We moved into our new home on Tax Day, April 15, 2003. Molly arrived in May. During the summer, I had time off to be with Molly. I took her everywhere. She was a hyper pup, full of energy, warmth and joie de vivre. The only down side of Molly seemed to be her immune system. After her first innoculations, she swelled up and had a seizure. From then on the vet had to keep her all day for the immunizations. She had fairly constant hives for the first couple of years of her life, until we put her on Flint River Ranch Fish and Chips (Trout and Sweet Potatoes). Now, four years later, she still has bouts of hives, but they seem to be seasonal and environmental in nature.
Back to my story - summer was idyllic. I worked shortened days and hung out with Molly. She was delightful. Yes, she chewed up a few socks, some woodwork and there were the two holes in the carpet, but all in all she wasn't a bad pup. When she was about four months old, I invited the other high school principal and my assistant superintendent boss over for lunch to check out my new house and my new puppy. In fact, these were the first visitors since the unfortunate baby bird incident.
When we arrived, Molly leapt on the front room sofa to see out the window. She jumped on all, wiggled uncontrollably, got gold dog hair on their dark pants, and mouthed their arms, making sure there was plenty of dog slobber on their long-sleeved shirts. She was an absolute out-of-control maniac, grabbing at their food, pawing at the chairs. She pawed so hard that the new easy chair actually came apart. (I quickly pushed the arm back together before they noticed.)
In short, we scarcely could eat lunch, because my spoiled puppy didn't like dividing my attention with anyone. Lunch with the boss was miserable, to say the least.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Molly joins the Baumanns
I ordered and named Molly before she was conceived. Both of my kids, Jeff and Chelsea, were grown and gone. Empty nest feelings were setting in. I needed a Golden retriever, I insisted. I promised to train it. It would be the perfect dog, I promised. I would call her Molly.
Jim, my husband, couldn't believe I actually wanted a dog. There had been a time when with two small children I had banished our two previous mutts with their fleas and dirt to the back yard. I rarely interacted with them. They ran with the kids as they grew. They grew old and died, outside yard dogs.
We had had the freedom of being dogless for a decade. Wasn't it time to travel and enjoy life as a couple?" my husband asked. I was quite convincing about how committed I was to getting a dog and training it as a true, well-mannered companion.
A friend who worked with my sister had a Golden retriever that she intended to breed. I ordered a female and told her the dog would be named Molly. Out of the womb, Molly was called by her name, treated as special, played with the most, and scandalously pampered. She was the ONLY female born in a litter of 10 pups. She was the runt of the litter and the lightest in color. She was going to be my perfect dog.
A couple of weeks after Molly was born, a bachelor friend Mark Putnam and I took the two-hour drive in rain to view the pups. Molly fit in my hand, limp with eyes barely opened. Mark fell in love and reserved the second lightest and largest pup in the litter. He named Molly's brother, Max.
At eight weeks, Molly came home to our brand new house. I had picked out the carpet not to show Golden retriever hair. The dog pen had cement footings, so she couldn't dig out. We were ready to love our new perfect pet.
As promised, I enrolled Molly in puppy school. She barked and peed the floor in each and every puppy classes, paying no attention at all to any of the commands that we were supposedly teaching. Just before our third class, new neighbors stopped by to introduce themselves to me and invite us to the first annual Fourth of July block party. I took them out to our back yard to see our new landscaping shaping up. I introduced them to my new puppy.
Molly was jumping, wiggling, and running. All at once, we all gasped as we saw the hurt baby bird fluttering helplessly. It was almost as big as Molly's head. Three women ran toward the poor thing to save it from harm, but Molly was much faster than we were. She grabbed it in her mouth and ran round and round. We chased and screamed, but in one gulp, Molly swallowed it whole. My new neighbors and I were horrified. We were all fighting back the retching.
I quietly led the new neighbors back out to the front door. After a pregnant pause, we tried valiantly to refocus on the upcoming party. Finally, I said how nice it was to meet them. "If you ever want to experience another 'Wild Kingdom' moment, just stop by," I lamely joked, as I closed the door.
Of course, the question for the puppy class instructor that evening was, "Can swallowing a bird whole hurt this puppy? Will it block something? Will she need an operation?"
The instructor said, "Watch the poop. Hopefully it will just pass through."
I couldn't bear to do it, but my husband Jim took on poop patrol duty. He reported a couple of days later that a bird skull had shown up. Guess Molly wasn't going to die from eating a bird. Jim and I decided to skip the Fourth of July party. We became known in the neighborhood as the people whose mean puppy ate the poor, helpless, baby bird. As the story was passed from neighbor to neighbor, it became more and more embellished. We decided it was best to lie low.
And this is how Molly, "my perfect dog," began her life in our family. The time it would take to help Molly become my "perfect dog" ideal had started to set in. We had a long way to go.
Jim, my husband, couldn't believe I actually wanted a dog. There had been a time when with two small children I had banished our two previous mutts with their fleas and dirt to the back yard. I rarely interacted with them. They ran with the kids as they grew. They grew old and died, outside yard dogs.
We had had the freedom of being dogless for a decade. Wasn't it time to travel and enjoy life as a couple?" my husband asked. I was quite convincing about how committed I was to getting a dog and training it as a true, well-mannered companion.
A friend who worked with my sister had a Golden retriever that she intended to breed. I ordered a female and told her the dog would be named Molly. Out of the womb, Molly was called by her name, treated as special, played with the most, and scandalously pampered. She was the ONLY female born in a litter of 10 pups. She was the runt of the litter and the lightest in color. She was going to be my perfect dog.
A couple of weeks after Molly was born, a bachelor friend Mark Putnam and I took the two-hour drive in rain to view the pups. Molly fit in my hand, limp with eyes barely opened. Mark fell in love and reserved the second lightest and largest pup in the litter. He named Molly's brother, Max.
At eight weeks, Molly came home to our brand new house. I had picked out the carpet not to show Golden retriever hair. The dog pen had cement footings, so she couldn't dig out. We were ready to love our new perfect pet.
As promised, I enrolled Molly in puppy school. She barked and peed the floor in each and every puppy classes, paying no attention at all to any of the commands that we were supposedly teaching. Just before our third class, new neighbors stopped by to introduce themselves to me and invite us to the first annual Fourth of July block party. I took them out to our back yard to see our new landscaping shaping up. I introduced them to my new puppy.
Molly was jumping, wiggling, and running. All at once, we all gasped as we saw the hurt baby bird fluttering helplessly. It was almost as big as Molly's head. Three women ran toward the poor thing to save it from harm, but Molly was much faster than we were. She grabbed it in her mouth and ran round and round. We chased and screamed, but in one gulp, Molly swallowed it whole. My new neighbors and I were horrified. We were all fighting back the retching.
I quietly led the new neighbors back out to the front door. After a pregnant pause, we tried valiantly to refocus on the upcoming party. Finally, I said how nice it was to meet them. "If you ever want to experience another 'Wild Kingdom' moment, just stop by," I lamely joked, as I closed the door.
Of course, the question for the puppy class instructor that evening was, "Can swallowing a bird whole hurt this puppy? Will it block something? Will she need an operation?"
The instructor said, "Watch the poop. Hopefully it will just pass through."
I couldn't bear to do it, but my husband Jim took on poop patrol duty. He reported a couple of days later that a bird skull had shown up. Guess Molly wasn't going to die from eating a bird. Jim and I decided to skip the Fourth of July party. We became known in the neighborhood as the people whose mean puppy ate the poor, helpless, baby bird. As the story was passed from neighbor to neighbor, it became more and more embellished. We decided it was best to lie low.
And this is how Molly, "my perfect dog," began her life in our family. The time it would take to help Molly become my "perfect dog" ideal had started to set in. We had a long way to go.
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