Once upon a time, there was a girl who wanted a dog very, very badly. Even though she was 32 years old, she begged and begged her Mom to let her have a puppy, but her Mom said, “No. We’ve had dogs for the last 21 years and I’m tired of taking care of them.”

“But, Mom,” the girl cried, “I’d take care of her myself! She’d be your, your . . . grandpuppy! And we could name her Katama, like the beach on Martha’s Vineyard (you know how you love anything from Martha’s Vineyard), but we could call her Katy.”

It took months, but Mom finally weakened, only insisting that the dog not be a miniature dachshund, like they’d had before. “No dog,” she’d been saying for months, “But absolutely not a dachshund.” So the girl took the second part for truth and started to look for another dog breed to love. Some were too big; some were too small. Some were too active; some were too sickly. Some were too cutesy; some were too ugly. She despaired of ever finding the perfect breed. Then one day, while scrolling through a list of dog breeds, like magic, there was one that had her name on it. A Boykin Spaniel. It was perfect. Medium-sized, smart, friendly, active but not too active–and even curly brown hair, just like her own. After that, she knew she’d won her Mom over and now it was just a matter of finding the perfect dog.

First, she looked for a rescue dog, figuring that a dog that needed a new home as much as she needed a dog would be just the right match. But that didn’t work–there is only one Boykin Spaniel rescue organization in the country, and there was never a dog of the right age or the right personality at the right time for the girl’s needs. So, she decided to start looking for a puppy. This was harder because so many Boykins come from the south and our girl lived in New Jersey, but one day in September, she called the Boykin Spaniel Society to ask if they knew of any litters that were available. They listed five, and one one of them, the girl’s hair stood up–a litter of girl puppies from Madison, NC. That was the one!

She called the breeder–the very first person to ask about one of Summer’s puppies–and they arranged that she would get a puppy–the best, picked out by him–who would be (gulp) flown up to NJ as soon as she was old enough. Say, October 29th, when the puppies are exactly 7 weeks old. Excited, the girl bought and read dozens of books on dogs, puppies, clicker training, and then she bought things like chew toys and crates and treats–everything her puppy would need. On October 27th, she overnighted the check to pay for her puppy and started planning her Friday–she would go to work for a few hours, have lunch at the office Halloween party, and then leave early to go to the airport to pick up her precious little bundle of fur.

But [dramatic music here] evil forces had gathered, and had prevented her check from being delivered on time! The breeder called her on Thursday night, apologetic but firm that he would not ship the puppy without having received the money. The girl understood but was distraught (an understatement, really). She tried tracking the package, calling the delivery company, even trying to find another way to get the money to the man, but no. He wouldn’t budge. After little sleep, she went to work the next day, despondent at the thought that she wouldn’t get her Katy that day after all. All her dreams of a puppy seemed far from fulfillment, just because of the evil shipping company. (Okay, maybe not evil; just misguided.)

Around lunchtime, though, things got better. Not only was there food and wacky co-workers dressed in distracting costumes, but there was word from the breeder–the check had come! Huzzah! He made plans that he would bring Katy to the local airport at 6:00 the next morning (which meant leaving his own house about 5:00–he really did feel badly about the whole thing), where she would catch a connecting flight to Charlotte, which would then fly to Newark’s Liberty Airport. The girl had paid extra for “counter to counter” delivery of her puppy (no cargo terminal for her precious ball of fur!), and so the next morning, she and her Mom–who had sworn she didn’t even want to be around when the puppy came–were at the airport luggage claim, singing the chorus to the K-K-K-Katy Stammer Song, anxiously waiting the big Arrival.

Then, a man walked by with a little, yellow carrier. Could it be? The girl and her mom followed him to the office and peered at the crate. There, huddled in the back, was a scared, little, brown puppy. The girl leaned forward and said, “Hi, Katy. Hi, Sweetie,” while her Mom melted into a big, gushy puddle behind her. After a few moments, the girl opened the crate door to reach in to pet the puppy, who licked her fingers, but wasn’t willing to come forward yet. (It had been a pretty scary morning so far, you must admit–for the first time away from her mother, she’d been on two airline flights, all alone, in a cargo hold. Pretty traumatic for a puppy only 7 weeks old.) The girl signed the paperwork, and then picked up the crate to carry it, carefully, out to the car.

Once at the car, she opened the crate door again and dragged the reluctant puppy out to be cuddled and reassured. Then there was a blinding flash of light….

On the drive home, the puppy sat very, very still, moving nothing but her head, as if she was still afraid of her new surroundings, the new people (who no doubt sounded pretty funny to her southern ears). But little by little, she started to relax. She accepted a crumb of liver biscotti. She wagged her tail. She started to squirm just a little to explore.

The girl was very happy. She had her puppy in her arms, all was right with the world. And then, they were home.

Katy.

Born September 7, 1999. Arrived October 30, 1999. Died May 7, 2001.

. . . . Don’t miss our next, exciting installment, where Katy meets the many strange people of New Jersey (ghosts! ghouls! goblins!) in “Katy’s First Halloween!” (”You were right FurMom, Yankees ARE strange!”)

• Tags: Family, Katy, Jilly, Muppy • Permalink:The Katy Saga: Oct 30, 1999 //