Published on October 11, 2004 By katie liz In Dogs
So Mollie spent a lot of her first year going out and about with me to all the different happenings in Algonquin, IL, summer '96.
We went over to Lee's house a lot, who is the one that drove us to the pet store in the city, and over to Mike's who was Lee's
neighbor and had at least 13 cats. We also went to the spectacle that is Algonquin Founder's Day, which included a parade, a
carnival, bands, parties and fireworks. When Mollie was tired I carried her, or we stopped and rested and watched the world go
by. We walked all over that town, and Mollie met all of my friends, and some of the people I thought were friends but weren't.
She got used to people and animals real quick, and pretty soon I could take her anywhere with or without a leash, and not have
to worry about what she might do. Sure she like to chase bikes a little bit, but hey. She never knocked anyone off of one.

The one place she didn't appreciate other people or animals, and really was bluntly antisocial, was at home. This of course was
a big problem for my parents who had tons of comings and goings of U.P.S. men, interior designers, cleaning crews, lawn care folk,
and the like. So my folks did what any fast money baby boomers would do, they set up for a personal dog trainer to come and meet
with Mollie and I, apparently to teach us some manners. I went once and my mind is a little fuzzy on the whole scene, but I remember
Mollie pleading with her eyes to put an end to the whole situation. And I can still hear that floofy trainers shrill voice saying Good
Grrrrrl, Good Grrrrl. If only I would have known what a obnoxious catch phrase that whole grrrrl thing would be, I could've got in on it.
ANYWAYS. I think my dad might of met with the trainer a few more times, but I preferred to walk Mollie on my own thank you.

We would go down to this gravel-pit-turned-forest-preserve called the Hollows. Mollie would lead the way about 10 feet ahead and
thats it. She always stayed real close. We skipped the main trails and explored the whole park. There were some stone foundations pretty
close to the edge of the grounds, and there were some cars half buried in the middle of the forest. There were a lot of hills and sunny
meadows and sandy beaches. Mollie loved those, would whip around in the sand, digging it up and splashing in the water. Our favorite
path was one that started in one of the picnic groves, and was marked by a no hiking sign (i know). That usually assured that we would
have the path to ourselves. The path went up and down little hills, through the big forest into the sunnier meadow toward the water, Right
on the edge of the woods and the grass there was a beautiful little pine tree, about 6 feet tall. I always liked to stop and admire it and
Mollie would wait at the top of the last steep hill before our favorite little beach, looking down at me with her tail curled up tight and her
ears up straight.

Another thing we would do is walk through the neighborhood to all the places I used to explore as a child. We would go down to the marina
and I would buy a pop and we would watch the boats come and go, and look out over the docks, or we'd walk down by the river park and
watch the ducks and the fire trucks. We also would walk down to the little neighborhood playground. By then they had taken out that gigantic,
horrible, metal slide whose stairs I tumbled backward down as a young child, and they'd replaced it with your standard recycled tough, plastic,
not-so-high-as-to-pose-any-threat-or-excitement, equipment. So me and Mollie had fun on that, I taught her to climb up and go down the slide
and she loved to play tag while scampering all over the jungle gym. She also like those little chair digger toys. I would sit on one and dig in the
sand and move it around and she loved it. She just thought it was the greatest thing, digging in the sand. She would go crazy, flinging sand
all over herself and me.

I miss her.

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