Molly speaks

I have the fortune of having the greatest dog in the world.

artsy return to philadelphia - january 2012

lunching on rittenhouse - july 2011

mom's pool - summer 2011

beach bummin' - summer 2011

trying to steal my man since - december 2011

christmas day - december 2011

a real time snap - tonight!

like I said: greatest damned dog ever.

But her beginnings were not so glam.

I rescued her (and vice versa) three years ago this October 14th. She looked like this.

fall of 2009, walking around East State Penitentiary

She had been found by the amazing, wonderful, awesome, please-donate-to-them shelter wandering in the woods. As you can see, she was malnourished, had very thin and wiry fury (quite a difference, n'est pas?) and, most notably, could not bark. There were a few theories as to why, but no concrete conclusions.

Which is tragic in a way because either through physical or emotional trauma, my darlingest baby was traumatized (and if I ever found out a human was responsible and came face to face with that person there's no telling what I'd do or say), but also a blessing because she is in fact a Pomeranian, not exactly known for their discretion in barking.

That said, in the past few months, she has found her voice.

It first occurred a month ago. My mother was babysitting her (a tactic not at all devised to keep her off the grandchild fever train) and texted me around 10 pm on a Wednesday, "Molly said her first word."

It was "out." My mother and her boyfriend were having their typical Wednesday night on the couch watching tv and suddenly, a burst of sound came from the couch. A short, raspy, rounded...word.

She looked to him, he looked to her.

Mom: "Did you make that noise?"

Him: "I thought you did?!"

They then looked to Molly.

So it's been a running joke since then. Molly is not actually a mute, but a selective mute. Like Holden Caulfield.

And tonight, she exercised that selectivity again. Boyfriend and I were sitting on the couch, watching Game 7 (f-ck you Lebron, really) and it again, a sudden burst of sound from the floor.

We both looked immediately to Molly, perched on the floor, reveling in using her favorite word.

So I obliged her, and it was obvious her little squawk was a request to go out, because as soon as I stood she bound to the door by her leash.

And as pleased as I've been for the past three years with Molly's general quiet, I wouldn't be adversed if she talked to us more. Like the fur, the extra (healthy) pounds, and the diva 'tude at times, all of it came about because she's comfortable, happy, and loved. And I can't even put into words the changes she's brought about in me, so I'm happy I'm able to return the favor.