Just Molson
By Belinda
For four days now I have been Mom to Molson. His real mom, Brenda, comes home tomorrow from her vacation in the sun. Not only have I been Mom to Molson, but also to Blossom the chinchilla and two cockatoos whose names escape me at the moment.
I must confess that coming downstairs in my robe to let Molson out and being greeted by a wolf whistle, has been a rousing and exciting start to my day. I will have to get Paul to do that after Brenda comes home tomorrow--just to keep my self esteem intact.
I have had a lot more exercise than usual, faithfully getting Molson out for a good walk every day, even in the rain on Sunday. I can feel the result in my glutes. Will they be gorgeous? No hope of that! But I can feel them at least, and that is a promising sign.
We explore a neighbourhood heavy into post-winter resurrection. Although the ditches run thick with last year's blackened leaves, from beneath them springs the green of this year's new life.
The scent of wood fires hangs in the air and dogs abound with masters and mistresses in tow. Molson ignores most of them politely, unless they make an approach, and then he perks up into alert state, ears high and eyes carefully averted, making prancing attempts to engage curious sniffing dogs in play.
A walk with my golden friend is such a pleasure. His extreme happiness at the "signs:" the putting on of my walking shoes; the opening of the drawer in which I keep the bags for my pocket; the donning of the walkman: The slightest hint of a walk throws him into ecstasy!
The best part is when we are almost home and I can safely take off his lead. Then I can walk on ahead if he stops to explore a particularly deliciously scented patch of ground. I love the sound of his galloping approach, feet thudding as he catches up, ears flying and pink tongue flopping happily. Being a retriever, his greatest joy is carrying the red lead folded in his mouth for the last leg of the walk.
He asks nothing more in order to be happy, than to simply be with one of us, following from room to room and flopping at our feet. What a gift a dog is and how grateful I am that God sent this particular one to us.
For four days now I have been Mom to Molson. His real mom, Brenda, comes home tomorrow from her vacation in the sun. Not only have I been Mom to Molson, but also to Blossom the chinchilla and two cockatoos whose names escape me at the moment.
I must confess that coming downstairs in my robe to let Molson out and being greeted by a wolf whistle, has been a rousing and exciting start to my day. I will have to get Paul to do that after Brenda comes home tomorrow--just to keep my self esteem intact.
I have had a lot more exercise than usual, faithfully getting Molson out for a good walk every day, even in the rain on Sunday. I can feel the result in my glutes. Will they be gorgeous? No hope of that! But I can feel them at least, and that is a promising sign.
We explore a neighbourhood heavy into post-winter resurrection. Although the ditches run thick with last year's blackened leaves, from beneath them springs the green of this year's new life.
The scent of wood fires hangs in the air and dogs abound with masters and mistresses in tow. Molson ignores most of them politely, unless they make an approach, and then he perks up into alert state, ears high and eyes carefully averted, making prancing attempts to engage curious sniffing dogs in play.
A walk with my golden friend is such a pleasure. His extreme happiness at the "signs:" the putting on of my walking shoes; the opening of the drawer in which I keep the bags for my pocket; the donning of the walkman: The slightest hint of a walk throws him into ecstasy!
The best part is when we are almost home and I can safely take off his lead. Then I can walk on ahead if he stops to explore a particularly deliciously scented patch of ground. I love the sound of his galloping approach, feet thudding as he catches up, ears flying and pink tongue flopping happily. Being a retriever, his greatest joy is carrying the red lead folded in his mouth for the last leg of the walk.
He asks nothing more in order to be happy, than to simply be with one of us, following from room to room and flopping at our feet. What a gift a dog is and how grateful I am that God sent this particular one to us.
Comments
Dave, a visit can be arranged. Once met, loved forever.
Marilyn, I'm glad you enjoyed coming along. Thank you!