Katie Up and Down the Hall: The True Story of How One Dog Turned Five Neighbors Into a Family (16 page)

“She got a head start,” Ryan grumbled, racing to the door and demanding a rematch. So off they went again and again, until
both boy and dog were completely winded.

Ryan was learning the art of being a good loser, while the “winner” promenaded in victory up and down the hall, having proved
herself the alpha creature of the pack.

More than ever, our red-carpeted corridor was home base for Katie, her very own play space. To our seventeen neighbors along
the hallway, who never socialized with one another, this public space meant little. But to Katie, it was her territory and
frame of reference, the passageway connecting our three apartments.

I began to see that she instinctively used this hallway to glue us all together. She beckoned us up or down it with her head,
in whatever direction suited her, and pulled us out of one apartment and into another. She was our canine traffic cop, a four-legged
busybody telling us where she wanted us.

There she was at 6:00 p.m., racing down the hallway to pick up Ryan and herd him over to Pearl’s for dinner. Then she’d make
her way down to my apartment and scratch at my door, reminding me to come down as well.

After dinner, she’d race up and down the hall with Ryan again, with or without the ball, eventually herding him home to his
apartment before returning to Pearl’s to say good night—and then on home to me. She clocked more mileage than a car.

It was Katie—and only Katie—who could physically keep up with Ryan. “That’s her job,” joked John, “wearing Ryan out before
bedtime.”

On nights when “Daddy John” came home late from the newspaper, he’d often find Ryan stretched out on Pearl’s living room couch,
Katie on top of him, her paws protectively on his chest as the little boy slept.

And so, with her new friends down the hallway, Katie had expanded her role—not only a devoted companion to Arthur and Pearl,
but also Ryan’s enthusiastic playmate and fierce protector.

This last role was vividly displayed one day at our elevator when an aggressive eighty-five-pound Labrador retriever came
along and barked at Ryan in a threatening manner. Katie, all of twenty-eight pounds, sprang into action, moving in front of
Ryan and growling ferociously at the large dog as she cut him off, unafraid, seemingly ready to rip out his throat. The Lab
backed away.

No dog was going to harm Ryan while she was around.

O
ver the next year, we continued all our breakfasts, dinners, and impromptu visits up and down the hall, Katie gaining a few
extra pounds despite her racing around until she was put on a special diet that no longer included Krispy Kreme donuts.

At Christmas, she got dressed up in a red coat and green hat and posed for pictures for Joe, our dog mentor, who always had
a fantastic tree strung with pearls and glitter. He now proudly approved of the way Katie had matured and invited us twenty
floors up for eggnog. Katie trotted into his kitchen and sat there patiently, waiting for a biscuit until she got one.

“Just one, Katie, and that’s it!” he told her. Hearing the tone in his voice, she walked away from him after snatching it
out of his hand.

As smart and determined as she was, Katie, like most dogs, wanted and needed structure and direction, and to this end, loved
being talked to.

Right from the start, I got into the habit of having conversations with her, eye to eye, and I could tell that she clearly
“understood” much of what I said. “Now,
listen
up,
child
, you’re
a
good
little dog, you are, but you have to learn your
manners
.
No biting
, no
scratching
your nails on the furniture, no getting up on the white couch, and no
accidents
. And if you’re good, you’ll get a
cookie
or a nice piece of
chicken
.” Her ears immediately pricked up at these key words.

No, she didn’t understand every word, but she did intuit the meaning of them from my tone, inflection, volume, and repetition
of key phrases. Her vocabulary of about sixty words included
good, bad, no, eat, hungry, go out, go ahead
(meaning to do her business)
stay, sit, come,
and
beat it
.

If I asked, “
What are you doing
?” her head anxiously went up, as she stopped the offense. She also was well-acquainted with
cookie, treat, cake, coat, ball, keys, sock,
and
bone
, to mention just a few of her favorite things to eat or chew on.

And when she heard “get in your house,” she always hightailed it back into her crate, happy to recline on her blue blanket
while keeping a watchful eye on me.

With this arsenal of words at her command, and her ability to get the gist of my meaning, Katie was fully communicative.

Beyond her intelligence, her startling beauty was undeniable. Now age six, she had, according to a breeder who saw her, “one
of the most beautiful cocker faces I’ve seen.” In fact, a talented street artist I’d met in the shopping arcade at the World
Financial Center drew a striking color pastel of Katie—capturing perfectly her soulful brown eyes flecked with gold, the long
curly blond eyelashes, the pert black nose, and a face that was less square than most cockers’, its contours feminine and
expressive.

Her groomer, Betty, had created what we now called “the Katie cut,” an unorthodox style for a cocker spaniel because it eliminated
the long “skirt” that traditionally swept the ground
on show dogs—the carpet sweeper style worn by Joe’s Dinah. Instead, Betty cut Katie’s silky coat close to the body.

“Girlfriend, get up here and give me five!” Betty commanded.

“This one’s a devil,” she told the groomer next to her. “Smart as a whip—but I’ve got her in line.” Who had who “in line”
I wasn’t so sure.

Katie would merrily lift her paw and playfully hit Betty with it. She’d roll over on her stomach, paws straight into the air,
manipulating Betty for a belly rub. But later on, she’d patiently lift each paw as directed, and hold it up as Betty trimmed
around her nails. (During the entire two hours, Betty never stopped chattering away, and Katie seemed fascinated by every
word.)

Betty would avoid shaving down Katie’s head and instead left behind a fluffy “eyebrow,” a fringe of hair, like an awning,
just above her eyes. This made her look quite distinctive, though ridiculous when the brow got wet or sticky from food, which
made it stand straight up. That always reminded me of the classic “hair gel” scene in the movie
There’s Something About Mary.

With her shampoo, crème rinse conditioner, and blow dry—not to mention her manicure and pedicure—Katie would emerge from each
grooming a lustrous stunner. Sometimes when she held perfectly still, she almost looked unreal.

One day right after a grooming, Katie and I walked into Bergdorf Goodman, a Fifth Avenue department store that was dog friendly
and lots of fun to browse in. She trotted into the elevator and we went up to the seventh floor (“Home”) where they had bedsheets.
While I was looking through the shelves, I told her, “Katie, SIT. Good girl. Now Staaaay.” And she froze.

A moment later, a customer came by and I heard him ask a saleswoman, “How much is
that
?”

I turned around and this well-dressed businessman was pointing to
Katie
. He thought Katie was a stuffed animal!

When Katie then came to life and walked over to him, the startled man took in a breath, embarrassed.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I laughed. “She’s flattered.”

On the subway home, a young man in baggy pants and chains who looked like a rapper came into the car. I noticed him staring
at Katie as she slept in my arms. He walked over to me: “How much?”

“Huh?”

“How much for the dog?” he asked.

Oh my God. “No, she’s not for sale, sorry.”

“I’ll give you two hundred.” I held onto her firmly, sensing a possible dog mugging.

Such are the perils of beauty (hers, not mine).

After that, especially as dogs weren’t allowed in the subway except if they were in a kennel, we took taxis.

One evening after a dinner at Pearl’s (Katie dragging her freshly groomed ears through a plate of spaghetti), a warming thought
dawned on me, almost an epiphany.

For five years, we had been a strong band of four—Arthur, Pearl, Katie, and I. But with John and Ryan now so close to us,
we had expanded to six, forming our own little “family” right in the building. It felt like we were now complete, just as
close to one another as any biological family could be.

That night, as I lay in bed with Katie snoring softly next to me (exhausted from multiple races up and down the hall), I realized
that I had never felt such deep contentment.

For much of my adult life, I’d been continually searching
for a romantic relationship. However, I often wound up instead with false starts, mismatches, or relatively brief periods
of connection followed by disappointment and frustration. I never quite got it right.

As a result, I’d often felt displaced, isolated, and oddly alone, even though I had many close friends and a supportive family.
So the great void remained. I continued on my quest, always looking for that one relationship that, I hoped, would heal the
emptiness I felt. It had never happened.

But everything changed when I turned in a new direction.

Suddenly, with no effort or planning, that empty space in my life was completely filled by my new “family.” This was a huge
shift that allowed me to open up in a way that I had never done before.

All the closeness, support, and connection I’d hoped for were right there for me—the nonstop action up and down the hall incredibly
therapeutic.

Having spent so many years seeking the spotlight and a byline, I suddenly had nothing to prove. It was a real relief. And
for the first time in many years, I felt as if I could actually
relax
.

True, I had lost my footing professionally, but what I had gained was a new appreciation of family.

Life now was like living in a college dorm, with doors constantly opening and closing, lots of crisscrossing in and out of
each apartment, and all of us bonding ever more closely.

This didn’t mean that I didn’t date or strive for an intimate relationship. But in the meantime, our group provided a home
for my heart, a steady source of security and love. It was a solid foundation upon which I could build an emotional life—with
or without a mate.

And on nights when Ryan gave me a big hug and kiss good
night and Katie returned home to sleep, exhausted from the races, I realized how much I looked forward to the next day in
a way that I never had before.

We all felt invigorated by Ryan’s endless energy, which boosted everyone’s spirits, day or night. I was amazed by the way
he had bonded with Pearl so quickly, completely adoring and wanting to be with her as much as possible.

“In fact,” John told me one night, “Pearl is probably
closer
to Ryan than most grandmothers would be to their grandchildren because she lives right down the hall, so she can see him
on a
daily
basis.” True enough. How many grandparents have that kind of access?