Over the past several months, my family and I noticed that Molly, our 12-year-old dog, had progressively become more torpid about the house and outside. At first, we thought something was wrong. We believed that she had come down with some sort of sickness. After a while, we came to our senses and deduced that it was probably just old age. Then, she stopped eating. Again, our natural intuition told us wrong, as we figured that it was just a stomach bug, nothing deleterious. Before this time, I had always felt that Molly was a young, vivacious, cheerful, and gregarious member of our family.
I began to feel that she was mortal just like the all of us, as her degradation continued. We took her to the vet for an inspection, still supposing it was just a bug, or she was not feeling well, such that this would not be chronic, but only fleeting. I was busy the next several days while my mom had checked her into the vet, and soon became relaxed as I forgot about Molly over the next several days. Then, one night, it all changed. As I was passing through the house with my girlfriend, as on any other normal, carefree, Friday night of the summer, my mom stopped us both and told us we should sit down.
I almost instantly knew the topic of conversation would be my beloved younger sister. I could tell by the way that my mom drew in her breath before even uttering a word that our little girl was more than just ‘sick’. I had always wondered what life would be like without her. I would have to shove that thought away, it was so painful at the time. Some people may say that dogs are just pets, and nothing more. Well, in our family, she had been a part of us since we moved into this house almost twelve years ago.
Very few memories of mine can I recall, in which I cannot recall having her at the time. Our special one, my parents’ third child, had a kidney disorder, which would give a shelf life to her. The vet said that she might last another year, but she needed emergency treatment right now. Although I knew what my mom had said before she said it, I was appalled at hearing the actual words come out of her mouth. Molly spent another several days in the pet hospital, having IVs inserted into her, to cleanse her blood. She came back the next day, with life in her, as I had not seen in years.
She jumped and played as if it were the first day we had her again. However, this magical fountain of youth, was short-lived. She morphed before our eyes over the next 3 days back into ‘Old Molly’, as if a spell had worn its time, as if the clock struck midnight, and the carriage reverted into the pumpkin. Just even a few days ago, as I walked into the den, Molly growled at me as if I was a stranger, from across the living room. My guess was that her eyesight had been debilitated so much that she could not even tell who I was, until I spoke.
My only hope for her, or more for me, is that she will last another ten or eleven months, so that I can get to college before she passes on, as I know that death is now inevitable for her. I used to hope that she would be the old lethargic dog at Grandma’s house. That someday that my children would pet, and ask about the days when she would run about the yard, and run away but always ending up on the front porch. By her example, I now realize the mortality of us all, not just pets.
