Katie Up and Down the Hall: The True Story of How One Dog Turned Five Neighbors Into a Family Read Free Page A

away.
    One day, when I was about four years old, I was playing in the hedges behind our house with my sister, then six. In a flash,
     out of nowhere, Strippy suddenly broke loose and tore out of his yard and into ours, racing over the hedges and straight toward
     us.
    Strippy pushed us down to the ground with his huge paws, bouncing on top of us, though not actually scratching or hurting
     us in any way. In hindsight, he was probably just being friendly and knocked us down by accident. But tell that to two petrified
     kids.
    My heart was pounding furiously as I felt the horrible weight of that dog on top of me before he raced away from the yard.
    My mom saw it all from the bedroom window, and by the time she came rushing outside, we were cowering in the bushes, crying
     and hysterical. I escaped into a large cardboard box that was nearby on the lawn, shivering inside it, while my sister huddled
     in Mom’s arms.
    This traumatic event would stay with us for years. Thereafter, any time a friendly neighborhood dog trotted by, we froze in
     our tracks, like statues, paralyzed by fear.

    But by the time I was ten, this fear of dogs had miraculously faded away, thanks to “Lady,” a vivacious beagle who became
     our neighborhood mascot. I never can forget her adorable face, those floppy brown ears, and expressive brown eyes that literally
     sparkled. True, she was a little chubby, but that didn’t stop her from being the spunkiest dog I’d ever seen.
    She’d race us around the yard—her long tail waving back and forth like a windshield wiper—chasing balls, leaping into the
     air, tagging behind me on bike rides, fetching branches, begging for snacks, and snooping into everything—overjoyed to play
     with the neighborhood kids and stealing kisses with her long tongue. I loved it when she’d roll over, desperate to have her
     stomach rubbed.
    It wasn’t long before I wanted a dog of my own. But Mom was firmly opposed to it. By now, I had another sister, Debby, and
     Mom said that raising three kids was enough work—that we weren’t meant to have a dog.
    Yet, as a girl, Mom had treasured a white poodle named Sadie, and later, a German shepherd named Duke. Her father, our Papa,
     was a great dog lover and lobbied on my behalf. The arguments went on for weeks. But the answer was still no.
    Not to be dissuaded, my stubborn grandfather forged ahead, and one morning simply showed up at our house with a miniature
     schnauzer.
    Mom was furious. By the time I got home from school, the black puppy, named Herman, was tied to the swing set in the backyard,
     looking up at me with a plaintive expression that said: “
Keep me.
”
    But inside, Mom and Papa were having a heated “discussion.”
    Much as I begged, Mom wouldn’t allow him to stay. Papa took the dog away—and that was it for me and dogs for decades.

    Well into adulthood, though, I always kept a
to-do
list tucked into my date book. It had life goals (and trivia) written out on it: work objectives, hobby ideas, good restaurants,
     a list of friends and phone numbers, and for twenty-five years running, a three-word
note to self
: GET A DOG.
    I somehow sensed that having a four-legged companion would turn out to be one of the secrets to contentment (and sometimes
     easier to find than a two-legged one).
    Meanwhile, also on my to-do list was the goal of upgrading my living situation. After six years, I couldn’t stand the claustrophobic,
     dark apartment on the Upper East Side—a cross between a cave and a prison. I was desperate for something better.
    In the spring of 1985, after weeks of looking at outrageously priced high-rise apartments, just as an afterthought, my realtor
     suggested that I check out a brand-new building in Battery Park City. It had unobstructed Hudson River views, a swimming pool,
     gardens, restaurants, and stores. If it was too good to be true—
and
a real bargain—that was because not many people back then wanted to live at the southern tip