KLING! Kling! Kling!
The bell on her collar gives her away almost immediately. "Molly! Molly!" a voice would ring out in the quiet nondescript neighbourhood of Tingkat Damai 2, Taman Alma, Bukit Mertajam, Penang.
The dapple-coloured dog would perk up her head and slowly make her away to the sound of the voice. Tail wagging, she'd wait patiently at the gate for her morning meal. In turn, she was happy enough to be the unofficial guard dog of the house.
She did the same thing to other households in the taman. She'd appear at gates seeking shelter or food, and in return, paid her way with vigilance and quiet ferocity in equal measures.
Molly was nobody's dog — and everybody's dog at the same time.
From the moment Molly made her appearance in the neighbourhood, there wasn't a doubt they were in the presence of a unique spirit. As she surveyed the quiet street at dawn, her features alert, her gaze uncompromising, her deep, dark eyes sparkled with intelligence.
There's something of Katharine Hepburn in The African Queen about her, or maybe Brad Pitt in one of his less kempt moments. But non-dog comparisons don't do her justice. This was one indomitable dog.
"Molly! Molly!" Children would call out to her. She'd follow them to the field and watch over them gravely, eyes always on the lookout. She wasn't a puppy anymore. She hadn't much play left in her. And with age, Molly took on the responsibility of being their watchdog seriously. Her upkeep depended on it, of course.
Everybody loved Molly. She was one of their finest residents, they tell me with fierce pride. Molly's recent passing was truly tragic and sad. "We want people to know about Molly," a WhatsApp message read. "She was our dog and we loved her." There was yet another plaintive email enquiring whether I could write about Molly, their dog.
As a measure of how deeply Molly was embedded in their lives, consider what happened when she died tragically two months ago as a result of a hit and run. A scream rang through the quiet housing estate when Molly was discovered, sprawled on the road. A car had hit her. "Molly!" someone screamed.
"I yelled at my granddaughter to call my son Danny. She shouted 'Papa, Mah Mah really needs you!'" wrote Mary Lau, a 67-year-old grandmother of two. "Danny ran outside and together, we (along with another neighbour), sat with Molly until she drew her last breath. It broke my heart. I kept on stroking and caressing her matted fur, praying she didn't suffer in pain."
Molly's untimely death spread like wildfire through the neighbourhood. One corner of the sprawling housing estate went into mourning following the loss of a familiar face. "We mourned her and tears fell freely," recalls 38-year-old Danny Sim.
The sadness is etched on his face as he continues: "We all felt the loss deeply. She wasn't just a stray dog. She belonged to every household in our neighbourhood. And she felt the same about us. In all honesty, we belonged to her."
The camaraderie is touching. On a Saturday afternoon, I sit for a Zoom call with some of the residents of Tingkat Damai 2. Most aren't exactly tech-savvy. "Unmute yourself!" I urge one elderly lady as she squints into the camera and frowns. "What to do?" she mouths, shrugging her shoulders.
An old Indian uncle on another camera tries to offer her advice. Another lady speaks rapidly in Hokkien and her frown clears. Ah, unmute. She now knows what to do. The Indian uncle had come into one of his neighbour's house.
Not many own a computer and have WiFi. So sharing screens would have to do for now. A child cries in the background and the Makcik apologises profusely. "Cucu sayalah (my grandchild)!" she explains, chuckling helplessly.
There's around nine of them right now. Some of them are vying for camera space as they crowd into each other's house to talk to me. Amidst the static, shaky camera phones and wonky Internet, they eagerly talk about Molly, their resident dog.
CONNECTED WORLD
It's funny how a stray dog had affected the lives of so many people in one nondescript neighbourhood. If anything, Tingkat Damai 2 represents a microcosm of what a small township in Malaysia looks like. Slightly out of touch with time and complete with a motley neighbourhood of families where "everybody knows everybody".
It's strikingly evident right now as we talk. Aunty Lau is at warehouse supervisor Shamsul Rizal's house where she's accompanying 66-year-old grandmother Puan Yati, who is busy babysitting her grandchildren.
Meanwhile, Uncle David Baboo, a 75-year-old retired headmaster is seated with 40-year-old artist Ginny Gooi and her mother Goh Swee Gim at the latter's home. Customer service officer, Sabrina Ng is smiling from the confines of her own room.
Then there's 34-year-old Ryan Ooi who's chatting from his phone, while secondary school teacher Kok Fong Moi is ensconced at home with her eight-year-old daughter. Lau's sons, Danny and Gary are in her home, smiling widely at the camera.
It's the kind of camaraderie that's been part of the Malaysian experience in the old days. I shouldn't be surprised given that Bukit Mertajam remains a place with strong roots buried deep in the past. Time certainly moves differently here.
And Molly is a stray that walked between times, connecting families to each other while choosing to live life on her own terms rather than through the prism of ownership.
There are about a billion dogs on Earth, according to some estimates. The other 750 million don't have flea collars. And they certainly don't have humans who take them for walks and pick up their faeces. They're called village dogs, street dogs and free-breeding dogs, among other things, and they haunt the garbage dumps and neighbourhoods of most of the world.
Some of these dogs "aren't mongrels or strays," as is often assumed. Some lost pets do wander into groups of village dogs. But by and large, these dogs are much the same around the world, whether in Africa, Malaysia, China or the Americas.
They have remarkably varied connections to human beings. Some live completely on their own at dumps. Some are neighbourhood dogs, recognised and perhaps given handouts by people who live in a certain area. Others may feed and breed on their own, but spend nights at people's homes. Sometimes they're adopted by people.
But forget ever owning a dog like Molly. In reality, it's the dogs who adopt humans. And Molly had adopted the entire neighbourhood of Tingkat Alma 2. It had been her happy hunting ground for years and she reigned as the friendly neighbourhood dog.
Everybody knew Molly, nobody owned her and she was both wilful and invisible: she took her time to come when called, and she could disappear at a moment's notice beneath the lowest bushes, or behind the smallest branch.
MURKY PAST
"Molly has been around since forever!" exclaims Ooi, shaking his head. Nobody's certain where Molly came from and when she was first seen around the neighbourhood. "For as long as we lived at this neighbourhood, Molly was here," chimes in Danny.
There's a lively debate about how long Molly has been seen around their homes. "Eight years ago, I think," suggests Ooi, frowning. "No! No!" interjects Ng, elaborating: "I moved to my home here about 10 years ago. Molly was already here!"
She wasn't a street dog to begin with, explains Ng. She had an owner who lived on a different street. "But when he passed away, there was no one to care for her." For several years after the owner's death, Molly would still return to her home at nights after wandering around the neighbourhood looking for food.
"She slept at her own empty home for many years," recalls Gary, continuing: "But eventually she moved to our side of the street, taking turns to shelter at one of our homes every night."
Who gave her the name Molly? "A second-hand car dealer who lived at the junction of our street told us that her name was Molly and that she once had an owner who passed away years ago," explains Lau. "We started calling her Molly ever since."
Stories swirled about Molly's origins but nothing could be confirmed. "Molly was seen everywhere and we just accepted her as part of our community!" adds Lau, with a smile.
Molly's true origins is a well-kept secret lodged within the memory of the community dog. Yet in her own solitary way, Molly displayed her hidden thoughts. The matted dog with a worn collar around her neck who loved people back unreservedly.
MOLLY'S WORLD
"She enjoyed being petted and she'd follow my car whenever I left for work every morning," recalls Ng, smiling. "She was well-fed and knew she could count on us to give her food every day!"
Molly wouldn't bark for food, she adds. "She'd wait at the gate patiently. That was her unspoken request right there. We'd put out food for her and she'd wait for us to go back inside the house before eating!" It was a strange etiquette for a stray but it lent credence to the story of Molly having an owner in another lifetime.
Molly was also the bodyguard for the young children who played outside the homes during the evenings. "She took care of my kids when they were at the playground. She kept watch over them vigilantly," recalls Kok.
Once a dog has your heart, you're stuck. There's no undoing it. Scientists call it the "dog-human bond". "Bond" captures not just the tight connection, but also the reciprocity; not just the mutuality, but also the affection. We love dogs and (we assume) are loved by them. We keep dogs but are also kept by them.
It was easy to bond with Molly, they all agree. "Lorong 12, Tingkat Damai 2 comprises 24 terrace houses and all of us loved Molly without question," chips in David Baboo or "Uncle David" as he's fondly known. "From one end of the house right up to the other end, Molly was our unpaid guard!"
If Molly barked at night, chances are there was something to be worried about. "She has foiled many robbery attempts before," says Danny soberly. "If you heard her bark at nights, you'd know that Molly was keeping an eye on the houses. We slept better at nights because of her!"
The stray dog was welcomed at every house. Puan Yati would buy Molly chicken meat to feed her. "Dia anjing yang baguiih! (She's a good dog!). I've never met a dog like her. The Malays in this neighbourhood cried when they found out about her death. It's been really lonely without her," says Yati, eyes glistening. "Everyone loved her. We don't own dogs of course but we took care of her in our own way. We'd feed her and allow her to sleep on our front porch."
There's so much to know about this stray dog who captured the hearts of this little neighbourhood. Molly loved chicken, howled at ambulance sirens and loved the company of people.
"We did everything we could to keep her happy in our neighbourhood," adds Goh softly. To avoid Molly from being caught by the town council, the neighbours banded together and applied for a dog license. "She was the only legit stray dog in our area!" adds Gary with a laugh.
Conversations go back and forth about Molly the dog. Laughter abounds and there are some tears shed. "It's just not the same without her," says Gooi softly. Nodding, Ng adds: "I looked out of my window today. The silence is deafening. I don't see her familiar face approaching my gate. It's like she never existed at all."
But Molly did exist, she adds vehemently. "We want people to know that stray dogs are capable of love and loyalty. We shared Molly and it brought us closer together as a community."
I find myself reflecting on the animals we live with and how they reflect upon us. I walk down the sidewalk with my puppy Abby and catch a fractured image of us in the polished marble of the building we're passing.
Abby lightly prances perfectly in step with my longer stride. We're part of the same shadow in the stone, appended in motion and space by more than the leash that allegedly holds us together.
We're dog-human. And the magic is in that hyphen between us. The explanation for how that hyphen got squeezed between us is to be found in the myriad ways that dogs tell us about ourselves, personally and societally.
It takes a special breed like Molly to remind us that all dogs, including strays, have a place in this world, if we only just let them. And they have the capability to love us back just as ferociously if we'd allow them.
The familiar sound of the worn bell can still be heard in the deep of the night. "Some of us have heard that sound long after Molly had passed on," says Danny softly.
Kling! Kling! Kling!
Perhaps she's still keeping watch over that little neighbourhood in Bukit Mertajam. After all, that's what dogs do best. They keep loving us forever.