MOLLY

Molly came to us during a cold February in Texas, just after we’d moved onto our land.

Along the fence, two young Pointer mixes huddled day after day, shivering, nearly hairless against the cold—one white with black spots, the other mostly black.

We learned they weren’t getting the care they needed, and no one stepped in.

One day, my husband saw a metal rod attached to a collar, trying to keep them from escaping. We spoke up. Nothing changed. Finally, he couldn’t stand it and brought them to us.

We rushed them to emergency care, but her brother was too sick. We couldn’t save him.

We couldn’t give him the life he deserved, but we could give Molly hers.

And what a sweet girl she turned out to be.

Pink sweaters, warm jackets, little boots—she absolutely refused the cold.

She even learned to jump rope with us. I still have a video.

When Mikayla was born, Molly became her little guardian—gentle, protective, and watchful.

She spent years wrapped in the warmth she was once denied.

That’s how I remember her: our beautiful, gentle, playful Molly.

Forever our sweet girl.