My sister-in-law's dog, Molly, died recently. She was a sweet, graying Portuguese water dog, one of the gentlest pups I've ever met. She displayed a propensity for stealing food off the counter, refused to walk in heat, rain or cold and had an unhealthy obsession with eating dirt, but otherwise, she was an excellent pooch.

My kids also grew up with her. They don't remember a time before Molly was born. And though she didn't live with us, they somehow felt as if she were also a little bit "their" dog.

During the pandemic, my sister-in-law, who lived across the street from us, formed a little pod with our house and hers. We'd take turns hosting dinner and for at least a year, we saw each other every day. Molly was our pod's sixth member and after dinner every night, she would forage the floor underneath the highchairs and booster seats for the crumbs that small kids inevitably drop.

Sometimes I would see her on a walk outside, pulling on her leash, trying to get to our house.

"She thinks there's food on the floor," my sister-in-law explained.

(She was probably right.)

One night we got takeout from a nearby Greek restaurant. As my sister-in-law was delivering our part of the order to us, she unthinkingly left her meal in the kitchen with Molly. When she got home two minutes later, the gyro sandwich was completely gone, vacuumed up as if it had never existed. The only sign that Molly had eaten it was the terrible gas she had for the next two days.

I was a bit surprised that my children felt such strong kinship with Molly, though, as reluctant as they were to ever want to help me walk her when my sister-in-law was away from home. But, looking back, I have pictures of my youngest as a toddler on the floor with her, nose-to-nose, underneath the hutch in the dining room. The oldest used her back to keep himself upright when he was unsteady on his feet. They were always on her level. She was simply a part of their lives.

I knew we had to tell them when Molly got sick and someone would need to deliver the news that the vet hadn't thought she would make it for much longer.

My older son came home from her house, with tears in his eyes and asked me if I'd heard.

"I have," I answered.

"I feel sorry for her," he said as he picked at his dinner.

I told him I did, too.

"I feel sorrier for Aunt Amy," my husband said.

My sister-in-law tried to make the most out of the time she had left with her dog, spending nights at home and cooking steak to try to encourage her to eat.

Growing up, we always had cats instead of dogs. And perhaps because of my personality, I've always felt more kinship with standoffish cats than I have with needy canines. But there's nothing like a dog for leaving an imprint on your life. With a quiet (or sometimes not-so-quiet) persistence, they work themselves into everything you do. You maneuver around their quirks exactly the same way you do around those of a family member. You learn what they like and don't like, where you can trust them and when you need to keep a lookout (like when you've got a hot gyro sandwich on the counter).

They aren't perfect, but no one is and like people, dogs can have winning personalities that help them work their way into your heart.

There's the rare charismatic pet that transcends its hamsterness to fill a doglike role in a house, but typically, a turtle, a bird, a cat, a fish -- they live beside you. A dog lives with you.

When Molly died, just a week or so later, everyone, to varying degrees, felt the loss.

"Now I won't have anyone to keep me company," my younger son told me, through tears. I realized that for him, Molly was a silent but insistent companion, underfoot, curled up next to him on the couch, taking up too much room.

"It was the first time someone I knew died," my older son said.

For him, she was his very first experience with the finality of death, the painful truth all humans must acknowledge. He felt pity and loss.

Through their eyes, I began to see, for the first time, a dog's true power.

And though I'd always been mentally picturing a cat as our family's first and only pet, I listened with new ears as the boys talked about puppies.

Maybe one day we'll get a dog, I thought, then said to myself, "nah."

After all, I realized, there could only ever be one Molly.

We could never replace her.

To learn more about Georgia Garvey, visit GeorgiaGarvey.com.

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