We’d fallen for the runt of the litter, but after a tough start she faced another challenge. By Karen Castle, 60
A fluffy brown puppy strutted towards me and my heart swelled.
But stumbling closely behind it was a bedraggled ball of matted fur.
‘What’s that?’ I gasped.
‘Just the runt of the litter,’ the breeder said.
My hubby David and I had come to meet a 12-week-old Cairn Terrier named Bertie.
We’d lost our beloved terrier Chippy two months earlier and, while it had been upsetting for us, our German Shepherd Bella had taken it really hard.
She’d become so depressed, she was off her food. So we hoped a new companion would boost her spirits.
And with his bright eyes and wagging tail, Bertie seemed to fit the bill perfectly.
But I wondered about the little runt who’d tottered in after him.
‘What will happen to her?’ I asked the breeder.
'What will happen to her?'
‘I’m not sure,’ he admitted.
‘Well, I’m sure,’ I said. ‘She’s coming home with us.’
We loaded Bertie and his sister — who we decided to name Molly — into the car and drove them home to Tarporley, Cheshire.
As soon as we walked through the door with the puppies, Bella’s eyes lit up.
She towered over them, especially Molly. But they weren’t afraid.
It wasn’t long before they were running circles around her, begging to be chased.
After a trip to the vets, Molly was given a clean bill of health.
The only difference between her and Bertie was her size — and she wasn’t about to let that hold her back.
If we left the trio alone, we’d come home to a house covered in toilet paper.
And it was always Molly we’d find proudly parading around with a soggy cardboard tube in her mouth.
She proved herself to be an excellent gardener too.
There was no need to do any pruning, because Molly would diligently chew her way through the bushes and shrubs in the garden.
I’d known she was a fighter from our very first meeting. She’d just needed someone to believe in her.
Molly and Bertie filled Bella’s twilight years with joy until she passed away aged 16.
Although they missed her, they at least had each other for company.
Then one day, I clicked send on my last work email of the day and looked down to where Molly was curled up by my feet.
As she stared up at me, I noticed one of her big brown eyes was slightly droopy.
I assumed she’d knocked it during play. But over the next few days, it didn’t look any better, so we took her to the vet.
‘We’ll try eye drops, but it’s possible she has a tumour behind her eye,’ she told us.
Unfortunately, the vet’s instincts were correct. And a week later, Molly was being wheeled in for surgery to remove her eyeball.
‘You’ve got this, little fighter’ I whispered in her ear.
David and I were sick with worry as we waited for news. But Molly came through the operation, and a day after we brought her home, she had bounced back.
Now, our resilient pooch is copy just fine with one eye.
On walks, she’ll move to Bertie’s left and follow his lead, allowing him to be her eyes.
They make a great team and I’m so glad we brought her home that day.
It turns out the best things come in small, furry packages!