Molly Gallop is a sophomore at Hopkins High School. She is on the diving and softball teams for school. She also attends Confirmation class at Bet Shalom. She has a younger brother and a twin sister. She was never much of a writing person until she was inspired last year when she took Advanced Composition.
Prose, Grades 10 - 12: Third Place
Puppy Love - Molly Gallop
One night, Candy, my impulsive puppy, ran out of the house without a leash, and began scampering around, first in the yard, and then back and forth across the street. Every time I heard a car coming, I would pray that Candy would not run carelessly across the street, and I would hope the driver would think to slow down. It had been about ten minutes, and as Candy was darting across the street, a car came whizzing towards us. I was screaming at Candy to come back and for the driver to stop. Right as the car was inches away from smashing into her, Candy looked up and veered out of the way.
Candy was my second dog, the puppy we bought to get over the death of our beloved dog, Rosie.
Rosie was the perfect dog, with all the right “dog qualities.” She was loyal, loving, always listened, and was never upset. Rosie had been a present for the whole family when I was almost two. The day she came home with us, we fell in love with her. When my sister and I were little, we would gleefully smack Rosie and play tug of war with her legs; she would just sit there, and she would never growl or bite. She would lie next to me or bring me her dog treats when I was sick. When she was old, she would climb the long stairs up to my room, and when she finally got there, she would be panting and tired. Later, she went to the veterinarian’s office, and they said she had the worst arthritis for a mobile dog that they had ever seen; it was amazing she could make it up to my room. She was able to do that for several months until she died when I was thirteen. I was devastated and did not want to do anything. I could not accept that Rosie was gone, and I could think of nothing else.
My whole family was also miserable, so they thought the only thing we could do was buy a puppy. I was resistant to this idea because it had only been a few days since Rosie’s death, and I was still extremely upset. I reluctantly went with my family to pick out the new puppy; she was cute and fun to play with, but I did not feel attached to her as the rest of my family did. We took her home and named her Candy, with Rosie as her middle name. In my mind, this dog was nothing like Rosie.
Candy was an attention-craving ball of energy. She slept twenty-three hours a day and made mischief the rest of the time. She shredded my stuffed animals and teethed on our doors. She came barging into my life, and I knew she would not be leaving anytime soon.
A little while after we had gotten Candy, I remember being asked, “Don’t you love Candy?”
“I guess, but she has a big spot on her neck,” I answered, unenthused. When I thought about Candy, all I could see were her flaws: why wouldn’t she come when I wanted her to, why did she chew up my things, but most of all, why wasn't she Rosie? I was upset that Rosie had died, and I was taking it all out on Candy. For some reason, I would not let myself say I loved her, or let her sleep with my baby blanket that I had given Rosie. Maybe I thought that by acknowledging I loved Candy, that would mean I thought she was better than Rosie. Still, as I thought about Candy, all I noticed were faults. I knew being mad at Candy would not bring Rosie back or even change how Candy was, so maybe I was the one who had to change.
I remembered my mother telling me, “Don’t be mad at Candy for not being Rosie. All she wants is to be loved.” I needed to realize that no matter what I did, it would not bring Rosie back, and I could not change Candy’s behavior or looks. I had to accept the present, and I could only remember the past.
After seeing Candy come so close to being killed, I realized that I couldn’t bear to lose another dog, and I was so lucky that Candy was not hit. I started sobbing; I was crying for Candy and for Rosie, but most of all, I was crying for myself. I was mad that I hadn’t seen how much Candy meant to me, and I found that I truly loved her and could not resist the urge any longer.
I learned that it is okay to love again, and that I wouldn’t dishonor the past by doing this. I wish I knew this much earlier, but I am glad to know that I can love Candy without any guilt. I adore Rosie, and she is still here, in my memories and my heart. Rosie will always be the best, first dog, and Candy will be the one who taught me how to love again.