A Tribute to Molly ?-?-19?? – 5-9-2003 How do I begin? Molly was almost a second mother to me. She came into my life when I was 11. Nothing glamorous or showy. In all honesty she was a bland brown, had bad conformation, not even a good attitude, the white marks under her eyes seemed indicative of the hard, sad life she had hither to endured and her out-look seemed dismal, as if bracing for the newest nightmare. As she surveyed her small, inadequate field she twisted her nose in disgust. Any faint flicker of hope for a better life dashed. And the little girl with nearly white blond hair who showed so much interest, was she the new master? Was she doomed to more torment at the hands of a stupid child, doomed to more yelling, neglect, pain? This was her lot, nothing to do but try to endure, but in her mid to late twenties Molly didn't have the same fortitude she had had in younger days. What woeful stories were held in those sad eyes? What had her mother looked like and her father? How had she even come to be? Had anyone caressed the little wet face? Had any gentle hand played with her curly foal mane or eagerly watched her first wobbly steps? Molly without a home, a bad past and apparently without a future had come to live with me. As stupid as the child was, Molly soon realized that she was not all that bad. Twice a day, rain or shine, heat or cold, the foolish, yet good hearted child made her way out to the old tool shed now serving as her stable to give her sweet grain and hay. Even her water was kept full and fresh–so, things had improved. At least starvation seemed at a distance. But still to trust these people? Impossible! At the sound of the house door opening Molly ran as far away as possible. She knew all the tried and true methods of not being caught. The best way to avoid abuse was to stay out of reach, heaven help if you eventually did get caught. But this time it was different. Although it was apparent that the dumb kid and her family were frustrated and disappointed with her, no whips, clubs, fists or even angry obscenities erupted. The saddle was brought and securely fastened and life went on as if there had never been a problem–this was new. Had she ever been a part of a family this gentle albeit naive before? Rides together came to be long fun excursions in the woods and fields. Often they treasured the sights of deer racing off into more remote parts, Hawks or owls only feet away, apparently oblivious to their intrusion. Together they found favorite spots for grazing and contemplating all the big questions of life. Often the child fast becoming a young woman would walk up and down on the steep ridges saving the riding for when the terrain was easier, or else together they would find an easier way to their destination. Sometimes in the fall the ride detoured to the big old apple tree where they picked and ate sweet, crispy apples. Once in December before the snow and cold brought their rides to an end they cut a Christmas tree and drug it home tied to the saddle horn. Even though it was a little scary Molly would even help clean up the garden by hauling the corn stalks away. Yes, those were the care-free days. Molly at last had a loving home. The child, in spite of all she didn't know, learned fast and was never afraid to apologize. In short order the pasture was enlarged several times, after a few years another Mule came, Soon the child was also farrier. Yes, Molly at last found someone to trust. No longer did she run at the sound of the door opening, Nor was there even need for a halter. So well did the child and mentor know each other that on rides the reins were hardly touched. The only direction given was by thought. Often the child would ride without anything except a tight hold on Molly's soft mane.   When Tori joined the family she came along on rides. And although Tori seemed to love nothing better than to tease Molly, deep down Tori thought the world of her. When Molly's knees felt too painful, Tori stayed close by, loath to leave her even for food. At those times the near grown child would carry Molly's food out to her in the field usually on top of her favorite hill. There the young woman would sit and stroke, sing or talk in tones that only Molly understood as she ate often from her hand. These were Molly's quiet days, Long rides over, only occasional leisurely walks. Happy years of training the child nearly over she could rest in her job well done and enjoy her fleeting golden moments of careless ease, surrounded by love and mutual trust. ************************************** Thank you Molly for all you taught me, for all your patient, gentle ways. Each moment we shared I treasure. Remember the dandelion chain I made for you? The frosty mornings and gold and red leaves and rides to neighbors? Do you remember the times we spent at our favorite spot on the ridge? Or the Red-Tail Hawk we rode beneath along the trail? Did it make you feel good to be vacuumed and get your mane and tail braided? Did your bumble-bee blanket keep you warm your last winter? If you had had a choice, would you have chosen to live your last days with me?  I'll see you in the Morning Molly. I love you.   Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable. All the animals who have been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind. They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. Her bright eyes are intent; her eager body begins to quiver. Suddenly she begins to gallop from the group, flying over the green grass, her legs carrying her ever faster. You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart. Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together ...   ****************************** In memory of all those special critters in my life who are resting until Jesus comes. Pip (chicken), Bissy & Packy (dwarf hamsters) Ramsy (lamb) Kittener and Grizzly         Note: Inclusion of "Rainbow Bridge" does not imply total endorsement of theology. While I do believe I will be reunited with my beloved animalian friends in Heaven, I believe that they are presently sleeping in their graves until they too hear Jesus call them forth and together we can share in the delights of the earth made new!