Molly's Christmas Wish

Santa couldn't make Molly's Christmas wish come true, but he gave her the next best thing.

Most rescue organizations start because someone discovered compelling stories behind animals they adopted or rescued, and over time, their experiences showed them a need they wanted to help fill. They learned to listen to the animals and honor their unique stories while working to make their world better.

I shared a couple of stories about animals I grew up with, and when I started 45 Cats, 7 Dogs, and 1 Horse Later, I promised to tell you how and why my story changed because of them. Unfortunately, an injured hand delayed my plan to publish regularly, but I think we are on the road again as long as the hand cooperates.

Molly’s story happened before I officially became a rescue, but she was one of the first to start me down the path in that direction. I hope you enjoy her story.

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Molly’s Christmas Wish

It’s Christmas 2002, and a sad little basset hound’s only wish is to know what happened to the man she loves. Her name is Molly, and she is black, brown, and white with beautiful black-rimmed brown eyes, long velvet ears, a deep voice, and a longing for someone who never meant to abandon her. Molly’s Wish is her story.

That morning, Molly heard the familiar roar of the motorcycle engine when her person left to do whatever he did when he left every day. As she curled up on the couch for a nap, the day seemed no different from any other.

Molly took several naps, explored the yard through the doggie door, and glanced out the window before hunger struck. Knowing he should be home soon to feed her dinner, Molly settled herself on the cool floor in the hallway with her nose pointed toward the door he always used and waited—and waited some more.

She checked the yard again, hoping to find any sign of him. Afterward, she lay in the hallway again, waiting. Soon, her stomach growled from hunger, and night fell. Molly whimpered and jumped onto the bed to make a nest in the familiar pillows and eventually went to sleep despite her hunger.

Morning came, and the man had not come home. Molly whined—and then she howled—a long plaintive bay. Hungry and lonesome, she went outside again. Confused and frightened, she searched the house for the hundredth time before she pulled his pillow off the bed and into the hallway to lie on as she continued to wait.

Hours later, she heard an engine outside, but it wasn’t the motorcycle. She heard voices she recognized, but not his.

The voices belonged to a man and woman who sometimes visited. They greeted Molly without enthusiasm and gathered her leash, food, and dishes. Molly tried to let them know she really, really wanted food, but they didn’t notice as they put Molly and her belongings in their car. Molly got excited and forgot her hunger. Sometimes, he took her to the house where these people lived. Still, Molly felt anxious because the people seemed different. They weren’t friendly or happy to see her.

Molly ran around their house searching for him. Then she heard food pouring into her bowl and ran to the kitchen as fast as her short legs could run. The food made her stomach stop hurting, and she knew he would come soon. She’d been with him for six years—since she was a puppy. So, she curled up for a nap. There were people she knew here, and her stomach was full. When she woke up, the people were gone. For days, they came and went, and had no time for her.

One day, the woman took Molly for a ride. They stopped in a parking lot, where Molly attracted immediate attention. Ignoring the animal shelter at the end of the parking lot, the woman handed Molly over to the first stranger who offered to take her. Within a week, Molly changed hands three times. During that week, she became terribly confused and depressed.

The first stranger took Molly to her house and placed her in the backyard with a six-month-old puppy. Molly played and romped with the puppy. However, the stranger and her husband were not like her person. They got mad at Molly for many things her person allowed her to do. Confused and longing for home, Molly made several escapes, attempting to find her way home, but each time she ran away, the strangers grew angrier. About a week later, Molly met a second stranger after another escape.

Tammy was driving through a winding residential neighborhood when a small basset ran into the road in front of her truck. She slammed on her brakes, and being a properly trained person owned by three dogs, she opened the door and called the dog. Molly obliged and scrambled up into the passenger seat. Once Molly was safely in the truck, Tammy faced a dilemma. She couldn’t take her home because of her chocolate lab’s aggressive behavior towards strange dogs, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn Molly over to already overwhelmed shelters.

After getting the dog a drink of water, Tammy called to ask if we could take Molly until she could find the owner. I already had a senior Vizsla, a senior black cat, and a husband who was hoping we would not be adding to the pet population. I said yes anyway. After I hung up, I explained the problem to Michael.

He charged into action, setting up a poster to print as soon as we could snap a digital picture of the dog, and we printed flyers before Tammy left our house. She posted them in her neighborhood on the way home.

Our phone rang early the next morning. It was Tammy, in tears. A woman responded to the posters and called Tammy. She was the stranger who had accepted Molly in the parking lot. After a week, she no longer wanted Molly. If we returned the dog to her, she would take her to the Humane Society. She complained that the dog ran away three times—all happened when someone left the gate open. She also referred to the dog as a brat. Tammy was very upset, but she remembered to get the woman’s name and phone number.

I called the woman later and got a firm no. Molly had lost her home again. Rambunctious, curious behavior and recent emotional trauma had earned her the dubious title of “brat,” and her natural hound behaviors made her unacceptable to this household. They had no room in their world for a hound. Molly was only cute until they had to live with her. However, I learned that the woman from the parking lot who gave Molly away had said her son was in a motorcycle accident. Unfortunately, no one exchanged names or phone numbers.

Our next step was to take Molly to our veterinarian. Her long, floppy ears were severely infected and painful. She needed surgery for a tumor, and her raccoon-like toenails needed a doggy manicure. The vet’s entire staff soon got to know her well because this sweet girl could find trouble everywhere.

At home, we played games with treats and dog toys. We also worked steadily and consistently on basic commands. After three months, Molly behaved nicely. She had already worked her way into our hearts and became a permanent member of our family.

Molly was cute, funny, and affectionate. However, basset hounds have frustrating, as well as comical, behaviors. The child locks we installed for our granddaughter now had a new purpose, keeping a creative basset hound out of the cupboards and trash.

Her behavior also told us the truth about her sad story. We watched as she ran to the door, wiggling with excitement at the sound of every motorcycle that had driven past our house for over six months. When the bike passed, and the sound faded into the distance, she slowly wilted and sunk to the floor with her nose pointed toward the door. A special man loved Molly, and she loved him. It was painfully clear.

No one will ever know if he lived and could have become well enough to care for her again. We could not find him despite our best efforts, and it seems unlikely his family would dispose of his dog so quickly and heartlessly if he were still alive.

After a little time to learn she was safe and loved in her new home, Molly had a long, happy life with us, but her first love always held a special place in her heart.