Molly

I phoned from work, around 1:00, and was told that Molly’s surgery went well and she was resting comfortably but still quite out of it from the anesthetic. 

Surviving the surgery was crossing the first bridge.  I admit, I was worried about it.  Now that’s it’s done, it’s time to move forward.  I have to phone tomorrow morning to find out if I can bring her home.  I don’t feel as mournful now.  It’s odd. 

I had my share of tears though.

• After dropping her off at the vet’s, in the car on the way to work
• Speaking with a few of my co-workers when I first went in.
• After I called to find out how she was doing
• On my lunch hour when I mentioned that when I phoned the vet a part of me was still hoping for a miracle, unrealistically hoping that they would say, “Good News! We didn’t need to amputate!” 
• On the way home in the car, for a few minutes.
• While reading the comments here.

And now I’m done crying for awhile, I hope.  Molly’s not here tonight and I miss her.  There was no frantic barking at the door when I walked in, which would drive me crazy and I can’t say I miss it, but it showed me she was here.  No wagging her whole body in excitement, then running around the living room like a raving maniac, with her favorite toy in her mouth.  There was no little furry body sitting at my feet while I was cooking, waiting for that stray morsel to fall at her feet which usually did because I would push the odd bit of her favorite food off the counter, as if it were an accident.   There was no dog to let out to tear across the lawn chasing any possible creature away from our yard, barking loud enough to wake the dead.  Okay, that I don’t miss since I’m sure the neighbours just love when she does that.

But she’s not here … and I’m selfish.  I want her here, three legs, eight legs, two heads, I don’t care.  I want her home.