Molly hasn’t always been called Molly. I honestly can’t imagine her having any other name; Molly suits her so well. But before February of this year she was someone else’s dog. She lived in a different house and yard. Her ears perked up when a different name was called. She might’ve given some other owner kisses.
She didn’t come to Pet Helpers with any history. Most rescue dogs don’t. All that is known is that she was brought in the back of a truck with her four puppies and two other dogs that might have been her siblings. The man who dropped her off lives in a nearby town, but no specifics were given. No details.
Pet Helpers took all the dogs in, and Molly and her puppies ended up with a foster family who really know how to take amazing care of a mother dog and her puppies. As she nursed her pups, she was loved. She was given space to run, long walks each day. She was given treats and toys and good scratches down her back and under her chin like she likes so well.
Before I met Molly face to face, the foster family sent me these photos. Molly is on on the left in both photos, playing with her puppies. By all accounts, she is a good mama.
Molly’s puppies were adopted one by one. But Molly stayed with the foster family. Pet Helpers had postcards printed, and they took her to adoption events. But it’s hard to place a grown dog. And Molly’s anxiety on a leash and around other dogs probably didn’t help her case. She was in foster care for six months until we adopted her last month.
Here’s what we know for sure about Molly. Pet Helpers labeled Molly as a hound and boxer mix. And she could be; I’m not expert enough to argue. She has these awesome spots that makes us think she might even be part cow, but the spots could also be the hound in her. Her head is square like a boxer’s for sure. Her body is shaped like a barrel. She’s sturdy, and her back legs are almost bow-legged. She weighed 54 pounds at the vet earlier this month, which is at the top of her weight limit, so we try (not very successfully) to be fastidious with her treats.
My favorite part are her eyes. The brown mask is the most beautiful wavy brindle, and she looks at you like she knows what you’re saying. Like if I told her my deepest secrets she’d never ever tell. And her single cocked ear confirms it.
I keep telling myself that the history doesn’t matter. Her puppy-hood and whoever taught her to ring a bell by the door before she goes out will always be an unsolved mystery. But what matters is what’s next. It’s our next walk together. Or the time we spend in training or belly rubs. It’s the kisses and treats we share now. Molly’s staring a new chapter, new story in our family.