Molly never made a lot of noise. She had a nice singing voice and would always join in the group howl, but she wasn't a big barker. She did like to stand on the front porch of the shed and bark at the dogs inside in the morning in order to get them stirred up and barking back at her. She would do the same with dogs in the kennel adjacent to the dog yard. That drove me crazy, but there was no dissuading Molly from doing whatever she wanted.
This collar let me know where she was. She would stand over me on the bed in the mornings when it was time to get up, wagging her tail, her butt, and pretty much her whole body, the tags on her collar serving as the alarm clock to let me know that we were burning daylight and it was time to get up. These tags were the sound of Molly.
[Molly died Friday night/Saturday morning from bloat, due to a bowel obstruction that was undoubtedly something she ate out of a blown over garbage barrel on Friday. Not many people know of this yet because I still can't bring myself to speak of it.]
Molly ran like any dog, but faster than most. She loved to race our boys from the dog yard gate, through the pasture, out to the front fence where they would all bark at the neighbors' dogs across the road. What Molly could do that most dogs can't, is fly. She was originally given up because she couldn't be contained and we soon discovered how true that was. Molly never saw obstacles, only hurdles, and she never met one that she couldn't overcome. Sadly, it was her ability to jump fences at a single bound that led to her demise, because she would leave the safety of the dog yard and/or pasture and get into stuff or go places that she shouldn't,. Perhaps we were fortunate to have kept her from harm as long as we did.
Molly was a foster dog at first, and was one of the best kennel managers that we ever had. She would teach incoming fosters the way things worked around here and give them the reassurance they needed. She could defuse tensions and break up fights before they even started. But her ability and inclination to jump and climb, combined with her utter fear of being indoors made her pretty much unadoptable.
Molly had no interest in being adopted either. She was ok at adoption events, but mostly she was scared, didn't interact much, and just wanted to go home. Molly had enough rottweiler in her to be smart enough to figure out what she wanted and how to get it. When she returned after an unsuccessful adoption attempt she would no longer stay in the kennels with the foster dogs at all. I'm convinced that she had figured out that she needed to live in the house with the other permanent residents if she wanted to stay with us. And that is what happened.
She was Emmylou's companion until two years ago, also about this time, when Emmylou died. Molly has been within arm's reach of my desk ever since. Aside from a morning romp, an afternoon quickie, and a sometimes forced late night bathroom break, she's had no interest in being anywhere other than the big dog bed in my office that she inherited from Emmylou. I loved that girl. I still do.
I'll recognize the sound of those tags when I meet her at the Bridge. I will hear her before I see her and she will come bounding over some fence, gate, bushes, or whatever stands between us.
I can only imagine that the Great German Shepherd Dog in charge of the place will be happy and relieved that finally someone has come that she might listen to.
This is the day we started down the rescue road, back in 2001. It's the day we took in our first foster dog, Maggie. 
Molly was a foster dog at first, and was one of the best kennel managers that we ever had. She would teach incoming fosters the way things worked around here and give them the reassurance they needed. She could defuse tensions and break up fights before they even started. But her ability and inclination to jump and climb, combined with her utter fear of being indoors made her pretty much unadoptable.
She was Emmylou's companion until two years ago, also about this time, when Emmylou died. Molly has been within arm's reach of my desk ever since. Aside from a morning romp, an afternoon quickie, and a sometimes forced late night bathroom break, she's had no interest in being anywhere other than the big dog bed in my office that she inherited from Emmylou. I loved that girl. I still do. 
I met Stonewall the rottweiler (or Stoney as he was mostly known) about 8 years ago when he was given up by a tearful young woman who had gone through a divorce and just really couldn't give him the time and attention he needed. I was still fairly new to rescue and rottweilers myself. We had Jack, and had fostered Maggie and her pups (including our Bremo), but I don't think we had placed too many rotties at that point. Stoney came with a pedigree, a full vet history, and a therapy dog certification. This was a well-loved and well-cared for dog. I'm a little fuzzy on the details, but I think someone at the vet's office contacted a client of theirs who had recently lost her last rottie. We first met at an Animal Connections adoption event outside Harris Teeter in Charlottesville. She had a rottweiler sized hole in her heart, a hole that could only be filled by another rottie. 
It was one of the best human/canine matches I've been a part of, where the person's needs and the dog's needs were just a perfect fit with what the other had to offer. Because they were so well matched, they were able to communicate at a deep level. Rotties can always make their wishes known, and Stoney was particularly expressive, using a combination of eye contact, vocalization, and foot stomping that never failed to get his point across. When all else failed and you simply refused to understand, he would apply the old rottweiler standby, passive resistence, and just refuse to budge until you figured it out. Stoney was also very empathetic and could read Mary Jane like a book. 
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