Molly Invading a four-wiener house

Ken Carpenter

Molly Bolly Bobo became a Carpenter in a somewhat strange manner, which as many can testify is a sign that things are normal around here. Cats come from miles around to moon my dogs from the safe side of the fence, so normal is as always a relative term on Moyie Street. I hate normal.

I received a text from my wife Joy one day that I assumed would simply tell me that she was safely on her way home from Coeur d’Alene. What it actually was, was a picture of a large, shaggy dog followed by the words “She loves me, can I bring her home?”

After spewing green tea all over my desk, I laboriously crafted a reply. “We hav for dogs at hom now, r u nuts?” My texting skills are a work in progress.

Before going further, a little background is in order. Until April of 2008 our home was a five-wiener household. That was when we lost our beloved Neva, the only longhair of our Dachshund crew. She is buried in a tear stained plot in our woods with a rose, a hunk of jerky and a toy skunk. The poor thing was seemingly addicted to skunk juice, and would go to great lengths to search it out.

For months we would grab five doggie treats instead of four and get choked up every time. Sometimes we even fixed five bowls of food, which made our hoggish Murph happy but did little for our state of mind.

After a while it got easier, as things do, and having an even number to deal with became, dare I say it, normal. Adding to the herd was rarely discussed, and when it was it was pooh poohed by one or the other of us. Usually, all right already, always, by me.

There is a framed picture in our house of Joy’s favorite pet from the past, a Bouvier named Brianna. Bouviers were bred in Flanders by a batch of monks who wanted a working farm dog, good for herding or pulling carts, a steady and fearless dog of even temperament. They succeeded, and the shaggy Bouviers were the result.

Bouviers have many nicknames, my favorite being Vuilbard (dirty beard), for they could easily be related to one of ZZ Tops’ guitar players. Their beards are magnificent, and as I would learn they are quite often either wet or dusty.

As luck would have it, on Joy’s ride home that fateful day she decided to stop by the Sandpoint animal rescue second hand store. As she approached the complex she saw a Bouvier being walked down the sidewalk by a young girl. I’m sure she cooed out loud at the sight.

Within ten minutes she was sequestered in a private room with Molly, the smiling, black Bouvier in question. It was love at first sight, and the texts began. The last one in the sequence was by me, a manly semi-ultimatum that said, (text errors corrected), “Just do the right thing, whatever that may be.” In my mind, I was convinced that the right thing was four Carpenter dogs. Silly me.       

Molly walked into the yard like she owned it, grinning and wagging her tail, ignoring the surprisingly subdued snarls from the wieners. I refrained from snarling myself, settling for a low-key scowl. It evaporated when Molly walked straight up to me and put her chin on my thigh, peering up at me through her bushy brows. That love at first sight thing seemed to be contagious, and I fell under her spell.

All the experts say that Bouviers are a suspicious and aloof breed, slow to show affection or trust. Molly is immune to those traits, and seems to love everybody she meets.

While the wieners were not nearly as aggressively hostile with Molly as they are with most dogs, they were supremely unhappy with the new situation. Molly is oblivious, naturally assuming that she is loved by all. Eventually she will be, but Sadie is still showing signs of rebellion.

Maybe she doesn’t like the idea that Molly weighs as much as the four wieners put together. As a result we now have a bigger doggie door too, since poor Molly spent half her time with just her head protruding from the wiener sized opening, sadly spying on the sun spanked wiener clan.

My mother-in-law initially called the new family member Molly Vous Vous (Voo Voo), thinking that it was French for Bow Wow. It turns out that vous means you, but in any event my traitorous ears heard Boo Boo.

Being the rhyming sort, I now call her Molly Bolly Bobo, thinking that Bobo was a tad bit more dignified than Booboo. She is a joy to have around and in just a short time has become a treasured member of the family.

The sad thing is, I no longer have the most majestic beard in the house.

At least I have the cleanest one.