Katysmom

Had things gone differently four years ago today, chances are the blog you're reading would have been called "Katy's Mom" instead of Chappy's.

(Stop reading here if you don't care about dogs or pets or too much sentiment; you'll just be bored. It's okay. Just come back tomorrow, when there'll be knitting content again. Otherwise, brace yourself for some bittersweet nostalgia, and read on!)

That was the day--May 12, 2001--I threw her tennis ball, and it bounced off a tree (the only one in our entire yard) and into the street, right in front of a car that I didn't see until it was too late. Katy adored chasing her ball and, when she did, focused only on that. The week before, her shoulder collided with that same tree as she chased the ball past; a month or so earlier, she went head-first, full-speed into a bush, without even a pause, just because that's where her tennis ball went.

May I gush about her for a few minutes? She was my first dog. Not the family's first, mind you, but mine. We got her nine months after we lost our miniature dachshund, Jilly, who we'd had since I was 17. I still joke that it was like being 12 again, trying to convince my Mommy to let me have a dog. Her name was just one of my ploys--her full name was Katama, the South Beach section of Martha's Vineyard. (The joke was that my mother can't say no to anything connected to M.V.)

She was born September 7, 1999, and very bravely flew up alone from North Carolina to New Jersey on her very first day away from her mother and siblings. I think she was pretty terrified about the whole experience, too, but she relaxed in my lap in the car. (That drive being the sole exception to the puppy-safely-seatbelted-in-the-back rule--that day, comfort and warmth were far more important than the risk of an accident.)

She was smart--she was the first of our dogs we ever trained to sit, lie down, etcetera. In fact, she had "sit" down cold by the third day I had her. (I tell you, clicker training is just wonderful!). She also shook hands, twirled in a circle, and curtseyed (a play bow). She went to school and thus became the first family dog with a diploma. She was also the first we ever took on vacation--to, you guessed, it Martha's Vineyard--and she was also the first dog my sister ever welcomed into her house.

We had a lot in common--we looked rather alike, with wavy, dark brown hair--reasonably smart, funny, but we both liked things the way we like them and don't like to be bothered when we're trying to relax. In fact, that brings me to Mondays. Katy was a cranky little girl on Monday mornings, when I headed back to work after a weekend of togetherness. My parents still joke about how they would walk past her pillow and she would growl at them, "Leave me alone; it's Monday." Not in a mean way, you understand, but just as a warning (It's Monday, don't mess with me). I always rather loved that she had a little bit of a temper, and that she learned to control it. Which she did. When she chased that tennis ball, she hadn't growled at anything for a month; before that, it had been three weeks. I was so darn proud of her for that! I know myself how hard it is to learn to control that.

Really, we were a lot alike!

Katy was 20-months old when I lost her. She had been acting like a nice, adult dog for about two months, like she had flicked a switch at 18-months, so I got to see what a wonderful dog she had become. Since she was practically perfect in so many ways, she timed her exit perfectly, too. She plotted a perfect collision course with that car coming up the street--the driver never had a chance to see her. Her neck was broken, and she was gone by the time I reached her (not that I was willing to admit that). No unnecessary suffering, thank God. Really. If it had to happen, she did it perfectly.

The driver couldn't have been nicer. She drove us to the vet, where I said good-bye. The vet himself was wonderful--he trimmed off some of her fur for a keepsake and later, made me a clay imprint of her paw (something I had planned to do, but ran out of time). While I was at the vet, my next-door neighbors scrubbed the blood off the street for me so I wouldn't have to face it when I got home. (Possibly the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.)

I wouldn't, of course, give Chappy up for anything in the world--you all know that. And I know that if I hadn't lost Katy, I would never have been lucky enough to bring him home, and that's unthinkable. But still. I do wish I had waited to throw that ball.

Katy was a wonderful dog. She had to be. If she hadn't been so loving and smart and beautiful, I wouldn't have Chappy. She helped show us how great having an actually trained dog could be.

So in a way, I owe Chappy to her.

She would have been an excellent big sister, too . . . just as long as he didn't mess with her on Monday mornings.

Katy.

September 7, 1999 - May 12, 2001.

We were silly together, but we sure had fun.

Comments

[chris]

Ohhhh, what a beautiful memorial entry . . . I'm wiping tears off my face as I type this.

I'm so sorry to hear about your Katy . . .

[Lorette]

Girl, you should warn us when you are going to do this. I'm going to have to re-do my mascara now. She sounds like a wonderful friend. I love the clay footprint idea!

[Deb]

Sorry about the mascara, but I DID put a warning in small print under the photo . . . (grin)

That clay footprint? We had gotten a photo frame/footprint kit for Jilly, and after she died, loved having that memorial for her (with not one, but two pawprints, since her feet were so petite). I got one almost right away when I got Katy, but was waiting for her to grow up and figured I had plenty of time . . . at that vet's office that morning, I tearfully mentioned it and the vet said that if I got it to him fairly quickly, HE would get one for me. I picked it up a day or so later--not only did he get Katy's pawprint, he wrote her name in the clay and put a little flower stamp in the clay, too. It's possible that one of the women who worked there helped with that, mind you, but wasn't that super nice of him? Ironically, he was the one vet at the clinic that Katy didn't like . . . Funnily, though, I've never been able to bring myself to display it . . .

[Amy]

Ooooooo...I have two dogs, after never having dogs at all, and I cringe to think how I'll react when it's time for one of them to go. I never thought I'd be a dog person--but I love my dogs so much it's stupid. Lucky Katy, having had a great and loving life with you. Some dogs never get that much.
Amy (who spends way too much time watching Animal Cops)

[Mom]

Deb - beautiful tribute to a dog we all loved and miss very much.
I have to remark about that last picture of Deb and Katy. When we went to look at proofs this picture sent us into a fit of giggles. Katy looks wild-eyed and Deb looks like she's in a shampoo commercial.

[Margene]

I'm crying...I'm laughing, I'm crying again. Great tribute to your pal.

[Liz]

Oh Deb, That's a wonderful Memoir for your Katy. She was a beauty and obviously has an amazingly special place in your heart. Chappy's a lucky boy to have you for a Mom.

Thank you for that tribute.

[Tracy]

That was so moving, I'm not sure what I'm typing for teary eyes.