This was Molly's bed downstairs in the Cottage in the Country, as my nephew referred to it. She slept here whenever I was downstairs and frequently during the night. But when there were thunderstorms, she was always in my room, next to my bed. I don't allow dogs on the furniture. At least large dogs like Molly. I have always loved this photo because it seems to capture all the sweetness and melancholy in Molly's nature. She died in 2002, I believe. Strange that I don't remember, but I'll check on it in my journals. She had bone cancer. I miss her terribly, even today. She went with me everywhere I went where I could take her. Her only flaw was what I called her "brief psychotic episodes," which would occure whenever she got out and was off a lead or tether. She could not come back inside when I called her, at least until she was exhausted and cut up by rocks she leaped from to cross and re-cross the creek.