Molly on life, MAID, and eye-gunk
Pani let Bidi unleash her inner bitch on this blog space on her birthday so fair is fair: here are a few thoughts I had reading Bidi’s rather unkind missive.
I adore Bidi. I lick the gunk around her eyes in hopes she will love me back. She lets me do it because it makes her even prettier. No-one has ever stopped their car to tell Pani how beautiful I am. Bidi will never know what it’s like to be the less attractive, smaller, weirdly shaped, adopted sister with a troubled past. Our walker, Jennifer, has started calling me Eeyore. And yes, I am gloomy but damnit, it hasn’t always been this way.
I used to be top dog. My first human, Muriel, thought the sun shone out of my perfectly groomed (then) bottom. Muriel had a touch of dementia. I slept with Muriel and when I needed to go #1 or #2 in the night, I just hopped on the floor and went. Muriel’s caregivers tried to teach me some restraint but we only ever got as far as the pee pad stage. No-one made me march around the neighbourhood waiting for me to poop. I preened on Muriel’s lap, was called “Molly Dolly,” dressed in seasonal costumes, and had my own cat. My life was very good indeed.
Muriel’s dementia progressed and her family decided to move her into care. It’s hard to promote a rescue dog who isn’t house-trained and there were dark thoughts of euthanizing me. While I support the choice to have a medically assisted death like Jack had, and also fine that Pani and Jack allowed Bidi’s mother, Kora, a dignified death, I oppose enforced euthanasia because of a disability or condition that makes life inconvenient for others. Humans debate expanding Canadian MAID laws and the disability community is concerned the expansion will lead to the coercion of the vulnerable. I get that. My life is not as important as a human life, it’s important to me. I’m grateful that Pani’s friend (Muriel’s niece), Liz, put me in Bidi’s daycare to check our compatibility. I am also grateful Pani talked Jack into letting me come to visit Bidi for the weekend. And I’m finally grateful Jack fell in love with me just a little bit, much like Marilla Cuthbertson was just a little bit taken with Anne when Matthew brought her home to Green Gables by mistake. And like Anne, I stayed.
At first, it was great. I let Bidi be alpha. She’s a big dumb dog who wins everyone over with her great looks and athletic ability. Sure, she can catch a treat in her mouth from 10 paces, even when Pani (who is not an athlete) throws it wildly. And yeah, I cannot catch and generally look at the floor where the treat might land and scoop it before Bidi dives for it. But I can get even more treats than Bidi if I refuse to go into the kitchen when I know Pani is luring me using treats. Eventually I eat the trail on the floor and allow myself to be locked up. Of course the locking is because of my toileting problems. As smart as I am, I just can’t get the hang of barking when I need to go. But Pani loves me anyway.
Then there’s the grooming thing. I don’t remember what it was like at Muriel’s but now if my bum hair is even a tiny bit too long then I get all bunged up and nothing feels right back there and then I pee and poop inside even more than normal. But Pani STILL LOVES ME!!
She doesn’t, though, love me as much as she loves Bidi. Even though I have lived here five years, that bloody great boxer has a firm grip on Pani’s heart and I cannot get between them. I know one day it will just be me and Pani and I will be top dog again. It is one small glimmer of hope in the bleak future I see when my best friend, Bidi, dies.
