I was trying to wait to write about this until I could do it without crying, but realizing that's probably never going to happen, here goes...
My Molly died.
My sweet, 13 year old, waggy-tailed dog.
Constant companion with Frito smelling feet.
She was old and tired and eaten up with cancer and it would be selfish for me to try and make her live longer.
But oh, how broken my heart is...
I know some people will discount my feelings, but my pain is real.
And that's okay.
Because I know that God has a reason for creating a special animal that desires nothing but to love on you and be loyal to you even when you yell at them, shove them out the door, and make them sleep on the floor.
Dogs are a constant reminder of God's unfailing and unconditional love. We treat Him the same way we would a mangy dog, but He just keeps coming back for more.
I am so grateful that my Molly girl was around as long as she was, following me all over the house and laying by the bathtub waiting for me to get out of the shower.
She was famous for licking any exposed skin she could get close enough to, especially feet. It may be weird or gross, but it actually felt really good whenever my feet were hurting.
I never thought I would miss picking up knocked over trashcans, pulling soggy-half eaten bits of paper (and q-tips!) out of her mouth, and having her wake me up in the middle of the night by standing on my chest, growling in my face so that I would give her a drink from the water glass on my bedside table.
My heart hurts so bad from missing her.
