, it wasn't the rough brushing of Molly's curls that caused the yelp...Molly had an ear infection--perhaps caused by the rotten teeth! So now, it was a matter of ear drops--which Ann is an expert at delivering to unwilling patients of all kinds.
Molly tolerated the administering of them, though retreated back to her round bed after the procedure. (The only time she uses that round bed on the floor is after "a procedure".) More "silent treatment: and "dirty looks", but then, she forgives everyone and is back to prancing and dancing and following us around.
Typical Cavalier: she loves everyone who visits, though, as with many tiny dogs, she is watchful of where people walk or move too fast. She greets everyone,wagging her tail, at the door. If she likes you, she hangs around to play. If she is indifferent, she heads upstairs, to the giant queen bed, and stretches out as if she owns it--which, I guess, now, she does...
We have worked out our routine for the summer: I go over when I am done with whatever. Ann is usually home from work and asleep. Molly hears me slip in the door. She zooms downstairs to meet me. We dance around for a bit. She gets a treat and a walk outside, immediately. She pees, drinks from her bone-shaped bowl, outside, then patrols the yard with me. Sometimes she poops. (Unlike Maeve, who had mighty poops, Molly's are like Tootsie Rolls...) I pick them up and dispose of them. We hang out in the sun for a while. She studies the bird, squirrels, chipmunks and butterflies at the bird-feeders. Then, it is time for her dinner. I feed her the prescribed amount Ann has outlined--a mixture of the remaining "old food from her first home" and the new "high grade food" Ann has purchased especially for her. Molly Malone insists that I watch her eat--something Ann is not happy about, but, hey, I like to eat with people, too. Molly is very delicate and doesn't make the mess Maeve did when she ate--spitting out the bits she didn't like. ( In fairness to Maeve, Molly is eating only tiny- bite, dry food, unlike Maeve, who had gourmet, cooked soft, dinners, and was twice the size of Molly.) She is always thankful. So far, she eats everything I give her.
After dinner, Molly likes to watch a movie with me. (No lie.) She started hopping on my lap, on Ann's leather recliner, back to me--as Maeve used to do--for "doggie massage". (I was shocked and moved the first time she did this.) She also burps, like Maeve used to do, after she eats. (No one believed me until I made them notice that Maeve always burped after meals--and sometimes would come to me to pat her on the back and butt, until the burp came up! ) I know of no other breed that does this...but these two Cavaliers surely did and do!
At the conclusion of "doggie massage"-- around twenty minutes of being petted-- she jumps down and stretches out, sometimes watching me, sometimes watching the t.v. Often, she falls asleep, digesting. When the movie concludes and the credits are rolling, she wakes up, drags and stretches like a cat along the rug, and lets me know she's ready for another "outside adventure". This is the "official poop after dinner hour". Then, I get to swim for a while. (She patiently hangs on the deck, observing the birds and butterflies, for about five laps.) At that point, she's had enough and wants to go inside.) She is definitely an indoor dog--as was Maeve. She will "keen" and dance until I exit the water, opening the screen door for her re-entry to the house. Once inside, she will quietly wait until I am through with swimming. (I find her generosity admirable.)
Upon my return, we play a bit more and she has "dessert". Then, she is ready to go upstairs, to cuddle with Ann until Ann has to get ready for work. That's my signal to exit. Molly is fine about my going. (As with Maeve, I am merely "the companion", and not "the new first human".) That is how it should be. Isn't that the usual role for every "aunt"?
Molly Malone is less personality-driven than Maeve. She is less overtly affectionate and demonstrative than Maeve. She is smaller,less bossy, and less demanding. (Maeve was a Diva-fierce Queen and was born, knowing that role.) Maeve was Queen of the Fairies (what her Celtic name translated into); Molly IS a fairy (dog). She will never lift her leg to pee. She will probably never "cujo out" when we have to do anything to her. She will never hump her toys, as Maeve routinely did when bored. She won't go after other dogs, just to prove she's "number one". However, she will love us and listen to us and follow us and delight us; it's in her genes; in her blood.
She is her own "fur person"--I don't have to teach her anything.
While she will never replace Maeve: the Wonder Dog, and Maeve's ashes will forever stay amongst us, Molly is a gift of transition that the Universe sent. She is her own little miracle. And like Maeve, we have saved each other.
Namaste to All Beings, Everywhere.
Happy Summer!
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