Molly was different, somehow. She would follow her person everywhere, and usually ended up sitting under a gray bench her person had set out just by the door of her shop, so that passers by could sit for a while. Molly would settle underneath, in the shade, panting in the heat like any other canine worthy of her species.
The shop sells quality antique and semi-antique furniture and bric-a-brac, perhaps a tad too posh for the village where I live, but a success nevertheless. Among the goodies on sale are restored or renovated items, one of which lives outside: Molly’s bench.
In fact, the bench had a little plaque that read ‘Molly’s bench. 2011-2014’. A memorial of fondness, an expression of gratitude.
Some mornings ago, the plaque had disappeared, torn away from its place in the middle of the backrest. Not a difficult task: it was only stuck on.
It was no longer Molly’s bench. Now it was simply a gray bench. Chained to the wall, of course.
But the question is: why? What would anyone do with the plaque? What purpose other than as Molly’s memory would it have?
The village where I live suffers from a very damaging disease: envy. It seems that its people, or some of them, can’t accept that things might go well for someone else. Especially if they happen to be foreigners, but not always so.
This is not the first time something like this has happened, nor, unfortunately, will it be the last. The heirs to the Vandals leave their mark all over the place; destruction for destruction’s sake. They have nothing constructive to do, either because their parents never taught them the difference between good and bad, or because they are simply ill born.
Can’t help wondering what on earth they might do with Molly’s little plaque…