A couple factoids about me: I was raised, first in Pennsylvania and then moved to the south just prior to puberty. I grew up in an Irish Catholic family, which essentially means that life was filled with rosary beads, guilt, and fatal amounts of whiskey.
There was also never a day that we didn’t have at least one dog as a member of our family. Dogs and animals, as a general, are a part of my soul. A reason for living. Our first dog I remember was Bear. Bear was an enormous white boxer who we rescued just hours before he was supposed to be put to sleep. We named him Bear because he looked like a polar bear. (Hey—blame my siblings! I was only 10 days old when he arrived!) He was a lazy son of a bitch—only rose from napping when food was present. Bear was my buddy and very protective of me as a baby. He would allow me to reach my pudgy little hands and grab the softened Kibble from inside his mouth. And before my mother could rush over to stop me…I would swallow it (Yes, I was the child who ate ants on the playground).
We found our next dog when I was four. She was named Cupcake because Bear could have eaten her in two bites like a cupcake. (Again—we were young, cut us some slack) We decided to adopt her because my sister, Bridget, desperately wanted a cat, but my brother and mom were highly allergic. My parents compromised and we found a small dog, who was like a cat in so many ways. She was the leader of the pack. The bitch of the house. Any time we would pet her, she’d roll her eyes up at us saying, “How dare thee get thy hand oils on my precious coat!” Then, snapping her head away, “Go! Get me a rawhide!”
When I was ten, we bought another boxer. A beautiful fawn boy, who was tiny enough to curl into our laps. This lasted a whopping three weeks before his weight began to crush my ten year-old chicken legs. There were now three dogs in the Katana household. This time around, none of us could agree on what to name him. Arguments broke out and fists started swinging. I can’t remember who wanted what, but we ended up “compromising” and naming him everything: Sir Reginald Octavious Smithe of Lancaster County. (I hope to God in Heaven that I am not the one who was voting for Smithe!) We called him Reggie for short. He was the most playful of all three dogs, constantly wiggling around you, curling his body into a U shape so that you would scratch his rear.
A couple years after Reggie entered the family, we moved to North Carolina and lost Bear. The move must have been too much for him. While no dog can ever replace one you’ve had, a new, energetic life can sure lift your spirits. That’s when we rescued MacDuff (Duffy) from the local shelter. He was a lab-pit mix. Very wiry. Very energetic. Very dominant. Cupcake was not pleased with this new Mister and they constantly fought for the throne. Eventually, they learned to live together. And by “learned” I mean Duff relinquished dominance.
We lost Reggie much too soon. He was only five years old when he died of a heart murmur that our veterinarian had missed. Soon after Reggie passed, Duffy attacked my mom. As in, full out attacked, would not stop biting, drawing blood, and went for her throat. She needed stitches—I can’t recall how many. I think I have blocked the details of this memory from my mind. It turned out that Duffy had a brain tumor that triggered severe aggression. He needed to be put to sleep. Losing both Duff and Reggie so unexpectedly and abruptly damaged all of us. So, why? Why do we do it? Why do we continue to let such amazing and dynamic animals into our hearts and grow attached to them, if in a few years, our hearts will be shattered into a billion pieces? It’s a question I still don’t have an answer for. But perhaps it is because my life is more full when in their presence. Maybe it’s because they provide a love so unconditional that my human brain can’t comprehend it. Or maybe it’s because I like having someone to blame my gas on.
Our hearts eventually mended from the loss of Reggie and Duff, but the scars still remain. That’s when we found Mojo. A brindle boxer whose spirit was unbreakable. And soon after this, we rescued a mutt that needed us. A white…something. His breed is still somewhat of a mystery. Perhaps a pit/bulldog/boxer mix? We named him Weejes, after my sister since she was the one who found him (We call Bridget ‘Beejes,’ and somehow that transformed into Weejes over the years). As the runt of the litter, he suffered from slight retardation due to a lack of oxygen when he was born. He was a tough dog to train. We would teach him a command only to have him forget what he had learned within seconds. He was afraid of everything. The steps to our backyard, the hair dryer, the vacuum, the mop…basically anything that made noise or moved or looked strange MUSTBESOMESORTOFDEMON!!! Weejes passed away earlier this year, as well. Another great dog, lost too soon to cancer.
Cupcake passed at the very old age of 16 while I was away at college. She lived a full and long life and will forever be remembered as the queen of the Katana household.
For my 21st birthday, my parents bought me my first dog, Gracie, while I was still in school. She is a brindle boxer (are you seeing a pattern yet?). Unfortunately, I could not give Gracie the attention she deserved with my class schedule, extracurriculars, job, internship, etc . We had no set routine—walks were sporadic, she had no yard or outlet for exercise and in a couple of months, it became very apparent that she would be a much happier pooch with my parents. Besides, my parents were now in a house with no dogs since Bo had taken Mojo and Weejes with him when he moved out. When I brought Gracie back, our home sparked with life once again and I knew I had made the best and selfless choice.
Two and a half years ago, I finally found my dog. In actuality, I believe that she chose me, not the other way around. When I saw her black face peacefully sleeping, I knew I was ready…mature enough to handle taking care of another life.
Yes, I found Ms. Luna. The Katrina Survivor. The Katana Reviver.
(A rhyme that bad should never go to waste!)
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