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MOLLY 
Her feet adjusted their position on the floor of the cage. The paws themselves were hidden; I knew she moved because of the tapping noise her toenails made on the metal, the same sound I had heard so many times on the linoleum of our kitchen. But this wasn't our kitchen. It was a large metal box, the cage closest to the floor, in a small, clean room that smelled of animals. 
I was caught off guard by the sight of Molly among these animals, and for a second I wondered why she was here. She looked the same. Molly was always beautiful. Her eyes shone, and the white fur ruff at her neck cushioned her narrow head. But today her Sheltie energy wasn't quite there. Her eyes sparkled when she saw me and my mom, but she did not bark the yappy cry that scared away the people who walked by our house in the summer. 
I glanced u-p and saw the bag ofliquid hung on the side of her cage. Through a tube it was flushing out the bacteria in her kidneys. My heart sank. Although she had the same outward appearance, I knew she would never be the same. Now I felt that if! barely touched her, she would crumble to pieces. Suddenly I felt afraid. 
My mom spoke in a cheerful voice, the one people use to talk to animals and small children. "Hi, Molly! Have you been a good girl? Yes, you have! Look what Anne and I have for you today-a banana!" That made me smile a little. Bananas had always been Molly's favorite food. Her unusual love of fruit was one of the things that made her special and funny. She ate a banana every morning for breakfast, and I told myself that if she could still eat one now, she'd be okay. 
I started to talk to Molly, too. It seemed speaking in such a fake voice made me relax. Mom peeled the banana and gave a piece to Molly. She held it in her mouth for a few seconds, then suddenly remembered she didn't eat food any more and spit it out. It was then I understood she wasn't going to get better. 
The next time I saw Molly was the following afternoon, when the carpool dropped me off at home. 
She was sitting under our kitchen table, on the linoleum where she lay to keep herself cool. For a moment I forgot that anything was wrong, so when the memory of what had happened over the past few days hit me, I felt overwhelmed. I wished hard that I could go back to the week before, when everything had seemed to be fine. 
I followed the sound of my mom's voice into the living room and curled up next to her. "Why's Molly home?" I asked, although in my heart I already knew the answer. 
"I brought her home because Dad and I talked with the vet, and we think it would be best for Molly to be put to sleep. Her kidneys will never recover, and we don't want her to be in any more pain than she already is." Mom went on talking, but I heard nothing after the words "put to sleep." 
I buried my head in a couch cushion, not even trying to squeeze back the tears. Although I had known in my heart what would have to happen, it hadn't sunk in until my mother actually said the words. 
My shoulders slumped, I went back to the kitchen and crawled on my knees to join Molly under the table. I lay my head carefully against her side, trying not to hurt her. I closed my eyes and talked to Molly in my mind. I told her how much I loved her. 
That's how my memory of Molly ends. I know what happened next. I know that my father took her to the vet the next morning and that she never came back. But I'll always remember lying beside her on the kitchen floor and never wanting to let her go. Whenever I see a banana, I'll think of that morning at the vet's office. And every time I think of Molly, I'll remember the happiness and sadness that come with memories of those we loved dearly. 
-Anne Atwell-McLeod 

© 2002 hy Nancie Atwell from Lessons That Change Writers (Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann) 

ApPENDIX A: STUDENT MEMOIRS 

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