I don’t know if too many dogs understand the concept of sharing, but I’m pretty sure my Molly can share among the best of them.
If you’re sitting at the supper table, enjoying a grilled ribeye, she’s perfectly content to sit at your feet, look at you with those beautiful brown eyes and then peek at your plate as if to say, “That’s one for you, now one for me.”
My parents blame me for Molly’s most recent behavior. Apparently the only time my pooch sits at the table and begs for food is when I’m an invited guest — that‘s what they tell me anyway.
Now, I will admit that I may have slipped her a small sample from time to time — but I’ve caught both Mom and Dad doing the same thing. Why, then, is it all my fault?
Come to think of it, why is Molly the pampered pooch who gets to spend her days — and nights — in the house? Boy, when I was growing up, there were absolutely, positively no indoor pets.
With Molly, it all began with brief visits inside the house. Then, whenever Molly wanted attention, she would paw at the garage door as if to say, “Let me in there with you, it’s too cold out here.”
Soon enough there were nights when Mom and Dad forgot to put her out in the garage for the night, and then it grew to the point where Molly didn’t want to go to the garage to sleep.
Before I knew what was happening, Molly’s dog bed became a permanent fixture inside the house.
It’s to the point now that if Mom and Dad go away for a couple of hours, they don’t even make Molly go outside. That’s right — she has complete rule of the house.
And that is perfectly fine with Mom and Dad — oh, and Molly too.
Oh, the stories they can tell about that Molly!
Why, just the other day, Mom had a new one for me. She was sitting in the rocker, holding great-granddaughter Kiera, and feeding her a freshly buttered slice of banana bread.
As Molly watched Kiera take that first tasty bite, she realized maybe this was worth investigating. She got up from her rug, strolled across the living room and rested her chin right on my mom’s lap. She stood there, tail wagging, patiently waiting.
“One for her and one for me.”
Leave it to Mom to give her what she wanted.
Yet, I’m the one to blame for making Molly a beggar. Go figure!