Katie Up and Down the Hall: The True Story of How One Dog Turned Five Neighbors Into a Family (15 page)

Despite the stresses of moving, John was, as usual, calm and controlled, allowing Ryan his freedom while keeping a watchful
eye over him.

As a single parent, John was both Mom and Dad to his young son. And I noticed how skillfully he combined the best of both
the maternal and paternal. He was a masculine guy, a newspaper sports editor who loved soccer, football, and computers, but
was also highly sensitive and expressive. He was gently nurturing to Ryan and physically affectionate to him in the way a
mom might be. Ryan would often curl up in John’s lap, his head resting on his shoulder, as John read to him.

“We’re going to have a blessing of our new apartment here tonight,” John told me, “and I’d like to invite you and Katie, Pearl,
and Arthur to come over.”

I’d never heard of doing something like this. But John, a member of St. John’s in the Village Episcopal Church, explained
that this was an ancient Jewish and Christian tradition observed centuries before, “one that has pretty much gone by the wayside
in troubled times—and it’s good to get it started again.”

That evening, right at sunset, with the scent of the lindens drifting in from the water, there we were—Pearl, Arthur, John,
Katie, and I—together with an Episcopal priest and a few friends close to John—all standing in a circle in John’s living room,
holding hands.

It was such a peaceful, heartwarming scene, different from
anything I’d experienced. “Being here,” the priest explained, “is acknowledging the new members of our community—and blessing
their new house, which is now a home. Make it a haven for all who will be here.”

Pearl held onto Katie’s red leash, and Katie was obedient, sitting quietly, sensing that something solemn was under way.

The priest then handed the Book of Common Prayer to Arthur, who was a devout Jew, though intrigued to be participating in
the service. He loved ritual and prayer and actually recited a short Hebrew passage of blessing before switching back to the
Episcopal reading, “Graciously receive our thanks for this place… and put far from those who dwell here every root of bitterness,
the desire of vainglory, and the pride of life. Turn the hearts of the parents to the children and enkindle fervent charity
among us all, that we may evermore be kindly affectioned one to another. Amen.”

Although a few other passages followed, the words that really stuck with me that day were
affectioned one to another
—for that’s exactly what happened—and quickly.

John and I became fast friends and we established an open-door policy that allowed all of us to freely visit up and down the
hallway. As John later reflected, “I think you and I trusted each other—and you and Pearl were so close, which is why she
decided to welcome us into the circle. Katie was the tie between you and Pearl and, of course, I loved dogs, and missed my
dogs, so Katie became a welcome new member of our household too.”

As for me, John’s presence in our building was a healing balm, almost as if he were the brother I’d never had. We had dinner
out, went to meetings, spent hours with “the kid” and Granny. He was also my on-the-spot tech whiz, as he could fix or install
virtually anything—and did.

When I needed help with a computer crash, my Internet account, or a lesson on instant messaging, e-mail, or any other technical
matter, there he was. One day, when all my financial files on Quicken disappeared, he offered to restore them, and did so
successfully, though it took him hours at his office. This was typical of his generosity.

It was especially because I was out of work and having serious physical problems that his presence really lifted my spirits.
It was such a luxury having a contemporary to talk to, right down the hall, comparable to dormitory living. Day or night,
I could just walk the 120 feet from one apartment to another, ready for a chat. And Katie was always game to play with Ryan.

As John folded Ryan’s laundry or assembled one of his many toys, we talked about anything and everything. We often shared
observations about the people we knew at the Community Center, humorously roasting some of the quirkier characters we’d met.
We also traded personal histories, exchanged war stories, and laughed riotously over the insanity of blind dates and the roller
coaster of romance. Not one to give advice, John was an excellent listener who was expert at reflecting, philosophically,
and talked about the importance of “letting go” and letting fate take its course. And of course, our main focus became Ryan
and his blossoming connection to Katie, Pearl, Arthur, and me.

As I became closer to John, I could see that it wasn’t easy being a single dad, acting as both mother and father—getting Ryan
dressed, bathed, reading to him, and playing soccer while juggling a full-time job, plus shopping, cleaning, and cooking.

While he had previously shared child raising with his partner of thirteen years, the end of that relationship had left the
entire burden on John. Sometimes he looked pretty exhausted by it all.

He needed help.

True, it was obvious that Ryan was well-adjusted and blissfully happy with “Daddy John,” as he called him; but the fact remained
that Ryan had no mother on the scene or grandparents, while his uncles, aunts, and cousins were all in the Midwest.

That left
us
—and we were only too happy to pitch in.

As John later observed, “At the time we moved in, Pearl definitely became Ryan’s surrogate grandmother. My mother and father
were gone, there were no grandparents—so she was
it
!”

At first, though, Ryan experienced separation anxiety from his dad, as any child would.

One day, when John was away at work and I was babysitting, I took Ryan outside with me to the bank, Katie walking behind us.
It broke my heart when Ryan suddenly started sobbing on the street. “I miss my daddy!” he wailed. I got down on my knees,
face to face, and Ryan crumbled in my arms as I wrapped him in a hug. Katie started licking the tears off Ryan’s sweet face.

“Daddy loves you and so do I,” I told him. “He’ll be home very soon, I promise.” And I then cheered him up by buying him an
ice-cream cone. A wide smile lit up his face, then a frown as Katie stole as much of that strawberry scoop as she possibly
could.

During my college years in Boston, I’d been a Big Brother to an eight-year-old named Kenny—and I loved doing it. I took Kenny
to the park, museums, movies, and restaurants—and was very upset when I had to leave him, moving to Baltimore for graduate
school. Kenny wrote me a good-bye note, saying, “Please don’t ever forget me.” And I never did.

And now, eighteen years later, another child had entered
my life, giving me another opportunity to offer what I could as a mentor and part-time babysitter.

At times when John was away, I filled up my bathtub with bubbles and Ryan climbed in with his rubber animals and boats. Katie
watched from the sidelines as he blew bubbles at her. She hated having water splashed on her, and Ryan knew it, so he teased
her by continuously flicking away at her. She’d put her paw in the air as if to say, “
Stop it. I don’t like it,
” though she tolerated it.

Afterward, I’d slick back Ryan’s hair with a comb, and he’d laugh hilariously at the sensation of having it blow-dried. “Now
you know how Katie feels when she gets her hair done!” I joked, also spraying some cologne on him, and patting him down with
baby powder. (Katie stared at all this, jealous of the attention.)

Ryan, standing on top of the toilet seat, would look at himself in the mirror, making faces and dancing around. He’d then
agilely step into his footie Power Rangers pajamas and head to the nearby couch in the living room and quickly fall asleep
under a cotton blanket, Katie curled up in a ball next to him.

The third floor of our building was now a noisy one, with “the kid,” as I nicknamed Ryan, and “the child,” his canine companion,
racing around from one apartment to another.

After five years of Katie being the center of attention, having Ryan on the floor was a complete and welcome novelty, “almost
as much fun as raising a puppy,” I joked to Pearl.

“And he can talk too,” she laughed, as entranced by her new charge as I was.

Pearl loved taking on this new role, spoiling her “boy” by whipping up wickedly delicious dinners—tomato and Vidalia onion
salads, paprika chicken cutlets, fried zucchini and
squash, mashed potatoes with garlic, all of it topped off with home-baked apricot-and-plum tarts or chocolate pies.

“Mmmmm!” Ryan grinned merrily, only some of the food getting into his mouth, while the rest of it was smudged all over his
face or on the floor.

Voracious Katie, perched on a green dining chair right next to his, would crane her neck to the right, lick the crumbs and
ice-cream off Ryan’s face, scour his empty plate, and then clean up the floor as well. Ryan giggled with delight at her industry.

On nights when Pearl made spaghetti, Ryan played one of his favorite games, holding each long strand of pasta way above Katie’s
head, just to torture her with suspense, then dropping it into her mouth, one piece at a time.

“That’s my girl,” said Pearl, “a very good vacuum cleaner.”

Unlike Pearl, who reveled in babysitting and fussing over Ryan, Arthur was somewhat less enthusiastic. He was increasingly
ailing physically, more susceptible to colds and respiratory infections than ever. He suffered from severe pain related to
arthritis and shortness of breath caused by a heart condition.

Both challenges left him enervated and often depressed. So he mostly stayed indoors in his blue pajamas and plaid bathrobe,
reading and watching TV, and, of course, snuggling with Katie.

Some mornings, Ryan would park himself in Arthur’s twin bed, eager to watch his favorite cartoons. That’s when the trouble
began.

“The purple dinosaur!” Ryan demanded, announcing his preference for
Barney.
He also loved
Power Rangers.
But “Artur,” as Ryan mispronounced his name, liked neither.

As John later remembered, “Arthur would get so mad when ‘the kid’ would watch cartoons in his bed because he wanted to watch
the races.”

Horses or cartoons—that was the question.

Sometimes Arthur did tolerate the dreaded cartoons, and watched absently as he fed his “girl” small chunks of apple as they
stretched out together. Other times, he’d had enough.

“Stop changing channels, now!” shouted Arthur, taking the remote control back from Ryan, determined to have his way. And so
it went, with the three-year-old and the eighty-three-year-old arguing over channels until Ryan was dismissed from the bedroom,
dejected, angry, sometimes crying.

“Ryan, come to me,” soothed Pearl, leading him over to the dining table where she began teaching him the basics of Go Fish
and War, distracting him from cartoons. There they sat, playing cards while Katie watched, sometimes snapping up a card with
her mouth and chewing on it. “Pa-Re-El!” Ryan shouted. “Tell her to stop!” And Katie would guiltily drop it.

Meanwhile, Arthur, feeling mild regret, would eventually come out of the bedroom holding up Katie’s rubber ball, a peace offering.
At this, my dog would immediately run to the front door and scratch it, asking to be let out.

Ryan would be in a much better mood—and off they all would go, Katie leading the way for a down-the-hall race with Ryan (with
Arthur as referee).

“Now watch the ball,” instructed Arthur, staring at his young charges. Both Katie and Ryan were on high alert, their eyes
following his arm as he teased them with his warm-up. And then, he’d hurl the rubber ball to the far end of the hallway. Katie
and Ryan took off in a flash, chasing after it.

With Ryan on her heels, and Pearl and Arthur cheering from their doorway, Katie galloped like the wind, each and every time
faster than Ryan. She nimbly scooped the ball up with her mouth, and then, without stopping at the hall’s end, looped back
around for the return trip down to Arthur’s door,
where she dropped the ball at his feet, hoping he’d throw it again.

“Girlie, you’re fast!” grinned Arthur, congratulating Katie with a biscuit.