I think one of the most helpful things for us was hearing from the vet about the preliminary results of the necropsy last Friday. She basically told us that they couldn't determine a cause of death yet, but that they had ruled out quite a few things, including a reaction to the vaccine, heart attack, choking, swallowing of a foreign object and heat stroke. She said she believes it was probably something underlying and that we may never actually find out exactly what caused her death. She suggested it could have been an arrhythmia, stroke, blood clot or virus, among other things. While they still have some microscopic tests to do, basically everything that we could have been responsible for has been ruled out. I think knowing that we didn't cause her death, even indirectly, helps ease our pain considerably. A lot of my grief stemmed from the guilt I felt, thinking that there was something I could have done or shouldn't have done to save her.
One of my favorite memories of her, but also one of the saddest for me to recall, is the way she would greet me when I came home from work or anywhere else. Most dogs come running to happily meet their owners when they return home, but Molly's way was particularly precious to me. Not because of anything she did necessarily, but just because of how she was. If she was upstairs, I could hear her and Bella racing down, Molly always lagging behind. They would come around the corner and, as soon as she saw me, her little ears would press back against her head, her mouth would open into a smile and her lanky tail, much too long for her small body, would wag as fast as she could manage. I would kneel down to greet her and she would jump up with her paws on my thigh and lick my face as Bella pushed in to get in on the action.
Molly was always more timid than Bella was as a puppy, and the stairs just scared her to death the first few days we had her. We would go up or down the stairs, and she would sit at the top or bottom and just cry the most horrid cry I've ever heard. But she was instantly attached to Bella, and she trusted and looked up to Bella, so we used the connection to help get her over her fear. We would send Bella up or down the stairs to a few feet away from Molly and have her wait until Molly came to her. Then we would call Bella a little closer to us and wait for Molly to follow. It wasn't easy for her, nor was it easy for me to listen to her crying, but it worked pretty quickly.
After a day or two, we started going up or down the stairs and leaving Molly to do it on her own. She was still scared, especially without Bella there, but she wanted to be with us badly enough that she braved through it. By the end of her first week with us, she was traversing the stairs like a pro, with or without Bella.
I still miss her like crazy, but I want to share as many of the memories I have with her as I can so that I will never forget. In the grand scheme of my life she really was just a blip of time, but she was a much larger part of my heart and I want to pay tribute to that.
One of my favorite memories of her, but also one of the saddest for me to recall, is the way she would greet me when I came home from work or anywhere else. Most dogs come running to happily meet their owners when they return home, but Molly's way was particularly precious to me. Not because of anything she did necessarily, but just because of how she was. If she was upstairs, I could hear her and Bella racing down, Molly always lagging behind. They would come around the corner and, as soon as she saw me, her little ears would press back against her head, her mouth would open into a smile and her lanky tail, much too long for her small body, would wag as fast as she could manage. I would kneel down to greet her and she would jump up with her paws on my thigh and lick my face as Bella pushed in to get in on the action. Sometimes when I get home, I walk up to the door thinking about how much I wish I could open the door and see that whole scenario play out just like it had several times before. Even though I know she's gone, it's still disappointing to open the door and not see her in the living room or hear her come stumbling down the stairs.
Which reminds me of another memory: Molly and the stairs.
Molly was always more timid than Bella was as a puppy, and the stairs just scared her to death the first few days we had her. We would go up or down the stairs, and she would sit at the top or bottom and just cry the most horrid cry I've ever heard. But she was instantly attached to Bella, and she trusted and looked up to Bella, so we used the connection to help get her over her fear. We would send Bella up or down the stairs to a few feet away from Molly and have her wait until Molly came to her. Then we would call Bella a little closer to us and wait for Molly to follow. It wasn't easy for her, nor was it easy for me to listen to her crying, but it worked pretty quickly.After a day or two, we started going up or down the stairs and leaving Molly to do it on her own. She was still scared, especially without Bella there, but she wanted to be with us badly enough that she braved through it. By the end of her first week with us, she was traversing the stairs like a pro, with or without Bella.
She wasn't with us for very long, but there are so many little things like these that she left us with.
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