Katie was my dog. She was one of the few dogs that have owned us that would give me a kiss. This was ironic, since I voted against adopting her in the first place. (I was outvoted by her Mom, 1-1.) As with all dogs, Katie determined the person in the house who was not her champion, and chose that person to be her person. In all the time she slept on the bed with us (after we trained her to use Ripley’s ramps), she would sleep next to me. On the outside, so she would never touch Virginia. However, if she needed something in the middle of the night (like going to pee), she would jump off the bed, wander over to Virginia’s side, and whine until she woke Virginia up.
Katie was our one dog that I thought was a knee-jerk reaction to another of our rescues. We had rescued a dog I named Max (as in, “we’ve hit our max!”) in August of 2006, left him at the vet for observation while we were on vacation, and he died in quarantine that weekend.
A few months later, Katie showed up from the same rescue. Somewhere in near West Texas is a backyard breeder trying to make PBGVs (see below), because Ripley, Max and Katie all came from the same area.
Virginia saw Katie in late September, and she joined the family in October. She was named for Katie and Renee, two friends who ran East Lake Pet Orphanage. The thought was naming her after rescue people would be good luck. It was a good thought. It wasn’t really correct.
I would not say she was a terror, but much as her older brother Ripley (they looked very similar from a breed perspective), she was her own dog. However, Ripley was passive-aggressive. Katie was active-aggressive. She had what someone desperately trying to sell her would call “spirit.”
Katie was the only dog who barked at us. “Open the door!” “Get me some food!” “Change the channel!” I’m pretty sure she thought we were idiots.
She was the fifth dog when she joined the household pack. She assumed that she was in charge about ten minutes later. She was behind Bubba, Ripley, Murphy, and Flower. Flower had her Mom with us, Bubba and Murphy were easily intimidated and Ripley was willing to have pretty much anyone think they were in charge.
So, it was Katie’s house. The rest of us just lived in it.
The best example of this was the Chair incident. My mother-in-law used to sit in her wheelchair to watch TV, and Virginia wanted to get her a nice “real” chair, so she bought a new chair, had it placed where her Mom sat, and went to work. That left me to do the dirty work – mainly, listening to ten minutes of bitching about not liking the chair, and moving it out of the way.
Katie adopted the chair. She loved it. She could jump in it and nobody could touch her. This naturally enraged Mom, who said, “That dog is in my chair!” I said, “It’s not your chair – you didn’t want it. So, I guess it’s her chair now.”
So, thank you to Katie for getting your Grandma to sit in the insanely expensive chair Virginia bought for her.
(When my Mom-in-law passed away, Katie got the chair back. Virginia kept the chair for years.)
Very few of our friends ever met her because she didn’t really like people. She didn’t like men, except me. She didn’t like the vet, but she tolerated Dr Young and many of the staff at Rutherford Veterinary Hospital. She didn’t like strangers. I’m not sure she really truly liked us, but we knew how a can opener worked, so we were accepted as necessary.
An example – she was being boarded at the vet because she had pancreatitis, and Dr Vaughn said, “She’s fine, she’s just lying in her crate.” An hour later, Virginia got the phone call, “Uh, could you come down here with that muzzle you mentioned? Nobody can get near her.”
We just learned to adapt. After one unfortunate occurrence with an incompetent pet sitter, Katie learned to hide under the bed. I would try to talk her out, which worked some time. I would just grab her collar and pull her out, and after I stopped bleeding, I would try to talk her out again. Eventually, we just left a leash on her, and then we could drag her out spread-eagled, without losing any fingers.
Any pet sitter had to pass the Katie test before she was hired. The garden is full of the bodies of pet sitters who didn’t pass the test. (OK, that’s not true, but it is believable.)
Virginia always said Ripley, Max and Katie were probably from the same breeder, since they were all rescued in the same area west of Ft Worth. We thought they were PBGVs (Petit Basset Griffon Vendéen – a basset hunting dog.) They are known as the friendly breed. Max and Ripley were friendly. Two out of three ain’t bad.
Katie is apparently a basset crossed with some “bitchy.” She was friendly when she needed you to use the can opener for her. The rest of the time, you rolled the dice.
I’m not saying that she was a hellion. She only bit Virginia a couple of times, and usually, it was because Katie was trying to kill Rocky and Virginia was unfortunately in the way. So, she was pretty nice to us, as long as we weren’t in the crossfire.
Katie lived with us for fifteen and a half years. We think she was about sixteen years old. She was the longest serving member of the PsychoPuppies by about three months – she passed Ripley earlier this year. For a dog I didn’t think was going to last a week, she has made me very proud. She was the one that taught us adapting to a dog’s ways was sometimes much easier than getting the dog to adapt to ours.
When her spirit faded, we knew it was time to say goodbye. That time was unfortunately today. I hope she can find Max on the other side of the bridge, since they never met. Bubba, Ripley and Murphy will welcome her, and then go find somewhere else to be.
I will miss her. We all will, but she was my girl.
Sometime in the Spring of 2001, Virginia dragged me to a Richardson Humane Society garage sale fund raising event. It was a Saturday morning before dawn, I hadn’t had much coffee, and I was desperately trying to avoid any manual labor. I think she may have literally dragged me.
