I have a tendency to be a bit, shall we say, negative.

To those of you that know me you should probably stop nodding your head so vigorously lest you slip a cervical disk, or something. Yes, I’m reliably moody and consistently cranky. I’ve even heard the word curmudgeon bandied about, as of late. I’m sure it won’t be long before I start yelling at those damn kids in my neighborhood to stay the hell off my lawn! My wife will gladly attest to the fact that, for the first couple years of our marriage she didn’t even know I had teeth. Silver linings are not in my color spectrum, my glass is perpetually half empty and, as much as I enjoy the entire Monty Python canon, I rarely—if ever—look on the bright side of life. I know what you’re thinking: Exactly how many medals does my wife have for agreeing to marry me in the first place? None, but man does she deserve one. So, you can imagine my surprise when something came into my life that not only helped improve my mood but also didn’t require a $15 co-pay.

The breeder said her nickname was “Jolly Molly” and I’m delighted to say that she has definitely lived up to her name-above-the-title billing. She is jolly. She is happy and silly and funny and chipper and gregarious. And, while she might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, I have no doubt that she would be voted Miss Congeniality, that is, assuming cutlery go in for such frivolities. Molly is 13 pounds of purebred positivity. Like most dogs that are small in stature, Molly is large in presence, working the room like a seasoned pro. Jersey? The dog should be doing eight shows a week at The Bellagio! Fortunately, for me, she likes working the smaller, more intimate rooms. I am an audience of one.

Molly is my comic relief; my soothing balm. Picking her up actually picks me up and, on really bad days—let me tell you—that is some heavy lifting. While the other dogs certainly provide me with a welcome distraction and moments of much needed love and levity, Molly just seems to approach it with a greater sense of commitment; I might even go so far as to call it responsibility. Like all great entertainers, Molly never ever phones it in. She’s the genuine article. But, she is also no cure.

There is no simple switch within me that will turn off my moodiness. I will, in all likelihood, continue to resist seeing the silver linings when storm clouds start to mass and, hopefully grow into a full-blown curmudgeon with as much grace and dignity as I can muster. Whatever is broken within me, that makes me the way I am will likely remain broken for the rest of my days. But, I’ll gladly continue to take and treasure those little moments, courtesy of a diminutive doxie, when I catch a fleeting glimpse of a glass that—miraculously— looks almost half-full.