Goodbye Molly

“The vet,” said the technician, “won’t be here for an hour.”

I nodded and wiped away enough tears to find the line where I needed to sign.
She petted Molly as I handed the pen and clipboard back to her. Molly’s head lay across my lap, her tired old body resting on a cushion on the floor. 
We had an hour left.  Molly didn’t know that, or maybe she did. She was still, aside from the occasional hint of a tail wag.  From time to time she raised her head off my lap and looked up, perhaps wondering what was happening, or maybe making sure I was okay.
I sat there, on the floor, remembering all of the visits to this room, back when Molly thought visiting the vet was the most exciting excursion ever. She’d race around the room, checking out all the good smells, and she’d run toward the door every time she heard a noise in the hall, hoping it was her vet with a handful of treats.
But this time she just waited quietly, not moving anything other than her head and tail from time to time.
I smoothed the fur on her back, petting her gently, not wanting to cause more pain. Talking to her through my tears, reminding her of the time she jumped up at the dining room table and took a bite out of a 50th wedding anniversary cake, and the day she ate straight through a cellophane wrapped cardboard box full of chocolates. Most of Molly’s indiscretions involved food- like all good Labs, she never turned down a meal- free or otherwise.

The hour passed, and the vet came in and kneeled down beside us. “Have you ever been through this with a pet before?” she asked. I shook my head and the tears started coming harder. She quietly explained what to expect, that it would be quick and Molly would not feel anything. She would go to sleep before her heart stopped.

“This is really hard,” I managed.

“Yes,” she replied.

We gave Molly some treats, which she gladly ate, maybe remembering that those were her favorite thing about coming to that room.  And as I petted her, her head grew heavy, her eyes closed and she was gone.

11 thoughts on “Goodbye Molly

  1. So sorry for your loss. I have said goodbye to a few four legged family members- mostly labs or lab mixes and it is soooo hard. Had to laugh at those food-based indiscretions. Last night our lab ate half a birthday cake!

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  2. So sorry for your loss. I have said goodbye to a few four legged family members- mostly labs or lab mixes and it is soooo hard. Had to laugh at those food-based indiscretions. Last night our lab ate half a birthday cake!

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  3. It is never the right time, or easy, Lisa. I'm so sorry for your loss of dear Molly. I still remember the feel of every one of my pets, and you will too. I love that you wrote about her, and those shenanigans. Labs are favorite breeds of mine. I'm glad you had such a wonderful one.

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  4. Oh, Lisa! I have never had a pet, so I cannot say that I know how this feels. But you capture the emotions that you're going through so perfectly. I can feel your heart ache as I read your words. Sorry to hear about the loss of Molly.

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  5. I'm crying. I thought I was going to have to put down our good old girl Lulu a few weeks ago, and I was devastated. My friend-vet suggested a last-minute drug that worked, so we've got some more months with her. I will appreciate her a little more today, thinking of you and Molly. Thank you for sharing your feelings through this piece.

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