By Melissa Grant
OPINION – Melissa Grant
I still vividly remember the day my parents brought my baby sister home.
I was out in the backyard when mum carried her up the stairs to the front door in a capsule, with dad following close behind.
It was a huge relief to see my mum – the last time I saw her she was doubled over in pain while trying her best to eat some pizza for dinner. Dad helped her into the car and they drove off, leaving me with my Nanna who kept reminding me I’d soon get to meet my little brother or sister (my parents chose not to find out the gender during the pregnancy).
The next day dad returned home to tell me my little sister would soon be joining us.
When I finally got to meet my sister, what struck me most was her distinctive smell. I’d never smelt anything like it!
As I got my first close look at my tiny sibling, something else also struck me – my days as the baby in the family were over!
Would my parents become so consumed by the new addition to the family that I would get less attention? Would we still get to go on adventures together – would our park and beach trips become less frequent?
I needn’t have worried. My parents took a heap of time off work, so we got to go out together more than ever before.
The only thing that was a bit rough was we often headed out at 6am as my sister was an early riser. It wasn’t ideal as I was waking multiple times a night because I’d hear my mum get up to feed her.
Thankfully (for everyone) within a year she started sleeping through the night.
As my little sister grew, so too did our bond.
I always felt very protective of the little cherub, but to be honest I didn’t expect us to grow so close. Initially, I thought she may drive a wedge between my parents and I. Other than that, I didn’t think we would have that much in common.
These days, you could say my sister, now nearly 2, and I are best of friends.
She is often the first to greet me in the morning. Throughout the day, we play a lot together and follow each other around.
She is also very kind – she gives me plenty of cuddles and often shares her food with me (but I must admit I’m not one to share my grub with anyone).
We have become so close that when we go out in public I become stressed if I lose sight of her.
Although I don’t understand much of my sister’s babble, I’m pretty sure she tries to say my name.
My name is Molly. Molly Dorries. And I’m a three-year-old chocolate border collie.
I’ll let my mum (the regular columnist) explain…
Yes, this column is from the perspective of my dog Molly. Although Molly is pretty smart, she isn’t literate. But if she could write, she would have penned a similar piece.
The relationship between kids and their pets can be pretty special. The bond Molly has with my nearly two-year-old daughter is nothing short of amazing and definitely worthy of a column. Woof!
