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

symmetrical—and
     a perfectly blond, even coat.”
    Twiggy, Tom explained, was also the smartest of the bunch—the first to mischievously figure out how to escape from the pen
     and steal treats from a cookie jar by knocking it off a low ledge and rolling it over with her paws.
    “That dog has something special about her,” he chuckled. “Interested?”
    I certainly was intrigued. And just as Pearl was about to change my life, so was this unwanted little creature named Twiggy.

    As for the puppy’s imperfections, I really didn’t care. After all, I had no intention of breeding a dog or having one compete
     in dog shows. The only thing I wanted was an affectionate, healthy, cute puppy with a calm temperament.
    “Okay Tom, I’d love to meet her. Assuming we click, I’ll take her.”
    Over the next few days, I was consumed with getting prepared, determined to avoid any more faux-paws.
    I wondered how the prospective puppy would adjust. This puppy was going from “Green Acres” to high-rise living. From day one,
     she’d be entering a world quite different than the one she knew on “the farm” in Jersey. We have a lot of greenery in Battery
     Park City, but no pastures or barns.
    Upon her arrival, she’d be coming into a circular driveway that leads into an all-glass-enclosed lobby, allowing you to see
     straight through to the Hudson River and New Jersey coast. The circular doors spin busily morning and night with baby carriages,
     luggage carts, and dogs moving in and out.
    Once inside, the pup would be traipsing past our doormen, Felipe and Dave, and into a long mirrored lobby with couches, armchairs,
     and a mural of the Hudson River, which leads toward a bank of four elevators.
    Getting off on the third floor, she’d then trot all the way down to the very south end of a long red-carpeted hallway where
     she’d find the white door leading into my apartment.
    Entering, the new puppy would see a kitchen, a long living room facing onto the marina, and a bedroom with an exposure facing
     west, directly onto the Hudson, with a view of the Statue of Liberty. The Esplanade, dog run, and the river were less than
     a five-minute walk away.
    Not a bad setup for a city dog.
    My focus was on the kitchen, which I’d outfitted with all the paraphernalia necessary for a puppy, as if I were turning it
     into a nursery for a newborn. Key were the baby fence enclosing the room and the metal kennel—big enough to allow the puppy
     to stand, stretch, and sleep, with adequate room to turn around.
    I put cushiony pillows on its floor and a green towel on top to semi-enclose it and make it cozy. Also ready to go were the
     food and water bowls, puppy chow, assorted toys, and nylon bones for teething—all of it meant to give my puppy the perfect
     housewarming.
    So on an overcast day in October, when Twiggy was twelve weeks old, the breeder Tom drove the remaining pup into Lower Manhattan
     for her “interview.” I wanted all the support and help I could get that day, and felt lucky when Joe, and his partner Robert,
     offered to drive me over to the meeting place. “You’re not going to want to take the puppy home in a taxi, all alone,” said
     Joe, considerately.
    So with Dinah at Robert’s feet, we all piled into Joe’s little white Volkswagen convertible for this early-fall adventure.
    When we got over to our rendezvous spot—a parking lot near the South Street Seaport on Manhattan’s East River—there was Tom
     standing outside a dark green van, the back hood up, with a beat-up dog crate near the opening.
    “Finally, we meet,” exclaimed Tom, a sturdy-looking man in his early sixties who put out his hand in welcome as he brought
     us around to the back of the car for a look at the star attraction.
    And there in the crate sat poor Twiggy, a bedraggled blond ball of fur. She was shivering and raggedy. Her big brown eyes
     gazed up at us apprehensively.
    “She’s a little homely at the moment,” apologized Tom, a