Leah sent us her letter to Molson on January 18, 2001. He left her side
(but never her heart) on December 13, 2000.

Dear Molson,
We were your third home. It was hard to believe that anyone could ever part with you because you were such a good dog. Sure, if there was a shoe around you brought it to us whether we needed it or not. And sometimes you forgot to return it where you found it so we ended up searching upstairs for the shoe whose mate was downstairs. But hey, you meant well right?
   
I had wanted a Golden for about four years when I found you. After a few years of pet sitting for other Goldens I knew what I wanted in a best friend. You came into my life at just the right time, when I was very lonely and feeling uncertain of myself. We fell in love, you and I, and we were always together. Your daddy wasn't sure he wanted another dog, but he fell in love with you too. Your blonde coat was beautiful, and you had the most gorgeous head. Everyone who saw you said that you were the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.
   
You were very playful for a dog of 7, and very energetic. You loved your swimming pool in the hot summer, and would splash in it all afternoon. You loved to chase balls, but you wouldn't ever bring them back.
   
When we walked, you stopped three houses from our house and looked at me, which meant you wanted to carry your leash. I gave it to you but held on to the end to keep you near me. That wasn't the way you wanted it done, but it was the way it had to be.
   
When I said, "Give me five," you raised your paw and put it against my hand. When you sat near me you threw your paw over my arm or my foot, so that everyone would know I belonged to you.
   
You sat with me in my office, practically under my chair. When I worked too long, you came to me and put your head in my lap as if to say, "Enough already." I would stop to scratch your head, and my favorite thing, kiss your sweet nose. I told you that you were the world's best and sweetest dog and I will always believe that.
   
When I came in the door you greeted me with your whining/grunting/growling sound, impossible to duplicate in writing. You walked in circles with something in your mouth to show me how glad you were I was home. I could have been gone 10 minutes or 10 hours and the greeting was the same.
   
I hated leaving you on the few occasions when we had to board you. I cried all the way home and worried constantly about you the whole time. I think I was afraid you would feel that I had dumped you too, after your other experiences. You never seemed to get over your separation anxiety. When you had the operation on your leg and we would go to have your bandages changed, you didn't even want the vet to take you into the exam room without me and would plant all four feet and refuse to move.
   
When Daddy came home and sat down to take off his boots, you stood waiting and planted your head in his lap for your ear rub. You would groan with pleasure and your breath would slow, almost as if you were in a trance.
   
You were tolerant and accepting when our little Doogie showed up at the door, and then stayed with us. You knew who was boss and she knew it too. And you were more than tolerant when I began fostering Goldens. The first one, Bear, tried your patience mightily, but you put him in his place. And when Chase, our second foster child came, you sensed that he was afraid and you were kind to him.
   
By that time you were sleeping more and moving slowly. You didn't always hear when I first came in the door. You walked more slowly up the stairs. Your last night on earth, I walked behind you on the way to bed, as usual. And I wondered what I was going to do when you couldn't make the stairs any more. I couldn't carry you, and I couldn't leave you alone downstairs. I didn't know that the next day, you would be gone and I would have to climb the stairs alone.
   
I knew that it was over when you couldn't get off the exam table at the vet office, and when you let them take you to xray without scrambling to stay with me. I stood and looked at you through the door, and you moved your head so that you could see me better. When they said it was cancer and there was nothing they could do, I couldn't bear it. Daddy was frantic. He kept insisting that we get another opinion. But all three vets at the office said the same thing after they looked at the films. I couldn't bear to take you home and have you die in agony and they did not expect you to live out the day.
   
When they brought you back in the room, I asked them for scissors and cut off a lock of your hair. Daddy and I told you how much we loved you and stroked your beautiful blonde fur. I filled my eyes with you one last time, and stood with my face next to yours while the vet gave you the medicine. It did not take long for you to go.
   
It has been only five weeks, but it feels like forever. I know that you are healthy and happy, and waiting for me, but there is a huge empty space in my life now. Doogie was very confused at first, and stayed as close to me as she could. We decided that poor Chase needed a break, and we have made arrangements to adopt him from the rescue. I think you knew that would happen, and you knew that if Chase was here we would take care of and heal each other. You knew that this was the best time for you to go. You also knew that I would never have been ready.
   
Because of you, Bear found a good home after he fostered with us and went through some obedience training. Because of you, Chase, was saved from the pound and now is well cared for and loved. Because of you, I fell in love with Goldens and knew I wanted to save as many as I could.
   
I love you Molson. Goodbye for now, world's best and sweetest dog.

Love, Mom