This is a section of tribute to my dog, Katie. Maybe it seems a little much, something sweet old ladies do when they lose their dog, Muffy, but Katie was a great dog - and a great part of my life. Eventually I will add more to this section, but for now I have a couple of important farewell items.

My eulogy is no longer on a separate page, but here on this one instead. It's a little verbose - sort of going through our history together, and sharing certain memories, but all in all it was completely cathartic to write, so even if it's long, I'm glad I did it. I'll admit, maybe it's more for me than anyone, but along with the pictures in her section of the gallery I hope it gives a little insight into how much a part of my life Katie was. I didn't say everything, I never could, but I said what I should.

Again, this section is currently a big farewell, but it will eventually have other areas involving my dog that aren't so focused on memorializing her. Katie was also a huge part of my movie-making, and she will get her due credit as I add more Classics.

I first met my old friend outside of a grocery store - where she was with members of the Orange County Animal Shelter trying to raise awareness for their cause. It was June of 1993, and my parents had finally decided to get us a dog. For the few years prior, my sister and I had a number of hamsters as pets, but my dad finally gave in and the four of us drove over to the shelter to look for a dog. I'm a little fuzzy on the details, which tends to happen over time, but as I believe it went - my parents went to the shelter first and saw a really great dog the shelter had named Patty. A few days later they brought me and my sister back with them to see this dog ourselves. When we arrived, though, the workers let us know that the dog was out promoting the shelter at a local grocery store, and so off we went to meet her. She was wearing a colored bandana and wagging her tail, and after a very short time with Patty, the family decision was made - we were in love.

On June 22, 1993 the day after my eleventh birthday, my mom, my sister, and I went to pick up our first dog. Patty was bounding about - the youthful energy of a young dog just exiting her puppy years, but there was a slight hesitation when we went to put her into our van. The assumption was that it may have been how her previous owners got rid of her - but we'll never know. When the shelter found her, she had most likely been on the streets for awhile alone - she was pretty thin and dirty. I sat in the back of our minivan with Patty, to help keep her comfortable. She still shook, though, out of nervousness and excitement.

On the car ride home, the three of us had a discussion - what to name our new pet? Patty was what the shelter had called her, and she'd been there for a little while - so should we really change it? I don't think any of us loved the name, so my mom had a suggestion of changing it to something that sounded like Patty. From that point on, my dog's name was Katie.

Nobody knew exactly how old Katie was when we first got her, but the shelter had guessed she was about 1-2 years old. She wasn't a little fuzzball of a puppy (though I can only imagine how cute a puppy she was), but she was definitely still very young - full of energy and the occasional puppy-like tendencies. Just as we weren't sure how old she was, we were unsure of her exact breeding, as well. Katie was definitely a mix, though. When she was young, she was nearly all black - many people mistaking her for a German Shepherd. As she aged, however, she began to resemble another breed - perhaps an Australian Shepherd. It was funny, though, for as loving and nice as she was, people would still get nervous when they saw her as a young dog - with all of the black, she looked much more like a mean dog. By the time she was middle aged and lighter, though, everybody who saw her realized just how approachable she was.

Katie was definitely a spitfire, though - that was why I loved her. She was very calm and easy going, until she was pushed too far, and I don't mean by my mom putting bows on her head for pictures. In all the years we had her, I only really saw Katie get aggressive twice, and both times she felt like there was a real danger. The first time, the whole family was doing work around the yard, with the side gate and garage door open. Katie was wandering around, between the front and back yards. We were just going about our work when all of a sudden there was a big commotion from the side of the house. Another dog had wandered in off the street, and into our backyard...and Katie didn't like it. It was mostly just barking and growling, with a very quick physical clash, but there was no blood or anything like that. She was just defending her home. The second time I saw her get physically aggressive was a few years later. Katie and I were on one of our usual walks through the neighborhood, when we came across a house where a very large dog lived. I knew of the dog, and the family was about as hillbilly as you can find in Orange County, so the dog was often wandering around their yard unsupervised. He was pretty friendly, though he did make me a little nervous because of his size. He was at least twice as tall as Katie was, and she came up to my knees. So, on this day, Katie and I walked by the house, and the big dog was outside walking with his owner. Normally I might have walked on the other side of the street, but I figured the owner would be watching her dog. As dogs will do, Katie and the giant started sniffing each other as we met on the sidewalk. "Go ahead, sniff your little heart out," I thought. I didn't even notice what happened, but in a flash, the two of them went from sniffing to barking and snapping at each other. Again, it wasn't a bloody fight, more like wrestling. Of course the giant wasn't on a leash, and Katie was, so I tried pulling her away, but the giant's owner didn't have much she could do. It wasn't a very long scuffle, and we eventually separated the two - but when we did, Katie had pretty much pinned the big dog to the ground. Again, she was half his size, and he wasn't some weak old dog, but she was kicking his butt, in a way. Katie and I always got along well for this very reason - we were both small, but we were tough. Ah, the angst of youth.

Most of the time, though, my walks with Katie were uneventful. At least, uneventful in the sense that we weren't always getting into brawls and dogfights. Our walks were definitely always entertaining in some way, though. When we were younger, we would sometimes end up at the park, and I'd let her off the leash to chase the rabbits - she never caught any, she was just playing. As time went on, she stopped wanting to chase the rabbits, and instead began to just enjoy our walks. All I had to do was jingle the chain from her leash, and her head and ears would pop up and she knew what was coming. We both enjoyed the walks, though. I couldn't dare recall how many hours I would spend talking to Katie on walks - going on about silly or pointless things, but also talking about what was going on in my life, be it a girl I was thinking about or my family life. Obviously, she was a dog, she had no idea what I was saying - I'm not insane. She was the one member of my family that I talked to. That's a deep well of conversation that veers too off topic, but simply put: when I was a kid, I used to talk to my mom all the time, and sometimes my dad. As years went on, I closed off from my dad, and then eventually my mom - so Katie was all I had. Oh, if that dog could've talked - she could have blackmailed me for more than I'm worth. Eventually, she began to understand the word walk, so if I looked at her and said "walk" she would jump up excited. Because of this, I began using the word "constitutional" to describe it when talking to my mom with the dog around - simply so she wouldn't get confused by hearing the word in normal conversation. Over the last few years, I also began to be more conversational on our walks together. Haha, believe me, I know I sound insane - but ever since I was a baby I've entertained myself, so that's all it was. I would carry on my side of the conversation as if she responded - again dealing with either stupid stuff we saw on the walk or personal issues. Who knows, maybe I am insane, but Katie never cared, she just enjoyed spending time together out and about. I often told myself, "When Katie gets old, before she dies, I should take her for one final walk." Our walks were something very special to me, and it was going to be the perfect farewell.

Beyond her fighting ability, Katie was also as stubborn as a mule. Just like myself, if she didn't want to do something, she wasn't doing it. Of course, as we grew older, Katie and I both lost a little of our rebellious bite, but in our younger days - good luck. Even if it was something that was for her benefit, she wouldn't budge an inch if she didn't want to. When she was older, as the elderly do, she developed different problems that required medicine - things like a thyroid pill to help regulate how tired she got during the day. Katie loved hot dogs, so my mom thought it was smart to put the thyroid pills into cut up hot dogs each morning. Katie didn't like taking the pills, so by hiding them, my mom was hoping to trick her into it. Of course, Katie wasn't dumb, and she caught on. She stopped eating the hot dogs altogether - preferring to give up something she liked, just to avoid something she didn't. Katie was like that about everything - pills, grooming, baths. The last year she was around, though, as I mentioned, she became nearly completely docile. When it was time for a bath, she would now just go along with it - she knew resistance would get her nothing. It's a wisdom that comes with age, I suppose. Besides, you'd be hard pressed to find Katie looking any happier than she did every time the bath was over.

That's just how Katie was, though - she was always happy. So far I've mentioned Katie being a stubborn dog that fights, but don't let me paint the wrong picture. She was a sweet, smart, loving dog who seemed to enjoy the heck out of life. Of course, again, she was a dog - I'm not deluding myself, but in the classic sense of the "happy dog" Katie was the epitome. In an effort to keep this eulogy from reaching epic proportions, I can't go into detail of every story of every thing she loved, but of every memory of her I have - the things she loved far outweigh the things she didn't. Some of these include: digging in the dirt when she was young (she never buried anything, just liked to dig), getting all riled up and happy and running back and forth in the backyard or hallways as the family cheered her on and laughed, eating, getting scratched behind her ear or on her belly, chasing bunnies and other small creatures, playing with my grandpa's dog Bailey, knowing the whole family was home (if my sister or I left for a few days, Katie would continually check our rooms looking for us), and laying outside watching the world go by. As you read the upcoming part about her last day, remember this section - she had a hell of a life, and enjoyed every bit of it!

We all change as we get older - we lose our youthful energy, we become more easy-going, etc. - and Katie was no different. It's been a common theme I've repeated a few times, but Katie and I really did grow up together. As I lost my spirit of teenage rebellion, so did she. As I lost my ability to stay up really late and became more easily tired, so did she. As much fun as Katie and I had throughout our lives, the last couple of years with her were probably my favorite. She had arthritis in her legs, and from time to time, when sitting on the ground next to her hugging her or scratching her head, she would lean into me. Most of that was for support, but it was also kind of symbolic of where we were in life. We'd known each other for so long, there was a friendship and a trust there. In the middle of working on a project, I would come out of the room to say hi to her, give her a scratch or something, and it was a good boost to both of our spirits. When you've known someone closely for a long time, you develop an unspoken understanding - a quiet bond that doesn't need to be expressed. Recently, my friend Nick and I had been talking about Heath Ledger's portrayal of the Joker in the new Batman movie. We were very excited about, discussing it in depth - and then Heath died suddenly. It was a jarring experience for everyone, myself included, and I took it really hard that first day. I was sitting in my room, talking to friends online about it, when Katie came into my room just to say hi. They say dogs can sense emotion, and I'm certain that's why Katie came in. It was these little moments, throughout the last few years, that made them my favorite.

By the end, Katie and I had several routines. My mom always wakes up very early, so she would often try to get Katie to go downstairs to go to the bathroom outside. With her arthritic legs, on cold mornings, Katie would sometimes stubbornly stay put - and as time went on, she would have more and more accidents inside of the house. But, regardless, every morning I would open my bedroom door (I had to keep it closed, because Katie would move around and always wake me up in the middle of the night), and see what was going on. Sometimes Katie would be laying on her bed asleep, sometimes she would already be downstairs for the day, and sometimes she'd be laying there staring downstairs - waiting very eagerly for someone to take her outside. Another routine, was something more for myself, but every time I left the house I would say, "Bye, Dog, I'll see you later," or if I knew when I was returning I'd tell her. Likewise, every night, before I closed my bedroom door to sleep, I would say,"Goodnight, Champion. I'll see you in the morning." I had a teacher in high school who called everyone "my champion," so I have adopted that. I say it to kids, and to my friends - it's silly sounding, but it's become a term of affection for me. Katie was different, though. She wasn't MY champion - she was THE champion. The champion of all the champions.

Tuesday February 12, 2008 - Katie's last day. I woke up that morning and opened my door, to see Katie laying on her hallway blankets. She had had a big accident, and the floor was all wet. This was nothing new for her, that's what happens when you get old, but that morning seemed like more than usual. I thought nothing of it and got her up to take her outside. With her arthritis, she tended to hop down the stairs more than walk, and she would sometimes miss a step so I made it a habit to always walk in front of her. That morning, though, she was ahead of me, and she slipped and fell down half of the stairs. I jumped after her, but I didn't make it. She stood up at the bottom and kind of shook her head (like a cartoon character might), and I held her for a moment to make sure she was ok. She was happy and content though - merely a little stumble. I let her outside, and everything was normal. I eventually went to my morning class, and when I came home, I noticed that my mom had put up cardboard walls to keep Katie on the tile of our entryway. It seems that she had another accident, and so she was kept off of the carpet while my parents were out shopping. I said hi to Katie, and even though she wanted to go upstairs with me, I told her I couldn't. A few hours later, I went to see how Katie was doing, and she had been wetting all over. This wasn't quite normal. I thought, since she'd been having problems the past few days, that maybe it was just from a long build up, and I took her out in the front yard. I stayed inside, because if we stood out there with her, she would get nervous thinking we wanted her to hurry up and come inside. She always took a long time, and so I went back upstairs for a few minutes. When I came back down, I stood in the living room, and watched her through the window. She was laying on the front lawn, panting and happy, sniffing the air and watching people and animals go by. She looked completely content. Throughout the rest of the day, Katie kept wetting inside. I had to go to work for a closing shift, and so I said goodbye to her as usual. My dad, being the over dramatic man that he is, would often say, "Well, this might be the last few days with Katie," whenever she would act strangely, but I never believed he was right. This day, though, he didn't say anything, but I knew. I had a complete gut feeling, as I drove to work, that this was the day my old friend would die. I bawled my eyes out as I drove to work - I couldn't shake the feeling. Work was like any other night, but while I was on my break in the back room, my dad called. He told me that Katie had fallen down where she stood a few hours ago, and that she wasn't able to stand up anymore. Her breathing was very labored, and he just wanted to tell me so I would get home as soon as I was off - and not to be shocked in case she was already gone by the time I got home.

I left work as soon as my closing duties were done, and I drove home in a very nervous state. Did I really want to see my dog suffering? Wouldn't it be better if she already passed away in her sleep by the time I got home? But, then, would I be able to get over not saying goodbye while she was alive? I pulled into the garage and took a deep breath. When I walked in the door, the house was dark, and the dining room light was on dim. Katie was laying in her spot under the stairs, and the rest of my family were sitting in chairs next to her. She was still alive, but not at all with it. There was a blanket next to Katie, and I laid down next to her. Even now, this is hard to write. My mom told me that, although she couldn't stand up, up until an hour before I got home, Katie was alert and happy - her usual self. Then she had a seizure, and my mom said she wasn't very alert after that. My mom's opinion was that after that first seizure, Katie was mostly braindead...with her body just maintaining her survival functions. It made sense, Katie definitely didn't have much of a spark in her eye. Eventually, everyone started to go to bed, I laid there on the ground with my dog. I had my arm under her head, because she needed support earlier when she popped her head up to look around. Her eyes would close, and her breathing would slow down, and I begged God to just let her go peacefully in her sleep. Truthfully, I have never asked for anything so strongly in my life. But, being the stubborn son-of-a-gun that she was, Katie kept waking up. Then the second seizure happened. It started with a leg twitch, and then her whole body was shaking...her legs moving as if she was running, her head bobbing up and down. It was a very scary thing to see for the first time - mostly because it was my dog that I loved. My mom came in while it was happening, and after Katie had calmed, I told my mom that we had to do something - Katie couldn't keep going through this.

My parents got dressed, and after a look through the phone book, we found the closest animal hospital open at that hour that handled putting dogs to sleep. I can't tell you exactly what time it was, but it was about 2.30 AM. My sister decided to stay home, she didn't want to go, so she said her long goodbye here at the house. While my parents were getting ready, and talking about how best to carry Katie, I kept encouraging them that we had to go now. My dad said, days later, that he was proud of me that night - I was the one who took charge, I was the adult. It was simple, really - my friend was in pain, and I knew we needed to help her. We carried Katie out to the garage and placed her in the back of my parent's SUV with the back seat down. She wasn't moving around at all, but I laid in the back next to her, to keep her comfortable (by continually talking to her, petting her, and letting her know I was there) and to help keep her steady as we drove since she couldn't balance herself. It's weird, something I didn't even realize until writing this eulogy - but just as I had been with my dog in the back of our car to comfort her on the very first day we had her, I was now doing the same exact thing on the very last day of her life. Fourteen years and eight months after I brought my dog home, laughing and talking to her as we drove, I was taking our final trip together, again laughing and talking to her as we drove.

We arrived at the hospital, and the nurses took Katie inside and gave her a sedative to hopefully stop the seizures so they could examine her, but it didn't work. The nurse asked if we wanted to try and save her or if we thought it was best just to let her go. Katie's seizures were coming more and more frequently now, her body was just shutting down as it had been all day, and so I told my mom that we had to let her go. They eventually brought Katie into a small room for the three of us to say goodbye to her, and then they would come in and give her the shot. I always thought I wanted to hold Katie when the time came, but I couldn't. She was very sedated, but she was still alive the last time I saw her, and even looking back now, I wouldn't have wanted to watch her go to sleep for the final time. My dad was the most shaken of us all, but we all had a sad goodbye. Before I left the room, I kissed my dog on the head, and said for the last time, "Bye, Dog, I'll see you later."

As anyone who has lost anyone they cared about, you'll understand what loss is like. The night we put her to sleep, I came home and took a shower. I had been the strong one, the one who had made the decision to take Katie in, the one who had suggested it was time to put her down. I even drove the car home from the hospital, though that was to help relax my dizzy stomach that had developed. When I was in the shower, though, with the water turned on, I finally collapsed. I fell to my knees crying - I didn't believe how much it hurt. The first day after, I walked around in a haze. I was very tired from being up until after 4 am, but driving to school and sitting in class - I was only half there. Over the next week or so, I went through alot, highs and lows. I felt guilty for feeling bad when there were so many good times to remember, and then I felt guilty for not feeling bad enough. I cried and I laughed. Eventually, though, as anyone does, I moved on. I still miss her, I always will, but I have found peace. At first, my biggest hurdle was the fact that her last few hours were probably very scary and painful - I couldn't get past the image of seeing her have seizures and whine, but a few days after she died, I had a realization that brought me complete peace, and really started the healing process for me. Yes, in her last few hours of life Katie was probably in alot of discomfort, but she wasn't alone. She was surrounded by the family that she loved, and that loved her. I was with her every second from the time I came home to the moments before she was put to sleep, and I found comfort and peace in knowing that after so many years of her being there for me - I was able to be there for her.

I'm a Christian, and I believe in Heaven. I can't tell you whether or not animals end up there, I couldn't say I believe it for certain - but it's a nice thought, and I'd like to imagine it might be true. I'd like to imagine that Katie, in some form, is running around in Paradise - no arthritis or bad eyesight to slow her down. I'd like to imagine that she visits with all my grandparents, and that she's able to lay around in some sort of backyard relaxing. I'd like to imagine that I'll be able to see my old friend again someday, and that we'll be able to go on "missions" and run around and play tug-of-war and laugh. I'd like to imagine she'll be there waiting for me when I come home a final time, her ears perked up, tongue hanging out, and her tail wagging. I'd like to imagine that I'll be able to hang out with my dog forever.

Besides - I still owe her a walk.

If you knew my dog, or even if you remember a story I told, I'd love to hear it. Granted, there aren't many people in my life now who met Katie, and there most likely won't be a mountain of responses, but I still thought it would be nice - a message board of memories, if you will. The form will be below the comments.