It's a Good Night for Snuggling

Mollie

No two pets are ever the same. They all have their distinct habits and idiosyncrasies. My Mollie the Collie has been gone almost two years, and still there are days I miss her so much I can hardly stand it. My neighbor and I often recount some of Mollie’s funniest habits when we are out walking my current dog, Bosco. A squirrel or several deer can go by during our walk, and Bosco reacts as if to say, “Oh, that’s nice,” and then he keeps moseying along. But Mollie, by contrast, would have been bouncing off the ground, springing right out of her boots had she worn any.

One of the things I loved to do with Mollie was pet her to sleep. I would call her upstairs, and she would curl up on her pillow next to my bed. If I stopped scratching her head, her paw would come out and tap my hand or arm as if to say, “More, please. Don’t stop!” Then I would continue to stroke her head more and more slowly and gently. Her paw would come up even more slowly. I would lightly and tenderly pet her just a little more. Soon her paw would stretch out in mid-air, pause, miss touching me, and return to her pillow. Her eyes would close, and she would be asleep. I would then quietly tiptoe away and crawl into my own bed.

I recently remarked that I missed petting Mollie to sleep. Contrarily, I think Bosco actually sleeps with his eyes partly open. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when he’s asleep. His fur is so dark and his eyes are so brown, I have to look closely to determine if he’s really asleep.

Bosco

Tonight was one of those cold spring nights where it felt like winter snuck back into the picture. It’s a good night for snuggling. Bosco decided to warm up my bed and hopped up for some quality nap time. I stopped to give his head and cheek a gentle scratch. He surprised me with an outstretched paw that tapped my leg. I returned to stroking his cheek. Sure enough, he fell asleep in front of me and even closed his eyes. “It’s okay, Bud. You just rest.” His rhythmic breathing gave me a quiet reassurance as I continued to clack away on the keyboard.

Mollie had a similar mesmerizing effect when she slept. Had I not known better, I would have thought her soft snoring sounded like someone else was in the room with me. “What’s that noise?” I would ask as I sat up in bed. Oh, that was Mollie snoring in her bed. I would smile, sigh, and return to sleep. All was well. Bosco, on the other hand, seems to be a quiet sleeper. The other night, though, I heard him snoring. Yes, it was true, he officially snored. And, as a matter of fact, given the way he belches and breaks wind, I would say he’d rival a rustling cowboy.

Pets wiggle their way into our lives and never quite let go. When they leave, they take a piece of our heart with them. Sometimes I think a piece of Mollie’s spirit wound up inside Bosco. Occasionally, I see a glimmer of a familiar trait in him. That’s when I’ll look at Bosco and ask, “Did Mollie teach you that trick?” Heck, there were times when I thought Mollie could read my mind. She was so smart she anticipated my every move.

Bosco woke up from his nap tonight, looked over, and gave me a little lick on the nose—as if to say, “Thanks, Mom. I needed that.” I looked at him and asked, “Did you see Mollie in your dreams tonight? Well if you did, tell her I said, ‘Hello’ and let her know I miss her. Always have, always will.”