Driving Miss Molly

Molly is the West Highland Terrier I live with. Molly is a baffling mixture of well-trained dog crossed with mentally defunct toddler. Her level of training depends entirely upon her mood, the perceived prize, and the consequence. If the perceived prize outweighs the known consequence, Molly has no issues with going for the gold. Unfortunately, it is nearly impossible to determine what she sees as worth it because it isn't a fixed goal - it greatly differs depending on the day. What you're left with is a fairly unpredictable, fluffy, sweet yet determined terrier that is the best dog you've ever had and yet the worst dog you've ever known.

I'm aware that not everyone can handle my dog. I think my mother lives in fear that something might happen to us and she'll be left caring for our dog. We don't leave Molly with friends when we go out of town, we pay professionals at a kennel to anticipate her every need. We take precautions when going out and leaving our pet at home, the usual like taking her collar off so she doesn't accidentally hang herself on anything, and then the unusual of pulling the sofa away from the wall so she can't use it to climb to the windowsill and push out the air-conditioning unit and plummet to her death outside while trying to chase a squirrel on a neighbouring rooftop.

There are some days when I wish I could show everyone how lovely Molly can be - like when I pat the couch beside me and she hops up, curls up next to me and calmly nuzzles my hand for a pat. Or when the baby is on the floor rolling about and Molly sweetly checks on her every few minutes. And I wish they could see her funny habits, like when we're driving in the car and she sits perfectly still on her seat, staring forward and never jumping on me, only popping up at red lights to look into the car next to ours and then quickly popping back down to sit again the second we start moving. I don't know why these times are only small gifts reserved just for me. Molly's good behaviour has become the Mr. Snuffleupagus in my life.

Instead, most outings end up like earlier last week when I took Molly to the groomer and she shit on the floor in front of everyone while still attached to the end of her leash so I couldn't even pretend she wasn't mine. Her nickname at the groomer is Noodles. I can't begin to imagine what she did to earn that title.

Other star-power moments include when she meets someone new and wees a bit from excitement. Or when she meets someone she's already met many times before and wees a bit from excitement. Or when someone leaves the room and comes back and she wees a bit from excitement. Sometimes she just wees a bit...and isn't even excited.

I didn't know how Molly was going to adjust to the new baby. I was worried about jealousy, but quite the opposite has happened. Like all other members of my family, Molly greets Charlie in the morning and when we come home from an outing. Afternoons are usually spent on the couch nursing and cuddling Charlie with Molly squashed against my free side, having a snooze. I bring the baby into bed with me in the early morning for an extra hour of sleep, and Molly curls up with us and sleeps as well. When Charlie is rolling and playing on the floor Molly lays near her.

And when Charlie vomits, and I'm not fast enough, Molly eats it.