Molly

2.5 Stars, rounded up because doggo

First things first: I love Molly. The title isn't lying when it calls her amazing, nor exaggerating when it says that she rescues cats. Molly is is great - a rescue who was trained to behave properly and track missing pets (particularly cats, though also occasionally dogs) as an offshoot of her new owner's work as an investigator. According to this book, she's even the very first canine pet detective in the UK. There's really nothing not to love about her!

But this book... Well, there's quite a bit not to love about it, unfortunately.

Though it's interesting enough to get a glimpse into what Molly does and her dynamic with ‘Team Molly' while working, the narrative is meandering and repetitive far more often than I'd like. I found myself stalling out several times, struggling to pick the book back up, and even occasionally skimming the middle portion of a chapter or two. I get it: Molly's special, she's the first employed dog of her kind, she's been trained to follow specific commands, her working day should not exceed six hours in cooler months or four hours in summer... I don't need to be reminded once or twice per chapter; I promise, I can remember these details for the duration of a book.

There were also far too many moments where the author painted former clients in a rather negative light or used wording I found a bit abrasive and unsettling. It would've been perfectly acceptable in fiction, but left me uncomfortable thinking about how these real people might feel to see themselves discussed in such a way. Most of them were paying clients, some of them the family thereof, and I felt it weighed the book down to see such caricatures of actual people rather than either more nuanced (or more favourable yet vague) descriptions.

At one point, Butcher describes a time when Molly was injured by wildlife while searching the woods per a client's request. The client merely asked and he agreed even though he knew Molly was overworked at the time. Later, he recalls the situation with wording which implies the client did something wrong by making a request which Colin had every chance to refuse yet chose to accept. He refers to the lesson he learned from this as one to “not cave to clients' demands” as if she'd been demanding. I can't help but cringe a bit on the inside reading such a thing, hoping that this client never reads the book and sees the indirect blame placed on her for a terrible situation where Molly was harmed. It also felt a bit like a cop-out, since the ‘lesson' worded in such a way follows a lengthy and harrowing expanse about how he felt guilty and blamed himself for not taking better care of Molly. Which one is it? Did he learn from his guilt to watch out for Molly no matter what, or did he offset that guilt onto the client who, not being a trained dog handler, had no means of knowing Molly's limits or the amount of danger she could be in when requesting the search? The leadup would suggest the former, but the verbiage would suggest the latter.

I found myself feeling sympathetic for someone who hadn't even been harmed in the situation, rather than focusing my concern on Molly, in that moment. I'm not a fan of that!

In fact, cringing in sympathy/empathy was something of a constant feeling whenever Butcher described clients. One man makes a well-meaning mistake and gets a bit overbearing when trying to help Colin find his family's missing cat. Colin proceeds to act as if the man is the worst burden ever and refer to the “stern words” the family has with the man (in front of him, rather than in private!) as if it's acceptable and justified to berate someone for making a mistake while trying to help. And in another case, he paints a particularly nasty picture of a client's sister, making the woman seem as if she's completely intolerable and the reason his client's family life is falling apart. Several clients, mostly female, also end up being referred to as if they're fragile (I believe one even used that exact wording) for being so distraught over their missing pets.

It's a bit much and completely detracts from the awe of Molly's skills and the entertainment value of reading about a dog who rescues cats. I'm here for some heartwarming (and sometimes heartwrenching) tales of pets and their owners, not snap judgments on people who are dealing with fear for their pets' lives.

I also couldn't stand Sarah, Colin's girlfriend. She is described as basically loathing Molly even before the poor dog's brought into the home. She's standoffish, jealous, and at times mean to Molly. It's bad enough that Colin takes time to praise the moment when Sarah starts referring to Molly by name instead of “it.” (Yeah, seriously, that's a thing. An extremely mentally exhausting thing.) Then there's the time she grumbles in annoyance about Colin being a grown man who cares about missing cats... Frankly, the relationship - based on bits and pieces shown in the book - seems toxic, and is not the kind of thing I want to read about in a feel-good story about a doggo detective.

To each their own, these are real people who have every right to happiness in their relationship, etc. but I don't want to read about this particular relationship dynamic, especially when it involves someone being a jerk to a precious dog. Doubly so, this annoys me when excuse after excuse is made and praise heaped upon Sarah for ultimately accepting Molly. Wow, congrats, she reached the baseline of not being mean to an innocent dog anymore. Someone give her a cookie!