For my birthday, Mo came to Jamestown and we drove to Yosemite and over Tioga Pass. Molly was with us, as usual, and as usual, we let her swim in the chilly Stanislaus River. She loved swimming so much, always was ready to jump in the water. She wasn't doing too well, though and the current almost got her. It was scary, and she dragged her tired little body out, shook off, and ambled up the trail with us to the warm car.
Mo knew Molly was ill, she was even cooking special food to try to offset the kidney disease that the doctor had ordered. In spite of all the extra care, at 13 years old, on October 15, Molly left, with a little help from the doctor. Mo was ok with it. The time was right. She hadn't eaten in two weeks and hadn't had water for days. She could barely make it up the steps. I guess it's healthy when you can let go when it's time to let go. Something I never learned very well. Mo misses Molly. I miss Molly.
Yet she found a new dog already (writing this in late November) and already our sweet new girl is filling up the place that Molly left behind. Another lesson in mortality, I guess.
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