Molly Is Not Jack
From time to time I’ve written about our experiences with our pets. First one that comes to mind is our dog, Jack, a sixty-five-pound boxer mix. Jack was good with kids and other pets. Shortly before his demise, he welcomed our kitten, Elijah, into our household. In addition, he was my walking buddy, faithfully padding alongside me no matter the weather as I endeavored to reach my daily step goal of 10000 steps (about 5 miles). This activity kept him so trim that toward the end of his life his vet remarked at his healthy vigor.
But last fall Jack passed on due to cancer in his leg and after several months, I relented to my wife’s urging to begin exploring the possibility of getting another dog, another walking buddy. So, we went online, searching for a rescue dog that would suit our needs. First, I wanted a dog that would be large enough to accompany me on my walks. Second, he needed to be kid and pet-friendly. And third of all, he had to be between the age of one and two, so most of his training would have already been accomplished. In short, without realizing it, I wanted another Jack.
As we searched we found an animal shelter not far away with a dog that appeared to fit most of my criteria. And so, we made an appointment to go see him. When we arrived, the attendants at the shelter steered us to a pen containing twelve-week-old puppies all from the same litter (six in all). We checked them out one by one as our guide brought them into a separate room where we could see how they reacted to us.
Midway through this process, I asked about the older dog we had intended to see.
“Oh,” our guide said, “you don’t want him. He was mistreated in his previous home, and, well, you just don’t want him.”
I nodded and did not pursue the matter further. We continued to focus on the six pups. I pulled the third candidate away from the wall molding she was chewing. After I handed her back to the attendant, another one caught my eye.
“What about that one?” I asked pointing at a black and white female who had her teeth on the wire gate in front of her.
The attendant picked reached over the gate and picked up the pup to hand her to me. I remarked at how heavy this dog was at her age.
“We’re guessing she’ll grow to be about forty pounds,” our helper said.
I’m guessing about fifty at least, I thought. A little less than Jack. Then as I looked at this pup a name came to mind. I turned to Nancy and said, “This is Molly.” And we called her that.
With Molly in the room with us, we began to weaken to the idea of bringing home a puppy. Thought of the older dog had completely left our minds. After about ten minutes, we told our helper we had made a decision and two days later I returned to the shelter to bring Molly home. And so, we abandoned our original plan, having forgotten entirely the rigors of training a young dog.
And Molly is not Jack. While she may grow to be close to him in size and is learning to walk with me, at seven months and forty pounds she has plenty of puppy energy (which we hope she will outgrow) and accordingly cannot be trusted around small children. In addition, she has not adjusted to peaceful existence with our other pet resident, Elijah the cat. Consequently, we have to keep the two, separated. After doing the DNA testing, we found out that Molly’s underlying breeds are not at all what we expected. And so, after five months we are dealing with the challenges of raising an energetic adolescent dog that is bent on chewing everything in sight.
I read on an animal trainer’s blog that all dogs are ADHD. And having Molly in our home, I believe it. Jack showed little of this, but maybe that is because we got him when he was two and he had lost most of his high energy. What was left, we had success in teaching him to control.
But Jack had separation anxiety which meant we had to take him everywhere we went or provide a dog sitter. He was a very powerful dog and broke out of every crate we tried if we attempted to leave him alone for more than a few minutes. This is Molly’s one saving grace. She welcomes her crate and we have successfully left her in it for as many as four hours. And when she gets out of control she happily goes into her safe place on command at the words, “Molly. Crate.”
Outside of her safe place is another story. Molly sees everything she can get her mouth on as her personal chew toy. We are progressing on her not chewing fingers or toes, but every now and then she forgets (ouch). Items left on the kitchen counter and dining room table are not safe as she is tall enough on her hind legs to reach anything there.
In addition to having ADHD, I am convinced Molly has Pica, the eating disorder in which a person eats things not usually considered food. This morning we fished remnants of a child’s playground ball out of her mouth. Previously, I’ve taken stones, pieces of pens, parts of dead frogs, and other things from her. Mercifully, she doesn’t resist for my hands would be no match for her powerful jaws.
Her favorite non-food item appears to be paper. Every day, I find chewed scraps of it lying around the house. One day she chewed on something contentedly in our sunroom. She had been quiet, so I thought little of it until I checked. She had partly consumed Nancy’s favorite daily devotional book. I thought as I cleaned up her mess how we ought to feed on the Scripture, but eating God’s Word does a dog who can’t read, no good at all.
All in all, it has been quite the challenge adopting Molly into our home. When I think we have turned the corner and she is becoming less hyper, something new comes along to surprise us. The latest is her first (and hopefully last) heat. All her previous behaviors have been turned up a notch. Hide the paper and the books. She’s more active than ever. I pray this stage will pass quickly.
As I think about our time with Molly, and the challenge we have overcome and still face, I think about our Heavenly Father Who has welcomed us into His family. We are rough, hyper, running in counterproductive directions, and pursue things not good for us. We go where we ought not to go and hurt those around us at times, but He is patient and never loses His cool as I am tempted to do with my silly dog, but just as with Molly we seem to be making progress, we regress as a whole new set of circumstances come along.
But, God never loses His temper or yells, as I do with Molly, but simply calls out in a still small voice, “Come ye that are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
Thank You, God for loving me.