From a distance she looks like a stuffed toy. Small and fluffy, white, with one ear that sticks straight up and the other that flops down.
I call her Molly. She's my new dog.
I had a dog for 16 years. It was often as challenging as raising my two kids.
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That dog is gone. The kids are now on their own, but here I go again with a new four legged baby in the house that melts my heart every time I look at those deep blue eyes and floppy ears.
We got Molly from an animal rescue. She was born in a puppy mill and was about to be euthanized, because of over-crowded conditions. The folks at Plain and Fancy Animal Rescue stepped in and saved her and four of her brothers.
Molly is only five-months-old. She's so small. She still has trouble going up and down stairs.
Like any baby she must be toilet trained. My dog is my job. Like clockwork, I take her out every four hours. We go out in the snow, in the cold, in the dark.
Like any newborn, Molly is hearing birds and seeing cars and tasting snow for the very first time. She doesn't know what to make of any of them. That's all part of training a dog.
We keep Molly in a crate for now. It's all part of the toilet training. When I'm home and after Molly's done her business outside., she's on my lap, snuggling in. Every once in a while she licks my cheek and puts her head on my arm and then falls asleep.
It makes all those walks in the cold worth every minute.
Molly and me are in for a great adventure.