That'll do Molly
“That’ll do girl, rest easy,” was the first thing she heard me say,
at five weeks old when Molly came home to stay.
We had big plans for this little black and white pup,
her short legs labored as she tried to keep up.
She played with a vengeance I hadn’t seen,
it was quite obvious her energy and wit were keen.
She herded the kids from this place to that,
for heavens sake – she even herded the cat.
Molly’d drop low and stare with relentless pursuit,
this ball of fuzz – so focused so early…. Oh so, so, cute.
Then Molly met sheep – it was love at first sight,
mutual adoration, not even, not quite.
The ewes learned quickly not to let down their guard,
it was only safe when Molly was playing ball in the yard.
We’d head to the field to train and a practice run,
this couldn’t be work – she was having too much fun.
First a right flank, a left flank, then a “lie down” command,
she was learning so quickly, life was soooo grand!
Of course, there were days, with young Molly ahead of her game,
she’d had enough training, and was tired of a “short rein.”
She’d set to work HER way, best that she knew,
thinking she knew the answers and the right thing to do.
With patience run out, “lie down Molly”, I’d firmly say,
“That’ll do girl, rest easy,” let’s call it a day.
She’d grimace, and loyally come, as I’d asked,
knowing my frustration would soon surely pass.
Then she’d look wisely at me, as if to say,
“Don’t fret my dear Ellen --- you’ll get it one day.”
With her work day done, there was much more to do,
she’d look down the road for the kids after school.
There were baseballs to chase for her little friend Jake,
exploring the ditch banks with Meg, and mud pies to make.
Digging in the sand box, or jumping on the tramp,
Molly wisely watched over her kids like a champ.
Her job in the family she took as serious as the sheep,
standing watch over her kids, by their beds she would sleep.
A friend to us all, and a guardian too,
we couldn’t imagine life without her --- what would we do?
Molly came into her own, a master at working the sheep,
She worked with all heart and her pride she did keep.
She’d wait by the 4-wheeler or in the back of her truck,
To get to go to work, oh what the luck!
What a beautiful sight, so sure and so fleet,
She’d gather the herd and all expectations she’d meet.
She’d work till she dropped, no matter the task,
400 lambs in the alley, she’d do it, just ask.
“That’ll do girl, rest easy – come for water over here,”
She’d come exhausted to drink – smiling ear to ear.
Nobody is sure, and no one quite knows why,
Molly’s seizures started that hot, hot July.
At first they were mild and few and far between,
The medication was helping, it sure did seem.
We slowed down her work, months quickly passed by,
Then her seizures got worse – “Why, God, oh why?”
Still she stayed loyal, and as sweet as they come,
but the strokes took their toll – her working days were done.
This saddened our friend, but she kept up her chin,
just knowing she’d get better and work once again.
The vet gave a warning and said we’d know “when”,
to call it quits for Molly, our dear, dear, friend.
Her last days were happy, chasing birds in the hay,
cheerfully she’d come irrigating each day.
The medicine weakened her body, as they said it would,
the seizures took hold, and her pain I understood.
I watched as she fought with all of her might,
exhausted and weary – this just wasn’t right.
“That’ll do girl, rest easy,” she heard me say,
as peace filled her body on that September day.
She looked up and smiled with her adoring eyes,
as if to say, “It’ll be alright, I must say good-bye.”
She nuzzled in on my lap and fell asleep that last time.
No more pain, no more fear, oh Molly of mine.
We took off her collar so she can run free,
No more “lie downs” or “take times” will there ever be.
We laid her to rest, three tennis balls in her grave,
The kids wiped their tears and tried to be brave.
We’ll miss you dear Molly, you’ll stay in our hearts,
“That’ll do girl, rest easy, and we’ll never part.”
