Walks with Mollie

I actually wrote this post at least 8 years ago, but hadn't published it. Mollie is now in puppy heaven. I miss her every day. A while back, I wasn't working outside the home. The part I loved most about being home was my morning walks with Mollie - our golden doodle.

Once the kids and husband were out the door, Mollie and I would take a 2-mile walk around the neighborhood. She loved it. I loved it. Toward the end of our morning journey, we'd make a pitstop at my parent's house (Mollie knew the spot well - about a block away, she'd start looking at me questioningly as if to ask, "We ARE going to stop, right?) We'd always stop. My mom would make me her "special coffee" and she, I and my dad would visit for a half-hour. Mollie would get a bowl of water and lots of lovin', and then we went on our way back home.

The freedom to take a leisurely walk each morning with a creature that found joy in every step down to her doggie soul was such a blissful feeling. I didn't worry about anything. I didn't think about anything troublesome.  I let my ADD mind jump aimlessly from one thought to another - how cute Ethan looked when he hopped out of the car to go to school, the funny thing Zayd said, how much I loved Paul, how big Zach had gotten, and how thoughtful Evan had been -- dotted with thoughts like, "The sun feels great, the air smells so energizing, I can't wait to have my mom's special coffee and I wonder if I should try knitting?"

I loved it. But I had this nagging feeling that I shouldn't. I should have a career shouldn't I? I should contribute to the family income, shouldn't I? I should set a good example for my children by being an empowered and upwardly mobile working woman, shouldn't I?

I should.

I took a job. And what a primo job it was! Challenging, lots of responsibility, diverse, educational, great colleagues, an excellent career move and good pay and benefits.

For a year, each weekday morning I said goodbye to Mollie. At first, she would get excited as she watched me put on my shoes and coat - thinking "We are going for our walk!" Then, after a while, she would stand about four feet from the doorway and look at me with the saddest look - knowing there would be no walk, and she would be alone all day.

I too would leave thinking -- No walk. Just a cubicle with no windows, no energizing fresh air, no wandering thoughts, no special coffee, no chats with my parents and no Mollie.

I quit almost a year to the day I started.

I am very happy.

So is Mollie.