A Big Fish. Or, How I Came to Love a Basset Hound.

Today at 12pm we said goodbye to Molly. This is the end of an era, really. David and I were married in July of 1997 and three months later we welcomed Molly into our home. Had we known what the next ten years had in store, we might have promptly booted her right back out. Be that as it may, those ten years were filled with loving (and sometimes loathing) a smelly, hairy, whiny hound who loved children, pirogies, the Christmas ham and anyone who was willing to touch her.

I could take this in a million directions. As many of you know, Molly has been sick for some time now and yesterday we realized it was time to end her suffering. But I don't want to focus on that. Instead, I want to celebrate her as the very special dog that she was. Everyone we know had a unique relationship with Molly and she was something of a Rutkowski family icon. She lived life on her terms and she never regretted a thing. She made friends everywhere she went. I mean everywhere she went. Miss Congeniality of the dog set.

So briefly, here are some of the greatest hits of the Decade of Decadence a la Molly.

Molly peed in the backseat of our Nissan Bluebird on our first Thanksgiving. The smell never did come out.

The next spring, Molly raced headlong into her very first wave. As she barreled down the beach, David and I just stared. When she hit the chilly spring water, waves crashing all around, she retreated sputtering and shivering. She never went in the ocean again.

Molly used to attack my toes when she was a puppy. Molly wasn't well known for attacking things. But my toes knew.

She used to love to chase crows on the beach in Japan. They would flutter away and land. And the game was on again, with Molly chasing down the beach.

Everyday, she rolled poor Olaf down the hill by our on-base house in Japan. That poor little dog didn't know what hit him. He finally got wise and would hide behind us when he saw her coming.

Molly once ate a rock to spite us. We discovered something was seriously wrong at the start of a long 4th of July weekend. The Japanese vet charged at least an arm to extract the offending stone. Molly, of course, lived happily ever after.

Molly was nearly killed by snow monkeys. Ask Josh about that story.

Molly was adept at scoring unsuspecting pirogies. This is particularly impressive given her height vs. the counter height.

I twice found Molly eating mac and cheese at the kitchen table when David left the bowl to answer the phone or tend to business.

Molly once got lost in the foothills of Albuquerque. She was gone for over two hours and we thought the coyotes got her. She was just checking stuff out.

Molly used to be a mad backpacker. Believe it or not. The dog hiked miles and miles uphill in foul weather. I have witnesses.

Molly loved New Mexico green chiles. I only gave her the mild ones, but still.

Two years running, Molly scored the Christmas ham. And the quiche. And some rolls. You get the idea.

Molly never spent a day in a kennel. I think that is both a testament to Molly and to our friends and family. Shouts out in particular to Dave & Gina, Josh & Carmen, Abe, Kyle and our neighbor Pam.

Molly told outlandish stories that usually involved her leading a country or shady business deals.

As an old woman, Molly wore crazy hats and bright red lipstick. She drove a crappy convertible Cadillac recklessly and she loved bluegrass.

In her twilight she still marauded the trash whenever she got a chance.

Until the day she died, I never could leave a loaf of bread unattended on the kitchen table.

Molly loved to smell the roses. And the poo. She especially loved to roll in the poo. To David's chagrine.

And she loved everyone she knew.

For my dead homie, Molly Ann. 4-20-97 to 5-24-07