Molly Putzer- the autistic dog

When we finally purchased our first home, the kids were excited about many things. Kelsey was guaranteed to attend the same middle school as all her friends, the boys would no longer need to share a bedroom, but best of all- we could have a dog!

We gradually unpacked everything and I finally felt settled in enough to start looking. John was gone off for a golf weekend that July weekend. The kids and I noticed an advertisement in the paper for an adoption event at a local pet store for the upcoming Sunday afternoon!

This was it- I felt it in my bones- we were going to find a puppy today. I shamefully admit to getting the kids all excited and riled up about the idea. How could John deny 3 little faces greeting him at the back door? That poor man walked into a hornets nest of excitement with only a slight hang over to defend himself with. (Yep- I anticipated that factor, and used it against him with all my might!)

After allowing him 20 minutes to clean up, we were off to the pet store...3 thrilled kids, one hopeful mother, and a father who didn't know what hit him!

We walked in to find crates, cages, puppies, dogs, kittens, cats and lots of people! Oh crap- I hadn't anticipated other people seeing the ad too! Panic started to take hold of my throat, but I pasted on my biggest smile and started walking.

There she was.  This sweet little 8 week old puppy named 'Matilda'.  She was timid, tiny- and in a stranger's arms!! The kids walked around looking at kittens and puppies, but I kept an eye on 'Matilda'.  If she was put down for a second, I was going to swoop in and never let her go.  After 20 excruciating minutes, I finally went over the woman (who was still holding what I was now calling 'My Matilda').

Me:  Hi!  Are you interested in adopting this puppy?

Strange lady holding MY DOG: Actually no, I'm just waiting for a friend.

(I wave over my 3 children, hung over hubby, and put on my saddest face)

Me:  Oh, we were hoping to adopt her. 

(All 3 kids faces lit up like Christmas trees, hubby starts to search for a chair, that man knows when he's been beat)

Strange lady holding MY DOG:  She is sweet isn't she?

Me: Yep, she is going to make our family very happy.  Thank you! (took puppy out of stunned woman's arms and walked away)

I can't honestly say I finished that sentence completely before I was spinning around looking for someone to fill out the paperwork to take her home. 

We were told she was from a shelter in Kentucky that had recently had a fire.  Her sister 'Moonshine' was also up for adoption.  They guessed she was a beagle/labrador mix. She was up to date on all her vaccines and we promised to have her spayed as soon as she was of age. I signed on the dotted lines and never looked back.

We bought toys, a kennel, food, dishes, baby gates, and a collar.  We went home and discussed a name.  Matilda just didn't fit her.  I wanted her to be a Sophie, Andy came up with Molly- I was quickly outvoted.

Exactly 3 hours later she started to cough.  We called my mother-in-law and had her listen on the phone...her guess was Kennel Cough.  It's Sunday night, we don't even have a vet lined up, and the only clinic open charges $200 just to get an exam started. 

We promised the kids we would bring Molly home, and took off with a puppy who was getting weaker by the minute.  The kids watched us back out of the driveway looking like we were going to Disney World without them.   

The vet confirmed it was Kennel Cough, wanted to keep her for at least the night. Oxygen, medication and monitoring was what they said she needed.  I couldn't go home empty handed.  They would never believe the puppy was still alive unless I brought her back home with us! 

We convinced the doctors that we would be able to provide round the clock care for the puppy at home and would follow up with our own vet in the morning.  John drove home, hangover almost gone, mumbling to the steering wheel:

"Get a dog, she said.  We can watch them all grow up together, she said.  It won't be a problem, she said.  You won't have to do a thing, she said.  Who's going to get a SECOND JOB TO PAY THE VET BILLS!?" 

I turned to him with tears in my eyes, lifting that sweet puppy up for him to see, and said in a meek voice:  "We're really sorry."

For the next few days she slept on my chest, in my lap, and across my shoulders.  So much for training her to sleep in a kennel!  I got up in the night to run hot steamy showers and clap my cupped hands across her little side to loosen the gunk in her lungs. She slowly recovered and never looked back.  Until the day before she passed away- she was never sick again. 

Molly was never the smallish lap dog we anticipated.  She became an 80 pound behemoth.  She tore up 1 chair, 1 footstool, 2 couches, numerous shoes, toys,and had a obsession for wet towels. She learned to sit, and shake paws- that's it.  She never figured out that the light on the carpet came from the flashlight in my hand.  She chased that spot most evenings until she dropped from exhaustion.

One day she was acting weird.  Constantly chasing her tail, running through the house, and being a general pain in the tush.  Getting frustrated, I remarked out loud- "Jeez Molly, what is wrong with you!?"

Michael looked at me and said "Nothing is wrong with her mom, she's just autistic too."

Huh, the boy might have a point.  Obsessive behavior, no communication skills, hyperactivity, lack of awareness of danger, and excessive tail flapping- maybe the boy was on to something?

She would bark at anything- stars, moon, wind, fence- it was all fair game.  If we were lucky, one of us would hear her outside and alert whomever was closest to the patio door with a simple direction- "DOG!"  That word meant- open the door, yell at Molly to be quiet, and/or trick her into coming back inside.

One time John was closest to the patio- and after grumbling quietly to himself, Andy said to him:

"Dad- her name is Molly!  Not damn dog, last dog we're ever going to have!"

She lived for just over 8 years and answered to many names.  Putzer, Molls, Baby Girl, and Land Shark.  She is buried under the maple tree in the backyard she tried to pull up as a puppy.  She left us quietly, peacefully and there will never be another one like her. She taught our family many lessons- patience, responsibility, tolerance, self control, but mostly- how to love unconditionally regardless of the quirks. 

After she passed, I commented to John that I felt bad about not realizing how sick she had become.  I wondered if we could have fought harder to save her had we known about the tumor. 

"Amy, you fought for that dog from the day we brought her home until this morning.  You fought when she was up for adoption, when she had kennel cough, when she destroyed something, and every time I grouched about her barking. She was in your arms the moment she left this Earth.  You fought for that dog every day of her life- and she knew it.  She was always 'your dog'."

I hope people say the same things about how we raised our kids.  My headstone could read:

"She fought for her kids just like she fought for her dog."

I'll have to think about that epitaph.