Under the kitchen sink, in a box covered with gold lamé foil and tied with a red ribbon, is the final resting place of Molly the basset hound.
Molly came into my life a few days after her owner, Brian, and I had our first date. Molly lived a full life and died a natural death, but there were many times that I wished the Animal Control SWAT Team would knock down our front door and drag Molly from the property.
Brian rescued Molly, and she had been with him for about a year when Brian and I met.
It could never be said that Brian introduced me to Molly. She introduced herself. Molly had Brian wrapped around her 20-pound paw and she knew how to work him. She had Brian trained to come at her call — a bellow that would not stop until she got her way. Brian was totally subservient to Molly, and she knew it.
Molly fully controlled the house, the yard and almost every other nook and cranny that her 85-pound frame could squeeze into. She was over the furniture, under the patio chairs, under the bushes, into the trash, into the closet, into your shoes and, in one particular instance, into my luggage.
The story of Molly and me, is not a love story. Our relationship was based on what she could get and what I could keep away from her.
Brian thought her behavior was cute. Or at least it was cute until the time when I had cashed a check and put the envelope of cash in my suitcase. I thought it would be a safe place because the suitcase was closed, zipped up and sitting on a chair in the living room.
That night we went out to dinner. When we arrived home afterward, we found the suitcase on the floor, the zipper undone and clothes scattered from one end of the house to the other. As I examined the mess, my first thought was that my bag had exploded. Then I noticed a torn bank envelope — devoid of cash — on the floor. And there was Molly, looking quite pleased … and full.
The tally for the evening? Martini before dinner: $16. Dinner at Carmen’s Café: $95. Bottle of wine: $38. Leaving cash in a locked suitcase with a basset burglar: $350.
There was no question where I would be getting my cash from. I took Brian’s ATM card, and we went and withdrew the money from his account. There was also no question where Brian would have to get his refund.
I was reminded of this story a few weeks ago when I was cleaning out the buffet and found the zipper bag of “Molly money” — bits of 20-dollar bills here and 50s there. When I called the bank, they said that I would need to send it to the U.S. Treasury with a letter explaining why I was sending them recycled cash.
As I wrote, I knew that under the sink in the kitchen, Molly was having the last laugh.
Sept. 9, 2010
Department of the Treasury
Bureau of Engraving & Printing
OCS/BEPA Room 344
PO Box 37048
Washington, D.C. 20013
To whom it may concern:
Enclosed please find bits and pieces of U.S. currency.
I am told that you require an explanation as to how the currency came to be in its current condition. To say the dog ate my homework would probably be the best explanation, as my ex had a basset hound who found cash in my suitcase and began munching on $20s and $50s. What you have in this envelope is what we found in the yard.
I am curious to know whether there are enough fragments to be reimbursed for what appears to amount to (1) $20 bill and (1) $50 bill.
Kind regards,
Richard Neptune
