Thursday, August 15, 2013

Molly Margaret

For any of you that know me, you know I love animals. If you know me well, you know that I also have a lot of them. If you're going to read this blog, you're going to need to like hearing about them and getting to know them too. They are my pride and joy. At some point or another you'll hear about all of them, but today you're going to hear about Molly Margaret Weller. The only reason I choose her first is because she has the most material. Home gurl is a rebel.

Molly is a 9 year old beagle. She's all but blind in one eye, she had heartworm and she's a little chunky. I've only had her about a year but you'd think I'd had her for years. She settled in quickly and became very attached. Prior to moving home, when I still lived in Champaign, I worked at the humane society. Molly and I's story is kind of fabulous. Obviously.  On my first day of work at the shelter, I was getting my tour of the building. When I walked into the dog kennels she was the very first dog I saw. For whatever reason, I immediately bonded with her. At first, I just wanted her to find a home.  She had several applications that fell through for one reason or another. Then I started getting attached in other ways. I would get sick to my stomach if people asked to look at her that were less than ideal. Before long, it didn't matter who wanted to see her, I would get nauseous. At that point, I decided it was probably time to bring her home.

On August 1st, 2012 I welcomed my third baby girl ; ). All the visitors at the shelter claimed that part of the reason they chose other dogs was because Molly didn't interact enough or she was too independent.  I have to disagree.  Out of all my girls, she's the most attached. If I move, she moves. She sits on my feet when I get ready in the bathroom to ensure she's the first to know if I make a move. Before coming to the shelter, she was originally turned in to animal control as a stray. I'm not sure what exactly she went through in her first 8 years, but I know it wasn't all great. She is very scared of loud noises or sudden movements and men sometimes make her nervous. Every once and awhile she has issues that I know are from her past, but for the most part it took her all of 33 seconds to settle into the good life.

Out of all of the dogs, she's the most easy going and laid back. And in the beginning, she was the easiest to deal with, too. That only lasted about a month. I should have known that was coming, given her namesake, Maythel Margaret Hunt, one of the kindest and sweetest women I ever got to know, but also one of the most stubborn and bullheaded. 

Molly quickly learned she could get away with basically whatever she wanted.  She started out slow with the trash cans. She'd turn them over to find whatever scraps she could and string it all over the house. But gradually she turned into a straight up rogue. At some point over the last year, I lost complete control over my sweet and innocent girl. And she turned into a first class heathen. What can I say, being a single parent is hard work.

I think it all started when we moved to the farm. Molly loves being a farm girl, and being a beagle she loves to get her nose to the ground. She also loves pretty much anyone she meets. Except Bob Ford. She and Bullet Bob are not besties. And let me tell you, the feeling is mutual. I'm not trying to place blame or anything, but it's pretty much his fault. Bullet didn't care for her from the start.  She doesn't listen real good and particularly not to him. The first week we were there, she started to take off across the yard and he got after her and yelled at her. He wasn't even near her and she laid on her back and started whimpering. He didn't mean to scare her, but after that they were basically arch enemies. Any kind of listening she did before, she definitely doesn't do now.

I can usually keep her in check until I have to leave. And then all Hell breaks loose. Bullet lets her out of the house before I'm even out of the driveway. Mainly just because he doesn't like her. I'm know I'm biased and all, but I know she's not perfect. He'll put her outside for causing trouble when all she's doing is sleeping. By the time I get home, who knows how long she's been outside by herself. Grandpa can't remember her name, he just refers to her as the "fleagle beagle". And he tells her every time he opens the door to go play in the heavy traffic.  I told you they weren't friends.

Sometimes, when Grandpa is thinking about something a lot, he talks to himself. I've heard him say more than once when he didn't realize I could hear, "I wish she'd left that fleagle beagle at the pound." Molly can't talk, but she's got this look in her eyes where she's basically telling the world to go high five themselves in the face with a chair. I've seen her give him "the look" on several different occasions.

For a few months he would put her in the basement. The basement in the house is off the kitchen.  The is a door that swings out into the basement from the upstairs. So when you are downstairs you have to swing it back into yourself to get up in to the house. For about two months, Grandpa tried to claim that she was opening the door and letting herself back upstairs, and in doing this she was ruining his door because she was scratching at it to get it to swing back to catch it and nose her way in. Now, I'm pretty sure my girl is a genius. But.....really? You'd think if she could do that she was a full blown human. Like she was Houdini or something.

For weeks he and I would go back and forth. I finally told him that if he hadn't put her down there in the first place, she never would have scratched the door to begin with. He finally quit putting her down there.  But about a week ago, I had to eat my own words.  I'd let her out to potty and she got inside and I could not figure out how. Not gonna lie, I was pretty sure there was either a ghost or a burglar in the house.  That is until I saw the cracked basement door.  When I opened that door, I saw that the door from the basement to the outside was fully open. She opened them both on her own. I have no idea how. My girl is smart. Maybe I should enter her into the circus or something.

But back to her shenanigans, Molly has given me at least 8 strokes. Luckily for everyone, none of them killed me. About a month ago, I was outside watering flowers. All the dogs were playing in the yard.  Buttercup and Molly tend to be a lethal combination. Unless I'm out there with them, I don't usually let them out together. This day they had been doing fine. Molly was laying under a shade tree just enjoying life. Molly doesn't exactly get in too big of a hurry to go anywhere. She waddles her way to and from at her own pace. But don't let that fool you, she can move when she wants to. All of the sudden she and Buttercup were off towards the milk barn. We have a few cats outside and I know that they often times hang out in the barn. Those two fools were up to no good and I knew it.  I finished watering my flowers (big mistake, I often underestimate how fast she can get herself into trouble.) By that time her howling was non stop. I knew they had cornered the cat, I just didn't bank on how exactly she'd done it. I got over there and could hear Molly's howling and the cat (Virginia) hissing. I saw the cat, and by that time Buttercup was off to the side acting like an innocent bystander. Lies. She is far from innocent. Molly was nowhere to be sound.  Heard but not seen. I looked and I looked and I looked. I finally looked up. That little brat had somehow climbed up all of the junk that is piled in that old storage barn and was on top of the garage door. On top of it. You know how garage doors go up and there is the door and then some space and then the ceiling. Yeah, she was just hanging out on top of that. How in the sam hell? Ole' gurl can't even get on the bed without the help of her doggie steps, but somehow she can get to the raftors of the milk barn in 60 seconds or less. This debacle went on for about 25 minutes. I climbed as high up as I could to be eye level with the door. She slid down the curve of the door twice and had to claw her way back up, and wouldn't ever come close enough to me for me to pick her up and climb back down. And I'm no idiot, my ghetto booty wasn't putting my body weight on that door that hasn't been used in 30 some odd years in the hopes it would support me. After awhile she just got tired and just laid down on top of the door. Jerk.

Once that was over, I thought we were in the clear awhile. Wrong. Molly doesn't believe in taking resting breaks of one shenanigan to the other. The next night I came home and she and Buttercup were both outside. Again, Buttercup was waiting for me at the door. Molly was nowhere to be found but her howl. When I went to let Buttercup in, she took off for the old machine shed. At first, I was less than impressed with this. I wasn't in the mood to chase them both. But I quickly realized B was in a panic. She kept pacing back and forth from me to the machine shed. I could hear Molly and by this point her howl was different, it was kind of panicked. I kept looking for her. I could hear her and I knew I was where she should be but still couldn't find her. I went outside the shed and then back in. Then it hit me. I glanced over to the left and saw a hole in the wall. It didn't go all the way outside but it was a hole between the outside wall and the inside insulation. Molly was stuck between the two. And that hole was not big enough for her to easily get out. On this day it was about 113 degrees in the shade. It was hot and no one else was home or around to help. I kept calm for all of about 7.3 seconds.  Then I quickly spiraled into a freak out. I could get her to come to me, but the hole wasn't big enough to get her out. She was hot and thirsty and pacing back and forth. I was afraid she was going to have a heat stroke. I was also pretty confident at this point that I was going to have a heat stroke. Also, it should be noted by this point, I'd been working at it about 20 minutes and I'd fallen into a complete emotional breakdown of hysterical crying. My baby was stuck and I couldn't get her out. My next move was straight out of Wonder Friends or whatever that show was called with all the super heroes. The metal wall was bolted down to the other metal wall.  It was old metal and it had rusted a bit but it was still metal. In complete panic mode I just started pulling at the wall. I eventually pulled the wall apart. And when I say apart, don't go thinking I'm the Hulk or anything, but it was enough to get her out. But not quite enough to get her out easily. I still had to put her on her hind legs and shimmy her out that way. She was wimpering because it hurt, which made me cry harder, but I couldn't get her out any other way. I finally got her out and we had settled down enough to head back to the house. Homeslice attempted to immediately take off after a cat. Not so fast, Margaret. I've had enough for one day.

The adventures of Molly were "to be continued" for awhile. Not like a summer hiatus or anything but at least until the next week, when she promptly cornered a raccoon in Grandpa's garage. Again, Buttercup kept running up to get me. At least she knows when they've gotten themselves in too deep of trouble. I grabbed the flashlight and headed out to the garage. I get there and find Molly, stuck between one side of the garage and the other. An animal or something had dug out an area to get from the outside of the garage to the inside. Apparently during the chase, the coon took a quick retreat into the garage through the hole and Molly followed. Well, bad idea on Molly's part because her slim self wasn't about to fit under that hole. I walked up to her wiggling relentlessly trying to get her bad self to the other side. This time I didn't so much panic as just stare at her like the fool she was. She got herself in to it she could get herself out. She had no sooner done just that when she and Buttercup both started trying to literally climb the walls. I flashed my light up towards the ceiling and was greeted with a raccoon clinging to the rafters like a koala and staring straight at me.  I have never jumped that high in my life, nor have I ever moved that fast back to the house. I've got some speed on me when needed. I thought Grandpa was asleep through this whole deal but quickly discovered otherwise when I got back to the house. I could hear laughing coming from his bedroom. I mean, he didn't come down to help me or anything as I was being attacked my wild animals, but leaned out his bedroom window to watch and laugh. I got to the mailbox and in between his laughs he goes, "I told ya you'd need that flashlight, Morgan Lea!" Then shut his window.  Thanks Pop.

This wasn't the last time she made have an encounter with a critter. The following week I let her out when I got home from work and she promptly had something cornered under the propane tank. I could hear it hissing and again assumed it was the cat. I went in to get the flashlight thinking if I could just show Molly it was her sister, she'd leave it alone. I bee bop on back outside and get down real close and shine the light directly into the face of a hissing opossum. What is wrong with her? Is she trying to get me killed? That O possum started moving and I moved a lot faster back to the house.

So basically my point is, Molly gets in to trouble on her own, but she'd get in a lot less if Bullet Bob would stop putting her outside. She will seriously make me die an early death. Or make all of my hair fall out, one of the two. And I don't look good with short and or no hair. I should have known she'd be like this when on the second day we were here, she was by my side in the yard one minute and within less than 37 seconds I looked up and she was a quarter of a mile down the road, on the other side of the road, elbow deep in the cattle lot. Brat.

I'm not sure what I'd do without her though. I'm guilty of babying her, I know. And no one else probably thinks her shenanigans are nearly as delightful as I do. I get annoyed at the time but it makes Molly, Molly. And that howl. Grandpa hates it, but it is my favorite. And if you can find any better feeling than coming home to her howling repeatedly because she's so excited to see me or to her being outside by herself and then seeing me for the first time and taking off in a full blown sprint towards me with her ears flapping the wind, well then I double dog dare you to show me what that is.

I double dog dare you, Molly style.

No comments:

Post a Comment