Molly

Double-checking that he had the packet of biscuits in his pocket, Seb carefully picked up the two glasses from the kitchen counter, one in each hand. Carrying them towards the door, he soon realised they were too full, so he stopped and took a large sip out of both. The milk was creamy and sweet and icy cold.

He made it to the front door and pushed it open with his back before carefully navigating the stairs down into the front garden. Once he reached the footpath, the going was easier, and he didn't need to watch the glasses every moment to avoid spilling.

“Hi Seb,” the woman next door called as she watered her roses. “Off to see Molly?”

“Yup.”

“Tell her I'll see her tomorrow.”

He nodded and kept walking. It was a hot day and he didn't want to let the milk get any warmer than necessary.

“Hey, Seb,” one of his dad's friends called from across the road.

“Hi.”

“How was your first week back at school?”

“Boring. I can't stop, sorry.”

“Oh, I see. You're on graveyard shift today?”

“Yup.”

Continuing down the road for a couple of blocks, he turned a corner and the cemetery came into view, enclosed by a lichen-covered fence missing half the spikes from around the top. He crossed the dead-end street and entered through an old wrought-iron archway guarded by huge Morton Bay Fig trees.

Seb trod more carefully as he navigated the twig-strewn path between the tree roots, and soon he saw her. She lifted her head as he approached, and her tail started to thump against the ground.

“Hi Molly!” he said as he drew near. “I brought you a treat since it's such a special day.”

The old girl raised herself gingerly to a sitting position, leaves and dirt dangling from her fur. Seb placed one of the glasses down in front of her, and she sniffed it. He always brought glasses of water that they would drink together, so she waited until he sat down opposite her and clinked the glasses together as the cue to start drinking, then she lapped up the milk with gusto.

Seb drank his more sedately and read the gravestone for the hundredth time.

Mary Gretch

Beloved by all, human and animal alike.

14 May 1949 – 30 March 2020

“Five years,” he said. “You've been lying here a long time, Molly.”

She knocked the glass over and licked up the last drop of milk before looking at him with deep, dark eyes. Molly was a large black Labrador with a generous display of grey fur around her mouth and down her chest. After Mary’s death, Molly had followed her body to the local hospital, then somehow had known when it was Mary's turn to be buried and had followed the funeral procession to the cemetery.

And she had simply never left.

No matter how many times people tried to coax her, she stayed. No matter what type of trap people used to catch her, she somehow escaped and returned. Eventually, everyone stopped trying, and the neighbourhood adopted her, taking turns to bring food and keep her company.

Whenever Seb visited, he tried to play with her. Sometimes she would chase a ball for a few minutes or play tug of war, but it was never for long, and she wouldn't go far from Mary's grave.

Today, Seb didn't try to play; this was a sombre anniversary that deserved respect.

He pulled the packet of dog biscuits from his pocket and emptied the fallen leaves out of Molly's bowl before pouring the biscuits in. She devoured them all in short order, licked her lips, and lay down again, satisfied.

Seb moved closer and sat with his leg against her, and they simply looked at Mary's tombstone for a long while. As Seb was wondering what Molly might be thinking, she let out a sigh – the heaviest, longest sigh a dog had possibly ever given – and she turned her head to look at him before laying it down in his lap.

With a surprised smile, he placed his arm across her back and gave her a scratch behind the ear.

“Thanks, Molly,” he said. “You're a sweet girl.”

They stayed like that for another ten minutes until Seb noticed the time. “I'm sorry, girl, I have to go now.”

She lifted her head to look at him.

“I need to get home. But I'll be back next week as usual, okay?”

Molly's dark, weary eyes simply looked into his. He gave her another scratch and a quick hug, then got to his feet and picked up the glasses.

“Bye, Molly,” he said, starting the walk back.

When he was halfway to the gate, he looked back, as always, but Molly wasn't at the grave anymore. She was following him.

“Molly?” he asked, stopping. She stopped too, looking up at him. “What's up? I don't have any more food today.”

Of course she couldn't answer, so he tentatively kept walking. She kept following.

When he exited the gate, he expected that she would stay, so he stopped outside and turned to wave goodbye.

Molly looked at him for a moment, looked at the ground, then stepped through onto the footpath.

Seb's mouth fell open. “Molly! You're outside!”

She looked up at him again as if to say, “Where to now?”

The walk home felt five times longer than usual with Molly in tow. She didn't walk next to him – she stayed firmly behind – and Seb kept expecting her to go back. But every time he glanced over his shoulder, she was right there, keeping pace.

As they continued through the neighbourhood, he saw people inside do a double-take out of their windows. Everyone outside stopped and stared. The woman next door, now pruning a bougainvillea, actually dropped her shears when she saw them.

Seb didn’t dare stop to explain. He simply walked into his house, like any normal day, and left the door open behind him. Molly crossed the threshold without hesitation.

Once inside, she spared a moment to look around the living room, then she made her way to a blanket piled on the floor and lay down.

With a wondering shake of his head, Seb crouched down beside her and gave her a scratch.

“How am I going to explain this to dad?”

Molly closed her eyes and kicked out her legs to get more comfortable.

“Well, I guess you're ours now,” Seb said. “Welcome home, Molly.”

She let out another long sigh and fell right to sleep.