Molly’s Miracles

FUR & FEATHERS WRITING CONTEST
Published in The Narrative Arc

Molly’s Miracles

Why my dog should be declared a saint

“One day we will again see our animals in the eternity of Christ,” Pope Paul VI said to a boy grieving the loss of his pet. I didn’t need the pope to tell me we’d see our pets again in heaven, I already knew that. In 1990, when Pope Paul II stated, “animals must have have souls, as they were created by God’s breath.”

Typical, as matters of dogma go, in the Roman Catholic Church, that idea is being debated again! Don’t they have better things to do?

Molly meets the qualifications for sainthood

The Vatican lists five steps required to become a saint: (How Does Someone Become a Saint, BBC World News, 27 April 2014)

Step One: Wait five years — or don’t. They expedited Mother Teresa less than two years after her death
Step Two: Become a servant of God
Step Three: Show proof of a life of heroic virtue
Step Four: Verified Miracles
Step Five: Canonization

Step 1: Dead more than five years. We all have experienced the death of a pet. I’ll skip the morbid piece and tell a sweet part of that day.

She had the kind of ending I want. Her cancer diagnosis was the day before. Maybe she’d live another few weeks. The next morning, she couldn’t walk. That made it simple. The vet drove up the Gallatin river to our house. I helped Molly wobble outside. She found a good place on grass, in the sun. But just as Dr. D. gave her a shot to make her feel drowsy, the UPS truck drove up the driveway.

Molly knows when the UPS truck turns in from the main road, long before I do. The driver always has a dog biscuit or three for her. She couldn’t walk now. I thought about telling him to turn around. But, before I knew it, she was walking toward the truck. I ran over to let the driver know what was happening. He recognized the vet’s truck and the situation. He met Molly halfway and gave her one last treat.

Step 2: Be a servant of God. I think a servant of God is a person/creature who shows love, forgives others, and is kind to all.

If someone, a stranger, (anyone really) put their hand out to pet Molly, she melted into a puddle of drooling affection. One time she hopped right into someone’s car, made herself comfortable. And here’s the thing, IF that man took her home, she’d never look back. She’d love that anonymous person just as she loved us. She loved all humans equally.

She always forgave people, even the grumpiest of owners. On a bad day if I was in a mood and if she’d just made a mess eating sticks in the back yard and if I happened to yell: “Bad girl!” She’d roll over on her back waiting to have her tummy rubbed. It was hard to stay angry for long with Molly.

She tolerated toddlers (our grandchildren) who yanked on her ears, pulled her muzzle, painted her face, tried to ride her like a pony and dressed her up in clothes. She even a permitted a hat!

Photo property of author: Ella and Molly

There was an abusive incident, from a darling granddaughter. One of those busy times, with a household full of children and babies. I had that feelingthat it was too quiet, as all moms know. I noticed Kate’s bedroom door closed; never a good sign. I peeked in and there was “sweet” Kate chasing Molly around with a magic wand, then she tried to corner her into a closet.

Molly bolted out of that bedroom fast. I’d never seen her act scared. After a good “talking to” and a long time out, later that evening Molly let Kate pet her. She showed caution, still she licked her after a few minutes. That is forgiveness, plain and simple.

Photo property of author: Molly and Caitlyn

Step 3: Show proof of a life of ‘heroic virtue.’ I confess, this is not clear to me. I will talk with the priest at San Roque Church about this one. Until I do, I’ll wing it.

Photo property of author: Molly after heroic rescue.

The creeks in Montana run like rivers in early summer with the heavy snow melt. At our community park, a little boy threw his Frisbee too far. In tears, he ran to the creek side. I was standing there and he told me his grandpa just bought it for him: brand new. Molly looked for a second as it floated away. She jumped in, swam after it and got it. She didn’t drop it at my feet or anything. But the boy grabbed the muddy Frisbee and yelled, “thank you!”

Retrieving is not something Molly does. When we tried to get her to fetch tennis balls, she’d look at us like we were nuts. My husband is a bird hunter. She went to bird training camp for three weeks. At her graduation, Bill and I were thrilled as we went to the field to watch her “work.” Birds, made dizzy with powder, were thrown up into the air. Molly glanced at them, then turned away and ate sweet grass. She flunked. The trainer, with a face like a Steinbeck character, said: “That dog ain’t got no bird in it.”

Step 4: Verified Miracles. Absolutely!

As a two year old, Molly was the youngest golden to qualify as a hospital therapy dog. Yes there’s a test: in addition to obedience training, she had to ride up and down elevators, to not startle at metal trays or objects dropped inches away from her, and to not react to people yelling or moving unexpectedly. The psych ward was unpredictable, which was one of the floors we visited.

The children’s floor was Molly’s favorite, but not mine. In our hospital, most of the patients were there waiting for space in specialized children’s hospitals. I came away feeling saddened at the tragedy of children living brief lives.

One Thursday we visited a boy who had surgery to be able to walk again. He’d been in bed for months prior to, and after the procedure. A physical therapist stood there with a few family members. The gist of it: he was capable of walking, but he gripped the rails, refused to let go. Hopelessness hung heavy next to the shiny balloons.

Eager to to go through the door, Molly pulled ahead of me. The boy hadn’t seen a dog for a long time. “Come over here, puppy,” he called. Molly slid on the floor as she tried to run, making him crack up laughing. The sullen atmosphere changed in seconds. I made Molly heel next to me, she was too overly excited for a hospital. I said, “Wait Molly,” she obeyed.

How to describe what happened next? The little patient swung one leg down, toes touching the floor, his other leg followed. His feet in yellow socks with white grip stripes. Not thinking about anything except reaching Molly. He walked the few feet to her, stroked her ears and hugged her. I heard: OMG, cries of happiness, and therapist shouted “you got this!”

One more miracle… on another floor. An elderly man, in the hallway across from the nurses station, sat propped up in a wheelchair, while his room was being cleaned. A nurse waved for me to go onto the next room because this man did not talk to anyone. Still he looked like he wanted to pet her, I hesitated. Molly put her head on his skinny legs, barely a lap.

With his crepey hand he stroked her head. He told her how pretty she was and said he “used to have a yellow lab when he was a youngster.” Before I knew it, five nurses gathered. Their open mouths quickly changed into smiles at the miracle of connection, creating the impetus to communicate.

Photo property of author: Nothing necessary for canonization: Molly was the best!