Ask Molly

With a friendly woof, and a tail-wag,

I'm back.  With advice for my faithful readers - both human and canine. (And all species in between.)

 

This letter comes from Terry Mae, a human in  Reno, Nevada. She writes:

Molly, I have always wondered why dogs stop and smell fire hydrants. Please explain. (I am also a human and not a dog.)

 

Humans stop and smell the roses. Dogs stop and smell the hydrants. It’s all good.

Love,

Molly

Molly's Back

Hi, to all  my readers in Internet Land,

It’s Molly the Border Collie and I'm back and posting again.  While my human was entering "Iverson's Vision Quest" on our blog, I was away in Scotland herding sheep with my good friend Fido Mac Dougal.  (all sheep are stupid.)  We had a grand time doing what Border Collies are born to do, but now . . .

 Fido Mac Dougal on gopher patrol

 

I have a project coming up and I’ll just give you a little hint.   I’ve been told that I have a voice like an angel. As a puppy, I tried out for the San Francisco Opera Company but they have this dumb rule that all their singers have to be humans. More will be revealed later.

This is Molly signing off with a howl.

Woooooooooooooof!  (That felt good.)

The story behind the story of "Iverson's Vision Quest"

The story behind the story of "Iverson's Vision Quest."  (Written several years ago and edited tonight.)
 
     Charlotte is my best friend and she is dying. She has Lou Gherrig's disease which means she's gradually losing the use of all of her muscles. Back when she was still able to drive, we took a writing class together. During one of the writing exercises, she wondered:
If you discover a fairy in your back yard, will the EPA classify it as an endangered species?
Will you have to file an Environmental Impact Report to dig up your petunias?
What effect will the fairy have on the native wildlife?
Maybe you should just call the exterminator.

     Anyway, Charlotte never finished the story, and a couple of months ago, she asked me to do it - but to write my story, not hers. Being slightly dense, it took me two months to figure out that she's giving away everything she has, and that includes her stories.
     Of the two of us, Charlotte was always the talker and I was the listener. I'm shy and frequently can't think of anything to say. Charlotte, on the other hand, never had that problem. So it was quite unfair that her voice was the first thing to go, and she had to be quiet, and I had to come up with conversation for both of us. She has a buzzer she can press that makes a ding-dong sound. It means, "yes."  That's about it.
     One great thing - Charlotte can smile and laugh, even now when almost nothing else works. Sherry, her caregiver says it's because the smile is involuntary.  Charlotte is incapable of just being polite.
     So I was talking about nothing, and suddenly looked over at her. And she just looked miserable. I couldn't figure out what was the matter. "Maybe I'm just boring," I said out loud.
     'Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong."  And she had the biggest grin on her face.She hadn't been able to make a joke in ages.
     Last Monday I wanted to read the part of the story that I'd just finished to Charlotte, but no one answered the phone when I called, and, when I drove by her house the van that accommodates her wheelchair was gone. I hoped they were at clinic. I knew that the day would come when I couldn't have my Monday visits. And I hoped I'd get to read the whole story to her before that day. Later her husband told me they had gone to the clinic. "I hope you weren't worried," he said.
     "No, I figured that's where you were." I lied. And Charlotte did get to hear the whole thing.
     So here it is. "Iverson's Vision Quest." If you haven't already read it, you can read the whole story by clicking the photo of the fairy to the right of this post. By the way, the description of C the Great in the green muumuu with the lame' slippers making cards - that's all Charlotte. "C the Great" is an in joke from when we were in our twenties.




Epilogue

     If you receive this letter, I have died. I hope you will miss me some, but don't be too sad for me. I have had a wonderful life, filled with love and lots of interesting things to do and learn about. I  have been lucky in my birth family and the family Mark and I formed. My folks gave me unconditional love and didn't load me up with a lot of emotional baggage. Mark and my children made my life a joyful and interesting one. Mark has been a wonderful husband and I am very proud of how my children have turned out. They are both beautiful, interesting, caring individuals.
You all, my friends, have given me love and encouragement and unlimited entertainment. I love listening to all  your stories, and you have all taught me something about life. I cherish every one of you.
     Even in my last illness, I was lucky to have so much support from hospice, medical professionals, volunteers, caregivers, and friends and my wonderful family.
     Now  a word of parting advice: In everything you do you are creating part of reality itself. Every choice you make is a small piece in the patchwork of the universe. If you believe in God as the creative force that makes everything, you must be a piece of God because you make the universe every day, by how you treat other people, by the way you decorate  your homes, by the work you choose to do, by the things you create whether they are works of art, or gardens or meals or groups you organize. Everything counts. so create well. And if you think of me, plant something green to contribute your share of oxygen to the planet. After all, I am a biologist.
     I had fun. Hope you did too. Goodbye. I love you all.
Charlotte.


This part is all true except that I've changed the names.

Iverson's vision Quest - Chapter 16

Chapter 16  To read from the beginning, click on the cute picture of Iverson to the right of this post.  He's the one behind the maple leaf.

     Deeply touched by the story, Thomas pulled out a hankie and wiped his own eyes and nose.
     "Will I ever see my family again?" Iverson sighed.
     "Well, said Thomas after a deep swig of Heineken, "I think we should see C the Great."
      "C the Great," Iverson repeated in wonder.
    "Yes. C the Great. She is all knowing. If anyone can help you, she can."
     They found C the Great in the middle of a field of irises making greeting cards out of bits of leaf and petals and strips of rattan. She wore a green muumuu and gold lame' slippers.
     Iverson bowed low in respect and told her his problem.
     "Are you an American citizen?" asked C the Great.
     Iverson shook his head.
     "Do you have a green card? A visa? A passport?"
     Again Iverson shook his head.
     Are you a political refugee seeking asylum in the United States?"
     "Mais non!" (But no) said Iverson vehemently shaking his head yet one more time.
     C smiled, and, as she did so, two robins landed on her shoulder, and a chipmunk scampered to her and rubbed his cheek against her ankle. "We must notify the Border Patrol," said C.
     "Qu'est que c'est que ca?" (What is that?)
     "Immigration and Naturalization. You're an illegal alien."
     "I never rode a space ship in my life!" said Iverson.
     "An illegal alien to this country. The authorities will deport you back to Canada."
     "Home, my family!" said Iverson beginning to hope. "I'll be home. But, sadly, my vision quest has failed."
    "Have you not journeyed?" C inquired.
"Well, yes, from Canada to New York, to the pound, to the front fender, and the ventilation shaft and the exploding penthouse in the sky."
     "And you have learned?"
    "Never take chocolate, especially a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, that doesn't belong to you, and don't turn anyone into a possum."
     "C touched Iverson's cheek and lifted his face until he was gazing into her deep blue eyes. "Your purpose is peace; your path is with mortals; and your animal totem is the lofty possum. And don't discount your vision simply because it really happened. Now wait here while I call Immigration and have you deported." C the Great flounced away with Iverson calling out her, "thank you and good bye!"
     Days later in Quebec, Iverson recounted his experiences in America to his family - his incarceration at the pound, the battle of Trump Tower, his new friend Thomas, and the wonderful fishy experience of lox and cream cheese.
     "Incroyable," (incredible) said his father. "Quell vision fantastique!(What a fantastic vision!)   Vraiment tu es un homme, en plein maintenant!" (truly you are a man now!) And he hugged his son, now a man, and kissed him on both cheeks.


This is a work of fiction, but it's really a good story.
     

Iverson's Vision Quest Chapter 15

Chapter 15  To read the story from the beginning, click on the cute picture of Iverson to the right of this post. The post won't make much sense if you don't know what came before.


     "This is the hero who saved my life," said Trump, throwing his arms around Thomas like a long-lost brother, while Iverson hid from view in Thomas's pocket.
     "But the terrorists  . . . Where is everyone?" The rest of the National Guardsmen were dumbfounded.
     So, like a dummy, Trump had called out the National Guard, the Blue Angels, the NY SWAT team, etc., etc., for no good reason. How embarrassing! "Gone," he said gesturing into the air and shaking his head.  "When this brave man broke into the room, they knew they had lost, and they blew themselves up. Their remains lie buried somewhere in all this debris." You have to admit it. The guy can act.
     Shortly thereafter, Thomas walked out of the penthouse with Iverson still in his pocket.
     "Shall we grab a brewsky or two?" suggested Thomas.
     "Certainment," (Certainly) said Iverson.
     Several brewskies later, Iverson became quite talkative. "In my family before a boy can truly call himself a man, he must go alone into the woods, there to wait for a vision - a sign that points out his way in the world and the meaning to his existence. But I have failed as a seeker of wisdom. I have seen no vision, and I long in vain for home - for my home - for my Canadian trees. They stand so tall you can climb until your head touches the Heavens. And the Rockies never lose their snowy hats, even on the hottest summer day, and when the sun sets it's as if the sky has exploded with wine and berries. And the birds - the geese and hawks and eagles and songbirds - they're all my friends and I know them and I honk and whistle and chirp to them, and when we ride the breezes together, it's as if the earth is playing catch with us and we are her beanbags.
     "And mon pere, et ma mere," (my mother and father) Here Iverson blew his nose loudly on his shirt sleeve. "My family, my home!"
     Weeping softly, Iverson broke into song. "Oh, Canada, my home and native land."



Still a work of fiction.

Iverson's Vision Quest Chapter 14

Chapter 14
 To read from the beginning, click on the cute picture of Iverson to the right of this post. (This won't make any sense if you don't know what happened before.)

     "Sacre nom de Dieux, " (sacred name of God) breathed Iverson.
     "Oh, you speak Italian," said Thomas.
     Iverson nervously eyed that front wall. 'Peut etre, a diversion,' thought Iverson and succeeded in pouring a pool of blackberry Jell-o just outside of the penthouse.
     The room stilled. Durst settled. As Trump timidly removed his muzzle - I mean his gas mask - Thomas looked at Iverson in wonder and smiled.
     "Enchante," said Iverson, "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."
     "Thomas also bowed. "Would you like some salami and foot cheese," he asked and  pulled a snack out of his pocket. A bond instantly formed between fairy and National Guardsman.
     "Peut etre," said Iverson, stuffing a largish hunk of the salami into his mouth, "we could get away from here and discuss le pax - the peace." And as a gesture of good will, Iverson removed the pointed nose and ears from Trump replacing them with Trump's pre-incident features.
     Sure," said Thomas. "These combat boots are killing my toes."
     Iverson tried to return Trump's hair to what it had been, but his magic wasn't powerful enough, and Trump ended up - to this day as far as I know - with a bad toupee glued to his head.
     Moments later, the front wall collapsed and dozens of Guardsmen poured into the room.

Again - this is a work of fiction.

Iverson's Vision Quest Chapter 13

Chapter 13

To read from the beginning, click on the cute picture of Iverson to the right of this post.

The first object to enter Trump's apartment was the butt of a rifle belonging to private first class Thomas Glimme, followed, shortly thereafter, by Thomas Glimme himself, all one hundred and eighteen pounds of him. Iverson had enough presence to conjure up a Photo-Hut sized boulder which completely blocked the doorway behind private Glimme, keeping the rest of the guard out of the penthouse, at least temporarily. Thomas squinted. Dust and smoke still hung in the air.  Shrapnel, crushed pottery, and pieces of furniture covered the floor. 'Like the morning after a really good party,' thought Thomas, surveying the scene. He looked under the remains of the desk and caught sight of the possum-my DT wearing what appeared to be a muzzle, alternately bellowing and crying next to an enormous butterfly-like creature in camouflage tentatively removing a gas mask from his face.
     Thomas's orders were to shoot to kill anyone not fitting the description Donald Trump, and possum-man certainly didn't. And he figured that Iverson was some weird new biological weapon of mass destruction, but Thomas was also a biologist, and couldn't bring himself to destroy these specimens.
     Meanwhile rifle butts and combat boots were crashing through the front wall of the penthouse."


This is a work of fiction.
Also, Chapter 12 has a huge oops in it. I repeated a couple of paragraphs. If you're confused, I've fixed it, and you can read it correctly (I hope.)