the blessing and lessons of Molly

Molly2This story dropped into my Facebook newsfeed the other day.  It's one of those universal tales that anyone who has cared for (a.k.a. "loved") a pet will recognize.  CAUTION: Grab a few tissues; you might need them while you read this one.

Almost twelve years ago, I saw a flyer in a grocery store advertising a dog available for adoption. She was a year and half old, 35 pounds, and spayed after already birthing a litter. My wife and I met her a week after that. She was goofy and sweet, friendly to people, but couldn't stay with the multi-dog family who'd taken her off the streets. Any female canine within visual range was on her "kill" list. That's part of being born as a street dog. I brought her home in the passenger seat of my 2000 Chevy S-10 about two weeks later.

My wife named her Molly.

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ignoring signs

Remember the battle of Carlton Drive?

It continues.  Several weeks ago one of Carter Lumber's delivery trucks ignored the posted signs of "No Parking". I tried letting the truck driver know, but he ignored my shouts and horn toots to try and rouse him from his truck's cabin. I tried calling the local police, but the officer informed me that unless they were blocking traffic or parked on my own land, there really was nothing they could do.

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