By Jim Luce
Molly lived with her two dads, Dad and Pop, in an apartment next to Central Park in
New York City. They had one little dog named Buddy. Buddy was black and white and very fuzzy.
Dad said he was a Shih Tzu. Pop said he was a rescue. For a long time, Molly thought “rescue”
meant Buddy came from the Titanic, because she once saw that movie. But then she learned
that a ‘rescue dog’ is a dog who needs a new home. And Buddy got one—with them!
Molly loved walking Buddy. She loved petting Buddy. At night, she held him tight
in her two arms. “One dog,” Molly said happily, “is just right for two arms.”
One morning, Molly walked into the kitchen for breakfast. She stopped. She stared.
There was another dog! “OH MY GOSH!” Molly shouted. This dog looked like Buddy,
but he was brown & white. His name was Rocco. “Now we have TWO dogs!” said Molly.
Molly played with Buddy and Rocco all day long. After lunch,
she took them for a walk. She held two leashes in her two hands.
“Two dogs,” Molly said proudly, “are just right for two hands.”
About a week later, Molly came home from school. There was a THIRD dog in the
living room! His name was Happy. He was a sweet, scruffy black dog. “THREE dogs?!”
said Molly. She tried to walk them—but she only had two hands for three leashes.
That night, all three dogs jumped onto her bed. Molly tried to pet them all, but
someone was always left out. “Oh,” sighed Molly, “I wish I had a THIRD hand.”
The next morning, Molly walked into the kitchen. Dad dropped his coffee.
Pop’s mouth fell open like a goldfish. “Molly,” Dad said slowly, “you grew a
new arm overnight.” Molly looked down. It was true. She had THREE arms! “Well,”
said Pop, smiling, “That’s strange—but wonderful. I’ll cut a hole in your shirt.”
That afternoon, Molly walked all three dogs in Central Park. That night, she petted all
three dogs in bed. “Three dogs,” Molly said with a grin, “are just right for three hands.”
And then… it kept happening! Every few days, a new rescued dog arrived.
Dog #4: Snowball, a fluffy white Maltese. (Molly woke up with four arms!)
Dog #5: Dot, a spotted Dalmatian mix. (Five arms! Snip, snip!)
Dog #6: Wrinkles, a wrinkly little Pug. (Six arms!)
Dog #7: Zoom, a speedy Greyhound mix. (Seven arms!)
Dog #8: Curly, a bouncy Poodle. (Eight arms!)
Dog #9: Tiny, a teeny Chihuahua. (Nine arms!)
“Oh my goodness,” Molly laughed. “I have more arms than an octopus!”
Then came Dog #10: Biscuit, a big-eared Corgi mix. (Ten arms!) Dog #11 followed:
Scruffy, a shaggy terrier. (Eleven arms!) Finally, Dog #12 arrived. His name was Sunny,
and his fur shone like gold. Molly woke up with TWELVE arms. Pop picked up his
scissors one last time. “There!” he said. “Twelve dogs are just right for twelve hands.”
The next morning was Christmas! Molly peeked under the tree. No dogs—just booties, raincoats,
and treats. At dinner, Pop asked, “Molly, did you get everything you wanted?” “Yes!” Molly said.
“I was just a little worried you might put another dog under the tree.” Dad laughed and laughed.
“No more dogs,” he said. “There’s no room left in your shirt!”
