Molly Takes A Walk

Molly took her first walk at the weekend up the usual chemin des camions towards the woods.  The farmer in the picture, cutting the hedgerows, had to stop several times, so slow was her progress, but she seemed happy to be finally out in the sun. 

She is miraculously alive.  When Mr. Mcdishy the Vet Altwegg uttered the words “faites très attention pendant les prochains 48 heures” my blood ran cold.

It is funny though how differently people react to the death of and in our case, possible death of, a family pet.  When we picked up Molly to bring her home I asked Mr. Jules to come with me in case A DECISION had to be made as Mr. Mcdishy had intimated the possibility.  Mr. Jules’s face showed a flicker of annoyance and when we were given the lengthy prognosis I saw him glance at his phone. 

(It is at this juncture that I will  ashamedly admit that when my friend Marie told me that she had kept her beloved Gypsy’s ashes I had to stifle a guffaw. I don’t intend to keep any pet’s ashes but I can now, having been close to losing dear old Molly, see where the sentiment comes from). 

Sophie-G. has already told me she wants to be present if and when we have to say goodbye to Molly (atta girl) but when I asked Ollie in the car (if you are a parent of an adolescent you know that ALL important conversations take place in the car) he looked at me appalled and said, 

 ”Why would I want to watch a dog, or anything for that matter, die?”

“Oh right, so you can fictionally kill hundreds every night during your computerised war games but saying goodbye to Molly is beyond you?”

 Then I saw that the horror on his face wasn’t fear of the act but fear of the sadness.   It is like not wanting to see a loved one’s body.  You want to remember them alive, warm and breathing not laid out stone cold on a mortician’s slab.

I do think that the females of the race deal with death and loss more, how shall I say it? Bravely.  We approach it head-on, acknowledge its presence however unwillingly.  We ovulate, give birth and as such are intrinsically linked with the cycle of life and death being nearer to that reality, feeling its constant presence in the shadows, behind that tree, beyond the clouds, under the unturned stones.  It is accepted that we cry, scream and wail whilst the males of the race  – even if it is now accepted for them to also cry, scream and wail - prefer not to and thus death and loss goes unexpressed, gets bottled up, hidden away, unexamined. 

Molly lives to see another summer and for this I give much thanks.