The Widower
How Molly Has Been a Godsend
As I detailed last week, my great-nephew turned 2 this month. However, Teddy was far from the only “family member” celebrating a March birthday.
Our cairn terrier, Molly, turned 15. She’s the second one my wife, Cheryl, and I owned together.
After Cheryl died of Alzheimer’s complications two years ago, friends and relatives asked how I was doing. I replied that I was doing okay, despite what my tears sometimes indicated. After all, it wasn’t like the house was suddenly empty. It had been empty for the thirteen months that Cheryl lived in memory care. Besides, I still had Molly to greet me whenever I came home.
However, I wondered: For how long?
Trapper, our previous cairn terrier—think “Toto” on The Wizard of Oz—only[Ma1] lived to age 12. He lost weight and had persistent diarrhea in his last year of life. Cheryl loved dogs more than I did, and when we got Trapper as a full-grown pup, he chewed everything, barked at everyone, and needed daily walks to burn off energy.
At first, I didn’t appreciate sacrificing sleep for morning walks. But after a few weeks, I realized those strolls invigorated me. I’d drop Trapper’s leash in the hallway, and he’d rush it to the door. In his final months, however, he became more and more reluctant to walk. Tests and veterinarians told us he was full of cancer. When he stopped eating, it was time to do the humane thing.
Cheryl and I were crushed, but two months later, we applied for a cairn terrier through a nationwide rescue. A representative toured our home and approved us for an adoption. On the rescue’s website, Cheryl chose a dog in Minneapolis. When the group informed us that this dog was having behavior problems and wasn’t quite ready for adoption, Cheryl was crushed again.
Then, I noticed an advertisement for a cairn puppy in Portage. That Saturday, I suggested we could mow our property in Muscoda, then swing north to check out the pup.
“You know if we do that, we’re bringing her home with us,” Cheryl said.
“I understand the procedure,” I responded.
Molly was a little black ball of energy, fast on her feet but shy; I called her “Nervous Nelly.” We almost lost her that first night. Trapper’s collar was far too big for her, and before going to bed, we placed Molly on our lawn to “do her business.” Down the street, a dog barked. Skittish, Molly scooted down to the sidewalk. I ran out in the street to cut her off, but she raced across the street, then cut across the neighbor’s lawn and crossed the intersecting street, heading for hydrangea bushes. Lord, I thought, if she goes in there, we’ll never find that black blob in near darkness.
She bolted out of the bushes to the next yard, doubled back, and stopped upon spotting those homeowners sitting and smoking in their lighted garage. Cheryl and I surrounded her. Molly darted behind me, but I reached back with one arm and grabbed a back leg. I picked her up, and Molly’s heart was beating as fast as mine.
“I’m going to the store to find her a collar,” I said.
Molly soon settled in and wouldn’t run off unless to give hell to a passing dog. One time, while mowing, I heard her barking, stopped the mower, and found that she’d bounced on the screen door to the living room, popping it open. There she stood, on the carpet, woofing, as if to say, “Dad, come and fix this.”
She has her quirks, such as carrying food nuggets around the house and chewing up a napkin or tissue—clean or used, it doesn’t matter. Unlike Trapper, she has always been a reluctant walker. Still, those walks and bike rides—Molly sitting in a basket on the back of our tandem—helped keep Mom going as dementia took hold. Later, Molly delighted Mom’s friends in the memory care facility by ringing a children’s set of little tykes bells for treats.
Molly came with me the night Mom died at Agrace Hospice in Janesville. Molly also joined me the first time I visited Cheryl’s burial site.
Age has caught up with Molly, however. She always fought teeth brushing, and twice has had batches pulled and lost a few more since then. She started having breathing problems before Christmas in 2024. Her vet diagnosed congestive heart failure. Three expensive medicines keep her going. She sleeps often, and if she gets too wound up has brief seizure-like spells.
Molly stopped eating her dog food, so we switched to a brand with smaller nuggets and topped it with canned dog food, a little chicken, and shredded cheese. Frequent gas is the result. Diarrhea comes once a week or so.
Still, Molly is lovable. She doesn’t bark nearly as much as Trapper. Sometimes, in nice weather, I get her to slowly loop the block. She still goes on bike rides from time to time, and she’s always ready for a car ride. My girlfriend Jennifer adores her, and the feeling is mutual.
The other day, Molly rolled over for a treat. It was the first time in a year.
How long will she last? No one can tell us. However, I’m so glad she was there as my faithful, unconditional companion in those first few months and now two years since Mom left us.