Written by Jen and the Furries

Dear Molly…

My dear, sweet girl, we are quickly approaching the time when we will say good-bye to one another.

The day I brought you home

Hard to believe we’ve lived together for six months; it seems like only yesterday I met the rescue group representative at their vet clinic to pick you up and bring you home. You were scared, but that was to be expected. They’d put a thick sweater on you though it wasn’t cold. I later figured it was to hide the massive lipoma on your chest because you hate wearing anything resembling clothing.

You and I never truly bonded and at first I didn’t know why. I took you to the vet to see if there was something physically wrong. I felt guilty, wondering if my depression was the cause. I contemplated returning you to the rescue because I felt you weren’t happy here.

Instead we kept trying. Only after a significant deterioration in your demeanor was our vet certain Cognitive Dysfunction Syndrome was the culprit. I now believe you had it all along. The vet prescribed Selegiline and for awhile there was some improvement, but not for long. You again declined in cognitive function. Despite an increase in dosage, your decline continues.

Some days you act as though you fear me. To not know me is one thing, but to fear me tears my heart to shreds. You also fear the cats, though they go out of their way to be kind and loving toward you. Little Girl offers to nap beside you but you won’t let her. Miss Biddy Kitty cries when you get upset, like the last time I clipped your nails and you acted like I was trying to kill you. Leroy wants to protect you whenever you go outside to potty because he knows you’re scared.

The neighbors love you too, girl. They love to watch you and me walk down the street with Miss Biddy following close behind. Leroy too sometimes. You are the only dog in town with her own entourage. Neighbors have asked to film us walking.

You eat well, you have no trouble drinking. Elimination is generally not an issue, though I think you would toilet inside more often if you weren’t so afraid of the cats.

But, my dear Molly, you have little quality of life. Other than our walks, you spend much of your day in my bedroom or bathroom. You keep trying to dig a hole in the bath mat. You sleep much of the time. When we do walk, your pace varies. You used to walk at a fast clip. Now you walk very slow and stop often, staring, as though you don’t know where you are. Sniffing around outside is the only pleasure you seem to get from life.

Cognitive Dysfunction Syndrome, like Alzheimer’s, is progressive and it’s terminal. If the increased dosage doesn’t help, this is as good as it gets, girlfriend. Perhaps if we’d had time to develop a bond, this wouldn’t have been so hard on you, but it is what it is. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to suffer. So together we will wait until the time comes, and you and I will say good-bye.

I hope the rescue and their vet weren’t aware of your diagnosis, because if they were, what they did to you in your final days was cruel both to you and to me. At least you are here where you are cared for and loved. I just wish you could know that.

36 thoughts on “Dear Molly…”

  5. It’s sad to hear of Miss Molly’s condition. We have our paws crossed that her remaining time with you is as comfortable as can be. How sweet that the cats try to make her feel better even if Molly doesn’t understand and like the attention.

    Reply

    1. It is heartwarming to see. Just yesterday morning Molly ran out of the bedroom for breakfast and Louie tapped her as she ran by. This is a playful gesture for him and he’s usually much more forceful in tapping the kitties, but he barely pawed her. Sadly, she couldn’t see the love in it.

      Reply

  8. I’m sorry that things turned out this way for you both, but I’m glad Molly has had you these past months. To go through her dementia with someone who loves her is a whole different experience than going through it with someone who doesn’t figure out the problem, doesn’t treat it, and perhaps neglects her. Thanks for being there for her.

    Reply

  13. Meow Miss Jen how furry sad an tragick that Miss Molly has Poochie Alzheimer’ss…
    You did yore best fore Molly an yore catss have bin xcellent Purry-medicss to her.
    LadyMew iss wipin tearss from her eyess. Shee knowss how hard this iss fore you…..
    Pleese bee gentell on yoreself Okay?
    Wee ❤ you two!
    **purrss** BellaDharma an ((huggiess)) LadyMew

    Reply

  14. Oh that’s sad, I was hoping her decline would have been a bit slower. Its horrible to see them fear you and those around you and not knowing where there are or who their family is. I have only seen the human version in my Mother inlaw and she would have paranoid delusions, constantly in fear of us all. She would get violent with me and those who looked after her and then for the last 2 years of her life she didn’t know who any of us were. My hubby and I always said if she was a dog her suffering would have ended a long time ago, instead we had to watch her decline in her mind and memory and in her body until her brain function could no long keep her body alive. If I could have ended her suffering like you can with Molly, I would have. You gave her a great gift…you and the cats gave her love and she did feel that love even if only for a little while and now you will give her another give of love by ending her suffering and letting her go with dignity. Bless you for that, Hugs….many hugs, xx Rachel

    Reply

  16. they shouldn’t have hidden the lipoma. They should have shown it to you and explained it. If they are hiding things to rehome a dog, it’s a very short term view. They are potentially creating more problems for the dog and themselves and it isn’t fair on the people in the new home. They probably think they’re doing it for the best but it makes me angry.

    Reply

    1. They told me about the lipoma, so it wasn’t that I didn’t know, but that maybe they wanted an aesthetically pleasing view for when I picked her up. But I was under the impression Molly was in rescue because her former owner had dementia, And she was being saved from euthanasia. Now I wonder.

      Reply

      1. I’ll let them off the hook about the lipoma then. But, like you, I think they probably knew more than they told you.

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