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I remember when my parents first brought her home 14 years ago. My sister and I drove up to the driveway one day and she and our mom were sitting out in the front yard.
It was kind of a surprise. I didn’t even know they were considering getting another one.
There had been a brief period of time since we said our final goodbyes to our last dog, a black Labrador Retriever named Scituate and it was eerie without him around. It was a little too quiet, a little emptier in the house. So I could understand why my parents wanted another dog.
The new dog was a chocolate Labrador Retriever. She was small, soft and a little chubby. Her coat felt velvety and there was a small wrinkle above her brow. My father named her Molly after Molly Brown, the famous Colorado resident who survived the sinking Titanic.
It was a good choice in a name, not just because our new dog’s coat matched Brown’s name but because the dog shared Brown’s same vivacious, determined, cocky attitude.
Her first night with us, I remember sitting at the table and watching Molly chase an empty milk carton around the living room. She and the carton were about the same size, but that didn’t stop Molly from charging after it.
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