Queen Molly?

QUEEN MOLLY?

I was riding my bicycle down Chester Street, a sparsely populated part of town. While lovely during the day with lush coniferous forests on either side of the road, on an overcast day just before dusk, the dark woods were kinda creepy. I was peddling my heart out, when a red sports car sped past me, throwing up road grunge, spraying me as it went by. Yuck. Jerk!

Then, the car screeched to a halt, the front door flew open, and the driver stepped out, and threw something into the bushes. I watched the package sail through the air and land in the long grass on the verge of the forest. The driver hopped back in his car, sped away, throwing up more yuck from the road.

What the heck?

I quickly peddled to where the car had stopped, looking around for the package. I spotted it not too far from the road.

Getting off my bike, I walked towards the bundle. It looked like a black garbage bag. And it was moving. That’s when I heard a small whimpering sound coming from inside.

What the actual heck?

Cautiously, I ripped open the bag. Inside was a small-ish dog. It was alive, but hurt—there was blood and the puppy was whimpering.  

I gently scooped up the dog, garbage sack and all, gently placing the whole bundle in the front carrier on my bike. I have a rigid nylon basket on the front of my bike for groceries, or whatever. Today it was for a puppy. I took off my jacket, gently wrapping it around the dog to help keep it warm.  

I pulled out my phone and found Westview Vet Clinic, less than a kilometre from where I was. I hopped on my bike and slowly and carefully peddled to the clinic, careful not to jostle my precious cargo. I arrived at the vet’s in less than five minutes. I rushed inside.

“Someone threw a dog out of their car. I found it by the road. There’s blood. It’s outside in my bike carrier.”

The receptionist disappeared into the back, and returned a few moments later with the veterinarian.

“‘I’m Dr. Beth Wu.” We shook hands briefly. “Let’s see what we have.”

We walked to my bike. Dr. Wu gently uncovered the puppy, and had a looked at the pup. My little passenger wagged its tail.

“Hello little one,” said Dr. Wu.

She gently lifted the dog and carried it back into the clinic and into an exam room.  

“Let’s get the bag off of our little friend.” Dr. Wu told me.

She gently snipped across the top of the bag, and laid it flat.

There, lying too still, was a small black and tan pup. I looked—a girl. She opened her eyes, still not moving.

“Hey there little girl. We’re gonna help you,” said Dr. Wu.

Without touching her, she looked her over.

“There’s a wound on the scruff of her neck.” She looked closer. “It looks like someone removed the microchip from her neck.” 

“Why would someone do that?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Well, my guess would be that they don’t want her identified so they removed the chip—” she shone a light on the wound, “Probably using a not-too sharp knife.

I shuddered.  

She continued her visual exam. “Her breathing is rapid, and I think maybe her back’s been injured. She’s been laying too still for too long—it just may be too painful to move.”

I explained what I had seen.

“That tracks. We’ll have to take some x-rays, and do some blood work. She needs an MRI to make sure there are no internal injuries. We have an MRI machine on-site.” She looked at the dog and spoke gently. “But first, we’re going to have to sedate you because we don’t want you stressing out any more than you all ready are.”

Dr Wu left to get the meds. I looked at the little pooch.  

“Hey there, girl. How you doing?” I gently touched her chin.

Her little tail wagged, and she licked my hand.

“Well thank you for the kisses,” I said. She wagged some more.

Dr. Wu sedated the little dog, then had a tech take her to the back treatment area.. She led me out to the front desk.

“So, what’s going to happen now?” I asked.

“Well, technically, she’s a stray. We keep strays for three days to give the owners time to find them if they are lost, but from what you told me I don’t expect anyone will be looking for her. We’ll move her to the SPCA where she will be put up for adoption.”

“What about the cost of treatment?”

The vet shrugged her shoulders. “So, for abandoned dogs, we absorb some of the cost. There’s an emergency fund we can use to cover the rest of the costs.”

“How much will her treatment cost?”

“It depends on how badly she’s injured. The MRI alone costs about seven hundred dollars.”

I shuddered. Seven hundred dollars!

The vet continued. “Plus the x-rays, and anesthesia, bloodwork, and boarding. I’m thinking about twelve hundred dollars. More if there are other injuries I haven’t discovered yet.”

Twelve hundred dollars! Holy cow! That was a lot of money for such a small dog.

I took a big breath.  “If no one claims her, I think I’d like to adopt her.” 

I thought about my bank account—my very, very meagre bank account. “But I can’t pay all of her medical bills right now. Could I maybe, pay over time?”

The vet smiled. “I think we can work something out.” She smiled. “But, right now we have to sign her in. What do you want to name her?”

I hadn’t thought of that.

“How about Molly? She looks like a Molly.”

The vet smiled. “Then Molly it is.”

When Dr. Wu called, three days later, I raced over to the clinic immediately.

The vet brought Molly out on a leash. Poor girl was limping badly, favouring her left hind leg. She looked like I felt right after a particularly nasty fall off my bike. When

Molly saw me, she wagged her tail, and tried to walk a little faster, towards me. My heart swelled. I crouched down to meet her.

Dr Wu smiled. “Well, Miss Molly seems to be happy to see you. No one came looking for her, so, technically, she’s yours.”

I smiled widely at the vet. “That’s great! How’s she doing?”

“She’s is in okay condition. There are some bumps and bruises. As well as the wound on her neck. I’m a little concerned about her back left leg, though. It’s dislocated, but I’m not sure it happened when she was thrown from the car. Based on the swelling, it seems to have happened before you found her. Keep an eye on it.” She put her hand in the pocket of her lab coat, and pulled out a pill bottle. “These are very mild pain meds to keep her comfortable. Instructions are on the label.” She handed me the pill bottle.

“Now, what do we know about Miss Molly, here?"

I shook my head. "Nothing."

"She’s a miniature pincher, or a min-pin. We think she’s between one and two years old, so not a puppy, but not fully grown yet.” She smiled.  “Min-pins are great dogs. Loyal, active, clever, playful. She may try to take on other dogs, so be prepared. She doesn't know she's small. As far as I can tell, she's well-trained, so that should make the transition easier. She doesn’t seem like the kind of dog who would eat your pillows.”

“Fingers crossed,” I said, knowing that she could eat all the pillows, and I wouldn’t be mad. Who could be mad at those big brown eyes?

“There’s a little swelling on her neck around the sutures, but that should disappear in a couple of days. No need for the cone-of-shame — she can’t reach the area on her neck to lick. But if she does start pawing at it, I put a cone in the bag.” She handed me a bag she had been holding. “This is our New Pet Parent bag. Besides the cone, there’s a bag of dog food, some treats, a booklet called, So you brought a dog home! An introduction to pet ownership. And, if you have any questions, call us.” 

“Thank you” I said, peeking inside the bag.

Dr. Wu smiled. “What you’re doing is really great. Not everybody would have stopped, let alone brought her in to us. Thank you.” 

She shook my hand.

“Where do I pay?”

She took me to the desk, and we worked out a weekly payment schedule. We said goodbye to Dr. Wu, and headed out the door.

“Well, girl, it looks like it’s me and you!”

*****

The first thing—well, second after Molly had a long pee in the backyard—was show her where all her new “things” were. There were her food and water bowls in the kitchen, on a mat that I had had personalized with her name. I showed her the bed in the bedroom—memory foam on top of an orthopaedic base. There were toys and balls—canine’s choice which ones she wanted to play with. It seemed I was destined to be that pet owner—only the cutest and the best for my fur-baby!

I had borrowed a dog kennel from a friend, in case Molly needed it. I had read that some dogs like to have a “den” to sleep in, so I thought I would have it on hand just in case it was her thing. 

When I showed it to her, her whole demeanour changed. Her tail dropped and tucked between her back legs, her ears drooped, and her head dropped. This was obviously not what she needed or wanted. I walked over, pulled the blanket and sleeping mat out of the cage, and shut the cage door.

“Nope, Molly, not for us.”

I took the offending crate and removed it to the garage. What had happened to make her afraid of the crate? I couldn’t imagine.

I fed her, then myself. I leashed Molly up, and we went on our first walk together. It was slow going, but Molly seemed to really like getting out, taking in all the sniffs.  

Later that night, I showed Molly to her very lux bed. Reluctantly, she stepped in, circled a few times, and lay down. Then she looked at me with those big brown eyes. Heartless witch that I am, I ignored her, and turned out the light.

“Arrrrrhrrr.”

What was that sound?

“Arrrrrhrr.”

Whining! I turned on the light, and there was Molly-Dog, looking up at me, same big brown eyes, radiating sadness.

“Arrrrrhrr.”  

“You’re right. You’ve had a very traumatic day. You deserve to sleep in bed with me.”

I picked her up and placed her on the bed. She immediately limped over to the far side, circled a few times, laid down, and promptly went to sleep.

Over the next few weeks, Molly’s leg got stronger, and we were able to walk farther and farther. Working from home allowed me to walk her multiple times a day—before breakfast, lunchtime, before dinner, and a short around the block walk before bed. Both of us were getting so fit!

One day, maybe two months after I’d found Molly, we were walking downtown. Molly liked all kinds of walks, but she seemed partial to the smells in the city core.  

We were heading towards our favourite doggie bakery—or “barkery,” if you will. Molly-Dog was particularly fond of the pup-cakes, made with real marrow. Sure, they were expensive, but she was worth it.

“Sergey, isn’t that your dog?”

Both Molly’s and my ears perked up. The question had come from a woman walking towards us, accompanied by a man. She stopped dead in her tracks, and pointed at Molly.

“No,” said Sergey, not even looking.

“Yes, it is!” she insisted.

She stepped towards us. I took an involuntary step backwards, Molly scooted back, sticking close to my leg. I noticed, for the first time ever, the fur standing up on the back of her neck.

“Sergey, it’s Queenie!”

“No. Queenie was kidnapped. I am sure she is dead.”

“No, Sergey, it is Queenie, I’m sure of it.” She bent down, getting down to Molly’s level. “Come, Queenie—it’s me, Tiffany.”

Molly started to growl at Tiffany.

“Queenie! That’s a bad dog!”

I spoke up. “Her name is Molly, and she’s not a bad dog. She’s just bit freaked out by some stranger getting in her face.”

Tiffany stood up.

“I am not a stranger. I know her. This dog is Queen Freshis Fido, champion miniature pinscher—canine royalty! And she belongs to my boyfriend, Sergey Rostinov, descendant from the Russian Romanovs.”

“No. She doesn’t. She is Molly-Dog, and she belongs to me, dog owner extraordinaire. And, I’m pretty sure the Russian royal family were the Romanovs, not the Rostinovs.”

Petty, I know, but I couldn’t help it! She was trying to say Molly-Dog wasn’t mine. I looked at Sergey, royal wannabe. My heart thumped in my chest. He was the guy! The guy in the car. The guy who had put Molly in a sack, and pitched her at the side of the road, like she was garbage.

I pointed at him. “You! You tried to kill Molly!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” He looked away.

“What kind of car do you drive?”

“That is none of your bu—”

Tiffany cut him off. “A red Maserati.”

“A magma red Maserati Gran Turisimo, 4.7 litre, V8, 454 horsepower, 384 pound foot torque that revs to 7,500 rpm?” (I’m a bit of a gear head.)

Tiffany looked confused.  

“Yes.” said Sergey  So?”

“I saw you.  You put her in a sealed plastic garbage bag so she couldn’t breath, and you threw her out of your car.  You tried to kill her!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. You’re crazy.”  

He turned to leave. I stepped in front of him.

“No, I’m not. You tried to kill my dog!”

Tiffany, still looking confused, said, “You told me Queenie had been kidnapped, that there had been a ransom demand. And the insurance company paid it”

“That is true. This dog is not Queenie. Let’s go.”

Tiffany turned to me. “She does this thing. When you say ‘back it’ she moves backwards until you tell her ‘good.’ Try it.”

I didn’t want to try it. If she did the trick, she was Sergey’s dog. But if I didn’t try it, Sergey would get away with trying to kill her.

“Back it.” And, she backed up. “Good.” And she stopped. She was Queen Freshis Fido.

See!” said Tiffany, triumphantly. “She is Queenie!” She stuck her hand out. “Hand her over.”

I shook my head. “I think not.”

“She’s his dog. Give her back.”

“There is no way that I am handing Molly over to this psychopath. Who tries to kill a dog by throwing her into a ditch in a sealed plastic bad?” I paused. “A psycho, that’s who! No way he’s getting his hands on this dog.”

Tiffany turned to Sergey. “You want her back, right Babe?”

Sergey looked away saying nothing.

“Then I’m calling the police!” She turned away, calling nine-one-one. “There’s a woman in Bridges Park who has my boyfriend’s kidnapped dog. … No. … She says it’s her dog. … She won’t giver her back. … Fine.” She put her phone in her pocket, and turned to me. “The cops are on their way.”

When the police arrived, we told our stories.

“Do you have any proof that what you say is true?” the older cop asked me.

“Yes. I have video of the entire thing.”

“WHAT!” shouted Sergey.

“Yup.” I said holding my phone. “I always wear a helmet cam when I cycle, and I got the whole thing on video.” I turned to the police officers. “Would you like to see it?”

Before they could stop him, Sergey lunged towards me, grabbed my phone, dropped it on the ground, and stomped on it!

“Now you have nothing!” he yelled, looking particularly pleased with himself. “Ha! Ha! Ha!”

Molly lunged at him, fastening herself to his thigh.

"Get her off of me!"

The cops grabbed him, and cuffed him, and led him to their police vehicle. 

“Hey, Sergey,” I called. “Ever heard of the cloud?”

*****

Once the video was uploaded, it went viral, and donations for Molly’s care came pouring in. All the money went to the Westview Vet Clinic. They deserved it!

As for Sergey, he was arrested, charged with assault on me (and my phone!). He was also charged with animal abuse, a law that used to be pretty toothless. But it’s been changed. Sergey had to serve six months in jail, and pay a fine of seventy-five thousand dollars. I think the judge went hard because of all the publicity surrounding the case. Good on him!

Sergey finally admitted that he had tried to “dispose” of Molly because he lost his temper and had kicked her, and dislocating her hind leg. She had a competition that weekend, and wouldn’t be able to walk, so he concocted the dognapping story. Jerk!  

The insurance company demanded their money back and also had charges of fraud laid against Sergey.

The judge, much to my horror, asked Tiffany if she would be contesting my ownership of Molly.  

“No, no, no, no, Your Honour. A dog is not part of my lifestyle. Queenie’s a nice dog and all, but no thank you!”

Phew! That meant that Molly was mine, free and clear. Neither of us could be happier.