Yes a her, Molly. I searched pretty hard during the summer, scanning websites, doing my usual visits to the local pound, reading adverts in local newsletters. Nanna! No puppies available in the middle of the summer except of course through puppy farms. Not so hot on puppy farms. I did try signing up with a few rescue agencies advertising puppies of medium size (and so cute!!), submitted all my information, how I was a good owner with a friendly house mate already. Friendly replies but always a decline with an encouraging message to keep on trying.... I suspected I had missed the prime puppy season in the spring. That was confirmed after a friend and I drove up and down Mennonite country looking for the 'puppy for sale signs' that often showed up on the back roads. None. The owner of a small coffee shop enroute confirmed the futility of our search, and that we should try again next spring.
But I didn't want to wait until next spring. I had committed myself to a second dog for the following year, and I needed a full grown 'well trained' pet by then, without the worry of house breaking etc. along the way.
Well there she was, finally - on kijji of all places. The last pup from a litter of twelve - lab – border colie mix. There was her picture - the short fur I liked (and so would my vacuum), but not so much the black - another story. However she did have a striking white crest on her chest and the hints of white on the tips of her tail, feet and even around her nose. I though of my first dog, patches when I was a child - I adored him. All eleven of her sisters and brothers had been adopted out within a day of posting the add, so I was told by the woman on the phone. Yes she would hold her for me but only for the afternoon. Not much time to ponder - Harnett and I along with a crate for the pup, were in my car within an hour, driving out to Woodstock.
Harnett was with me to test out his behaviour with the pup. All he did was sniff then ignore her. With money exchanged, and some adjustment to a box I had brought making it into a cradle for the 5 lb pup, (Harnett's crate was ridiculously oversized), we were on our way back home. I had the pup sleeping peacefully beside me with a towel draped over the box. Feeling all maternal like. Harnett was in his spot in the back cargo space, displaying his usual calm, accommodating behavior. Just 5 minutes from my home and everything changed.
The pup was up, peering out from under the towel. Small cries, me speaking in a soothing voice, right hand into the box to offer gentle touches. She'd have none of it. Cries became screams. I'm still driving trying to make this still work, but she's out. I pull her to my lap, still attempting to calm her. Screaming away, she claws up my right side franticly, me holding her now firmly, not wanting her to bolt, or me to lose control in the city traffic I'm now in. Trying to park would be even more disastrous right now. I drive the next few blocks, feeling guilty, astounded. What have I done?
When my second child, Owen, was born I heard a very similar cry. Just out of the birthing room, me and babe being rolled on a gurney to my room when a nurse comes up, and quite efficiently with only a quick howdoyoudo, takes Owen out of my arms. The sleeping baby wakes with a start and just screams, sounds bitter, frightened protest bellowing from his lungs, with his legs dangling out of his blanket. He is whisked away for 'his wash'. Oh my, what just happened, what have I done?
That was the same cry, fear mixed with defiance in my little pup’s cries and struggles and nothing I could do to help her. It was not too long afterward that I came up with her name, Molly Mobster. Molly for the tender heart I believe she had. Mobster for, well the other side of her that was so strong, yet defiant - perhaps a prankster , maybe a leader. I have seen both sides over these last few months.
