Introducing Mattie-Kate, Our New Family Member

Mattie-Kate
Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller

In November we said goodbye to our little human in a fur coat, K8 the Gr8.  Katie was a Papillon, a warrior princess in sable-and-white.  For thirteen years she told us all what to do -- and we happily did it.  K8 developed lung cancer, glaucoma and breast cancer, and thus -- when the time came -- we said another hard goodbye.

I swore to myself I'd never get another small dog.  I've always kept three (sometimes four) dogs at a time -- one small one among the big dogs.  It has been the perfect combination.  But here, in the desert, the little ones are so vulnerable -- needing extra protection from the wild things that grace us with their presence.  Like our kitties, they need extra care and vigilance. From hawks to rattlesnakes, coyotes to great horned owls, the little ones are easily snatched up.  We can't let them go out unattended, even in the fenced part of the yard; we can't take them on trail rides or let them off-lead on hikes in the Tonto.  

But K8 left a huge chasm in my heart.  We have been so happy with our Earl and Molly.  McNabs are our perfect dogs.  Yet small dogs are different entities than their larger counterparts -- almost, in my mind, a different species altogether.  Maybe it IS their vulnerability that endears them to us so closely, our human need to protect and nurture a creature so easily harmed. Maybe having that little pipsqueak around -- with the special needs a small dog has -- answers to that better part of ourselves, the part that wants to tend and protect.  

Still, I didn't give in.  I missed K8 every day -- her intelligence, her way of vocalizing very clearly what she wanted, needed and demanded.  I missed her sense of humor and her feistiness and the way her pantaloons swished side to side when she trotted. I missed her in every way.  I avoided thinking about her. The card the veterinary hospital kindly sent me when she died remains unopened, next to her boxed ashes.  I can't speak of her without crying.  I avoided doing so and I pushed her from my thoughts to keep that familiar lump from rising in my throat.

A few weeks ago, a severe storm with record-breaking rainfall struck. It washed away much of our newly-graveled driveway, eroded channels into our footpaths, carried away sand and dirt and a great deal of stock fence.  We ordered new gravel last week.  As he was leaving for work, Russ greeted the driver until I was able to make my way through the tangle of furry creatures blocking my way to the door.  By the time I got shoes on and made it outside, a fluff of tan and white was waiting on the front porch.  I burst out with, "A Papillon!" to no one in particular as I knelt to greet the little dog.  I turned to the driver, Knate, and said, "I miss my Papillon so much," with tears in my eyes.  He grinned and said, "We've got puppies!" just as my partner-in-crime, Russ, called out, "They've got puppies!"  I looked at him mournfully and he said, "I'll buy a puppy."

And so it came to be that Mattie-Kate joined us.  She is tiny and fluffy as a milkweed puff-ball.  We wrestled with a name:  Hannah, Cleo, Lucy, Mattie.  After bringing her home, we decided on "Mattie" after Mattie Ross, the feisty girl from True Grit. Within hours, she began showing her K8 the Gr8 tendencies:  lying on her back and pulling your hand toward her belly where she wanted to be scratched; burrowing into the blankets and pillows while making joyful Papillon noises; giving orders.  Russ said, "Her name is Mattie-Kate."  

Mattie-Kate's First Night with Us, Carefully Tended by Willie the Cat and Molly McNab
Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller

Earl quickly welcomed Mattie-Kate, while Molly greeted her apprehensively, ears and tail low.  Shotgun Willie the cat immediately gave her a warm and happy nose bump.  Only Froggy Isabella, our sensitive and complicated ginger cat, is unhappy.  She shoots Mattie-Kate the stink-eye from across the room and growls and hisses at her whenever near. On the first night, as Mattie slept beside me on my pillow, I awakened to Froggy hovering over us and growling at the puppy.  I hissed at her and she briefly vanished, only to waken me again a bit later with a growl.  Dozey, I didn't open my eyes until Mattie screamed in terror -- Froggy had apparently swatted Mattie's head before skulking off in a dark mood.

It has now been three days. Froggy has yet to accept Mattie, but the rest of the household adores her.  Earl is now shy but gentle around her, as he once was with the kittens.  Molly?  Molly has adopted her as sister, friend and playmate.  Mattie-Kate is already showing signs of ruling with the regal iron paw that K8 had.  What Mattie wants, Mattie gets -- just as K8 did.  She sleeps snuggled in among the pillows, sometimes on top of my head, sometimes stretched out paws-behind-her in swimmer fashion, nestled beside Molly. Mattie keeps up well when we walk to the barn or feed the chickens -- and she and Molly play constantly.  Throughout the day she is at my feet, sometimes growling and attacking my shoe, other times snuggled beside them and sleeping soundly at perfect peace.

So we are now a full house with three dogs and two cats, all of them wild cards.  It's rambunctious and yippy and funny and busy. We sleep among two McNabs and a little fur ball like pieces of a strangely-textured jigsaw puzzle.  We wend our way through the house surrounded by happy, energetic creatures. We've returned to normal, again.  All is well.  All is as it should be.

Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller * All rights reserved * No part of this article may be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the express permission of the author * Links to this page, however, may be freely shared * Thank you for linking, liking, +1'ing, sharing, forwarding, tweeting or otherwise helping grow my readership * Most of all, thank you for reading! Don't forget to sign up for email updates!

Next Up:  The Nurturing Nature of McNabs!