If you are interested in Molly, please apply via Rehome a dog | RSPCA Chesterfield and North Derbyshire

Her eyes, neither truly open nor entirely closed, flutter gently. Her tongue rolls itself in and out of her mouth with a deliberate, metronomic rhythm, once every three or four seconds. Molly is seated upon a volunteer’s lap, her back towards them; her shape melts softly into the lap’s contours. The volunteer is pressing her thumbs lightly along Molly’s shoulders, her fingertips – splayed like butterfly wings – tickle at the edges. Molly’s contentment is utter and complete.

I step by quietly, so as to not disturb the scene, though it probably would’ve taken something akin to rampaging elephants to wake her from her reverie. I don’t know how long they’ve been sat like this – minutes, hours, lifetimes, eternity? – but Molly is in no rush to conclude it.

There are any number of vignettes I could’ve used to highlight Molly’s qualities, but this one – at that precise moment – seemed to capture her best. Her ease, her stillness, her personability, her gentleness but, more than that, it gives a sense of how, by adopting Molly, you are not simply acquiring a pet or a companion – for such words still imply a distance of a kind, a separateness – no, to adopt Molly would be more like acquiring another limb, or another chamber within your heart. As her folds of skin shaped themselves around the volunteer’s lap, the point at which the one ended and the other began became entirely unclear. That is what adopting Molly involves.

Molly is a sweetheart-and-a-half. Everyone loves her, everyone. But then, how could they not? How could they resist when Molly throws herself to the floor, shows her belly to the sky – like an offering to the gods – and politely demands tickles? How could they be anything other than besotted when Molly laps at the tip of their nose with her tongue?

Can you resist her?

Written by Richard Grainger | Animal Care Assistant