By the time she climbed out of the back onto the snow, cars were starting to pull over and people were getting out and walking over to the wreck.
Molly wandered in a fearful haze until there, she saw her. There was Betty, standing at a distance in a cornfield. She was facing Molly but didn’t come forward. Molly tried, in the most encouraging tone she could muster, to call Betty over as she walked towards her. She didn’t recognize her own voice.
“Oh God don’t run away Betty, it’s me.”
Betty slowly began to wag her tail and tentatively came toward Molly. She looked like a dog who had been reprimanded for stealing food from the kitchen counter and wasn’t sure if they were forgiven yet. Miraculously, she appeared physically uninjured.
A man and woman came over asking questions, which Molly couldn’t understand, or answer. The man handed Molly her phone, “I think this is your phone,” he said. Molly took the phone but couldn’t remember what to do with it and handed it back. The man informed her that his friend had called 911, and it wouldn’t be long before help arrived.
Molly felt cold, and realized she didn’t have a jacket on. Gently taking Betty’s collar, she meandered back towards her car for a coat and a leash, both of which she found strewn about in the snow.
She needed to call someone, she needed to call Frank. He needed to come get her. She took her phone from the man and still, she couldn’t use it. She handed it back and asked him to find Franks number and dial it for her. It rang and went to voicemail. She tried again, voicemail again. Why wasn’t he answering? She thought. He always answered his phone.
She tried to reach him for over an hour, calling his cell and landline. When he finally picked up she cried, blubbering out some details and a rough description of where she was. When Frank arrived, he apologized that he had, unbeknownst to him, dropped his phone in the barn while doing chores and hadn’t even noticed it was gone. He was walking by his house when he heard the landline ringing inside and had thankfully gone inside to answer it.
Fast forward to March 23, 2019 and things are quite different. Like, for example, Molly was six years older and having what seemed suspiciously like a mid-life crisis. She was turning 44 years old.
She had slept well the night before, and was planning to make a list of everything she was grateful for as a way of celebrating the day… the day she was born. The list included the health and welling being of her dog Flicka, her horse Benjamin, her family, friends, her own health. Health was a bit of a big deal as there had been a lot of death and disease in Molly’s family fairly early on; and it just kept on coming over the years. It was never something to take for granted when things were settled down in the death department. She’d also lost her first two Great Danes quite young, young for a Great Dane even, to very sad circumstances. She was grateful her current one, although recently diagnosed with Addison’s disease, was still alive. So, a list seemed like a good thing to do. She’d read in a self-help book that writing down what you’re grateful for is a good thing to do, gets you thinking in the right way. “The right way…huh,” she thought.
The day ahead looked promising, the sun was out, Frank was down to visit and they were making plans for the day. Frank had asked her to come out and watch the Kincardine farm the following week while he was away, which was very enticing. Molly was unemployed and not having much luck finding work since she finished her contract job at the local government services office. In fact, she hadn’t had much luck finding work since she quit her job in 2017. While she didn’t regret the decision to do it, she had never really planned out what to do in her career after that; except a vague sense to “do good”. The motivation had been to get away from her old job, and take some time off follow other dreams, which she did. But she had no intention of going back the way she had came.