My favorite rescued breeder boxer girl, Molly
It Takes a Village
From "Lost Souls: Found! Inspiring Stories about Boxers":
Before coming to live with me, Molly spent her days in a Missouri puppy mill’s cement block kennel, giving birth to litter after litter of pups who were designated to go to pet stores across the country. Molly was over-bred, under-socialized, painfully shy, and looked just plain scared to death. After years of “service,” Molly’s reward was to be dumped on the side of a busy freeway. A passerby alerted authorities after seeing the stray dog, and the hunt was on. It took Missouri animal control two weeks to capture Molly and transfer her to Minnesota Boxer Rescue (MNBR), an organization with a reputation for saving these breeding girls. When I adopted her, Molly did not know about houses, doorways, or leashes. She kept her head down, eyes averted, and looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her up. We carried her into the house and she immediately sank to the floor. When I tried to gently guide her to another area of the house, Molly crawled on her belly, looking more like a snake than a dog. Her first day with us was spent in the fetal position with her head hidden and an invisible sign on her back stating: “Leave me alone!” On the way to the vet the next day, Molly panicked and squirmed like a hooked fish out of water. In short order, the collar and leash were in my hand, and Molly was down the street. It was futile to call after her (even though I did) because she did not know her name and was certainly not coming back. I pursued Molly in my car and enlisted a few policemen in the chase. She was spotted at a local high school a mile from my home and was gaining ground fast. We were just about to give up when a man walking a dog said he had just spotted Molly on the next block. I turned the corner in my car and there she was, running right down the middle of a busy road and headed toward the freeway. Then she was gone, and there were no more sightings. I had given up on the idea of ever seeing Molly again, but when MNBR immediately organized search groups, contacted hospitals, animal control centers, and shelters, and printed and hung 300 flyers, my hope was restored. Over the next several days we were called with many sightings: Molly scrounging through the trash on the edge of the freeway, a thin boxer drinking from a backyard pond, a dog lurking around some condos. Again and again, team members staked out the area to try to catch Molly. It looked like we wouldn’t catch her, until one day Molly made a gigantic mistake; she took up residency on a very exclusive, private golf course. That got everyone’s attention, especially the groundskeeper, Ben. Ben chased her around in his golf cart and found out where she was slipping under the fence to come and go. There was also a large drain pipe Molly may have been using as a hideout. At one point, Ben followed Molly off the golf course and cornered her in a partially fenced area at a local playground. But Molly, the breeder gal who knew no other life than a cement cell, desperately wanted her freedom and again managed to escape. Day nine finally brought an end to Molly’s adventure. She was winded, tired, and emaciated, and Darrick, a wonderful man who loved dogs and had been following Molly’s story, was finally able to corner her for the last time. Molly returned to my home, never to run again, but she still had a long road to walk toward becoming a family pet. As I worked with her, I started to wonder if she might be missing her last batch of pups that were taken away. I thought of the stuffed brindle Boxer I kept on my bed, which had been my companion for all those years I couldn’t have a real dog. I decided to give it to Molly, and she immediately started to grunt. Then Molly started to sniff, moving closer to the toy. When I picked up the stuffed dog, Molly stood up. I took the toy to the back door and placed it on the deck. Molly followed. This went on for several weeks, but how could a stuffed dog teach Molly to eat from a bowl? To walk on a leash? To cuddle up and accept love from humans? That was when I went back to MNBR and found Stella, a 10-year-old, happy, well-socialized girl, who had a good family life until a divorce forced her out of her home. Stella taught Molly everything about being a Boxer. Today, ten months later, Molly is making progress. She does well walking on a leash, as long as Stella is around. Now Molly is not afraid to go through doorways and play and potty in the backyard, but she is still afraid of shadows and will hide in the corner of a bedroom unless all the lights are on in the house. Molly makes grunting noises but does not bark, instead letting Stella alert us to strangers. Molly still does not play with toys, but she seems to enjoy watching Stella chase a ball around. Molly eats a few bites at a time from her food bowl and then runs and hides, but she does come back for more bites and more hiding. Stella has taught Molly how to jump up on the bed at night and lie next to her humans. Molly will follow Stella up on the couch, and together they watch out the window for me to come home from work. The greatest joy in my life so far is that Molly allows me to pet her. She will raise her angelic face to mine, and for a moment I can see a light in her hauntingly sad eyes, a ray of hope that life will always be this good. During these special moments, I might also get a tail wag or two, before Molly catches herself trusting a human. She will then run off and hide to compose herself. When Molly first comes back out to visit me again, I will see that hollow, dull look in her eyes. But as my hand stretches forward to scratch her head and ears, the light returns and all is good in the world. Molly is matronly-looking with her white face, although our best guess is that she is only around seven. She has calluses on all her joints that have worn to leather patches, but she wears them like badges of honor. Her shoulders droop a bit and she slouches when she sits, as if the weight of her past life is almost too much to bear. Her gentle soul shows in every movement she makes. Molly is cared for, comfortable, protected, and wants for nothing. No matter how far down the road to recovery Molly does or doesn’t walk, she will always be loved intensely and infinitely. By Lucy Blake, Minnesota Boxer Rescue