Molly & Spike

We are proud owners of three dogs. Two of our dogs, Molly and Bud, are what we refer to as rescued death row dogs. We went to the Bastrop County Animal Shelter soon after we purchased our property to find a couple of dogs we could bring home – if they ran away, oh well. We would be giving them the best chance in life. It wouldn’t be long before we would realize these two dogs were very special to us and had fit into our lives and our place beautifully. They were smart and eager to please. We also owned an old pug mix named Spike. Spike came into our marriage as part of my baggage, but much to my relief my husband treated him with tolerance, kindness and love. Spike was ten years old when we married, and fifteen years old when the incident I am about to describe occurred. He is your typical “old annoying dog.” Full of snorts, groans, and not the least afraid to leave many special “packages” for me to pick up off of the carpet after a long day’s work. He had become obnoxious, and than once I thought my life with him was causing me a great deal of extra work and irritation. I must say my dear husband endured, and was usually the catalyst in keeping me calm – he helped me to see the humor in life with an old dog. But I remained irritated with Spike and how much work he was.

It was Good Friday. My husband, Dennis, and I were looking forward to a long three-day weekend. We had recently been through a series of events that were disturbing and we were happy to have gotten through them relatively unscathed. Our son, Russell, had been in a serious car accident, but came through with only a broken jaw. I’d had a biopsy, which was benign, and I would require only minor surgery. We were celebrating. That morning we had been to Home Depot and purchased some garden lights and a water feature. We were looking forward to spending Friday night at home, outside on the deck, enjoying the nice weather before the predicted storms hit.

We came inside Friday night about 11 p.m. For some reason I did not check the old dog’s bed to make sure he was in it. He was always in it. We would many times leave the back door open when we were outside so he could come and go. He would never go far. I must explain that Spike is deaf and mostly blind, and would mill around close by on the property, but he had made us quite comfortable in believing this would always be his routine. As we came in that night, we locked the doors and turned off the lights. We went to bed and all was quiet. I got up during the night for a drink of water, and as my routine usually is I checked to see if Spike was sleeping. I was surprised to see his little pug body was not in his bed. I assumed he was somewhere else in the house. Rubbing my eyes, I began to slowly walk around, checking his favorite spots. No Spike. I woke Dennis, and he suggested that Russell may have come in and seen Spike roaming around and taken him upstairs to the garage apartment he lived in across from us. This was believable to me, and after walking around in the night with a flashlight and Molly and Bud, I decided this was what had happened.

At 7 a.m. Saturday morning, Dennis went upstairs to Russell’s door – only to fine that Spike was not there. Then the panic set in. Anyone who’s ever loved and cared for a dog can imagine what this would be like. Especially if you’ve ever had a dog so long that you’re life just doesn’t seem normal if they’re not a part of it. Spike was given to my daughter, Leigh, when she was just eight years old as a Christmas present from her Dad. Spike popped out of a box with a red bow on his neck – adorable – and with his happy nature, he was easy to fall in love with.

Saturday morning I was up and out walking early with Bud and Molly. We walked the property until the rain started around 10:30 a.m. I then went to the local HEB and bought groceries for the Easter weekend, and poster board to post signs. I called the vet, and Bastrop County Animal Shelter, all of whom were very supportive. The poster board read “LOST DOG, OLD PUG,” and our phone number was placed all around. The rain continued, and I started to feel very sad and desperate. There was no more searching Saturday.

Sunday was worse. The rain pounded. The temperature dropped twenty degrees. I had to prepare Easter dinner for my family. Between preparing the pork roast and potato salad I cried. I looked out the window, imagining I saw Spike at the back of the property, slowing making his way home to us. I roamed around and finally decided it was time to call Spike’s real mom, my youngest daughter, Leigh. The sound in her voice was one I will never forget. She loved this old dog so much, and he was such a part of her life! It killed me to tell her that he was missing, and mostly, I felt it was my fault as he had disappeared on my “watch.” Sunday night she asked me as we spoke what I really thought had happened to him. I had heard several stories over the weekend from people who said they’d had old dogs that crawled off to die. I know that’s what many dogs do. But when she asked me what I thought, I told her I really thought he was still out there alive. She said she believed he was alive, too.

Monday morning the weather had cleared. I called my supervisor and told her of my plight. I told her I had to keep looking for my old dog. She understood completely. I was walking at 8 am. that Monday morning up and down the road outside our property in case he’d gone out on the road and had been hit by a car. Several of the neighbors stopped to see if we’d found Spike. You meet some really nice people when you’re looking for a dog. Everyone can remember that first pet, that dog or cat that touched your heart before the first love ever did.

After I walked down the road, I came back to our property and a novel idea hit me. Molly, who is always by my side, was pacing ahead and happy to be for a walk. It dawned on me that she was a lab with a great sense of smell. I decided to follow instead of lead. I said, “Molly, where is Spike?” She didn’t react in any special way, but she picked up a pace, and I followed. We went all through the back of our property. Through the thick underbrush, around, over, this way and that. She had her nose down, but still by her expression, I wasn’t sure what was up. But we were moving, and with time becoming a major factor I figured what did I really have to lose? She led me to the back corner of our property. At this point we came to a barbed wire fence. She went under (she’s a big girl – 110 pounds – went through without hesitation). She stepped out onto a high spot on the other side of the fence. I stood and watched her – she stood, and looked around. Then she seemed to stare down for a long time. Not like she would if she was looking for a rabbit or lizard – more thoughtful and less playful. And then, she turned her big head back and looked me full in the face. I knew I now needed to climb the barbed wire fence and stay with the big girl. I did, and she moved down an embankment. She was not in my view, but I’d seen where she’d gone, and was determined to stay with her if I could. The ground was muddy and not easy hiking, but I tried to keep up. After awhile, and having her in my vision now and again, I heard a sound. When I heard it, there was no doubt I heard a whine. My old dog’s whine, weak, but nonetheless a sound I was very familiar with. My heart started pumping, and I was running! I saw Molly again, still leading. I came to a very steep incline, and when I reached the top and down I saw Spike. He had fallen into a ravine and was circling in desperation – hope dwindling from his little heart, I’m sure – wondering where the people who’d cared for him so well all his life had gone!

I slid down on my bottom, maybe fifteen feet on a muddy incline to the bottom of a ravine that would have been impossible for him to climb out of. After three days of him being out in inclement weather, I don’t know if I can describe how I felt when I got to him and picked him up in my arms. I held him and let him lick my face while I cried like a baby. Molly seemed to understand that this was some sort of event, and she watched us soulfully.

We regrouped, and started a difficult steady climb to the top of the ravine. Spike weighs 30 pounds, so this was no easy task. We made it to the top. Spike is home, and he seems a changed dog. He watches me, and seems unsure of himself. I’ve changed, too – I feel grateful he didn’t have to die the kind of death he would have died had we not looked for him. I am more willing to endure the weird behavior of an old dog now. When I look at Molly I see her differently, too. I have a new-found appreciation for her heart, soul and strength – she’s my hero.

Postscript to this story: Spike passed at a ripe old age. Molly, too, passed from medical complications. Bud’s current canine companion is Maggie.

~ Carol Grigsby, Fat Cat Kitchenware & Catering, Bastrop