Awhile back, my daughters gifted me a subscription to “Storyworth,” where I am sent an email every week for one year, asking a question about my life. I answer in the form of a short story that, at the end of the year, will be compiled and bound into a keepsake book for them, and subsequent generations, to read. The great thing about this format is they can pick questions from a list, they can make up their own questions and I can modify the questions or make up my own, as well.
One of the questions they chose was ……………..
“Katy, did you have any pets growing up?”
Yes I did. I had a couple of pets growing up. This is a fun question, one that brings back some great memories as well as cringe-worthy!
I don’t know if my older siblings had pets but, the first one I remember was a brown and white Collie mix named “Hungry.”
Hungry had an elusive past—like a fugitive on the run, except her only crime seemed to be extreme enthusiasm for pasta. She showed up one day, wandering around our lake cottage property, looking like she had just escaped from a doggy jailbreak. One of her legs was in a cast, which was as filthy as her once-white fur, making it clear she had been on an adventure—possibly one involving a high-speed chase with a raccoon or squirrel.
As you might remember, we ate spaghetti once a week, usually on Sunday, because it was one of the few meals that could satisfy a family of ten without requiring a second mortgage. Even at the lake, spaghetti was in the meal rotation. I still remember the moment Dad put some spaghetti in a bowl for Hungry. She attacked it like it was her last meal on earth, inhaling noodles with the intensity of a competitive eater. And just like that, she earned her name.
The next morning, Hungry was still outside the cottage, looking at us like she had just signed a long-term lease. Naturally, we set out to find her owners, walking around the lake and stopping at other cottages. Our detective work was impressive, if you consider “Hey, is this your dog?” to be expert-level investigation.
When Sunday evening rolled around and it was time to head back to Fort Wayne, we pleaded with our parents to let us take her with us. They pointed out, quite logically, that if we took her home, there would be no chance of reuniting her with her owners. But we countered with an even stronger argument: sad puppy-dog eyes, both ours and Hungry’s. In the end, they caved, though I suspect it was less about our persuasion skills and more about sheer exhaustion.
Of course, the logistics of adopting a mystery dog with a questionable medical history soon hit them. A vet visit would be inevitable, and who knew what kind of bill would come with getting that cast removed. But at that moment, all that mattered was that Hungry was coming home with us. And, let’s be honest, she was probably just relieved she’d never have to fight for spaghetti scraps again.
1st Row: Suzy, Katy, Steve, Hungry, Denise & Casey. 2nd Row: Steve Katt, my Grandma Leffers, Laurie, Reggie, Steve Bailey (holding Troy) & my Mom. 3rd Row: Popo (my Grandpa Leffers), Dan (with Damian on his shoulder) & my Dad.
In retrospect, I think my Dad suspected that Hungry had been “dumped” and knew all along she was going home with us. She got a bath before we headed home but we returned to our cottage on Lake Papakeechie many weekends afterward in hopes of finding her rightful owners. Well ………. Mom and Dad hoped to find her owners.
And, about that cast on her leg ………… my Dad figured out how to remove it and they never ended up with that expense. I’m not positive but, I think one of the boys helped him.
I don’t remember what happened to Hungry but by the time we acquired our next dog, Hungry was no longer with us.
I must have been around nine or ten when my older brother, Casey, was attending IU, Bloomington. One weekend he came home with a Saint Bernard puppy, which became ours, as he couldn’t care for a dog at collage, much less a dog that would eventually look like a horse and poop like a pig! Let’s not even discuss the amount of slobber that excreted from that dog’s mouth.
I don’t remember the exact story but it went something like this:
A girlfriend gave the puppy to him and, well, he took it? Idk ……… I think she had a crush on him and had already named him, “Leffers.” Can you say, “STALKER MUCH?!”
However, stalker girl aside, he was a gorgeous dog! A full-bred Saint Bernard with almost perfect markings (for showing), or so we were told by someone that knew more than us about dogs ……….. though for all we knew, they could have just been a really confident liar. Either way, Leffers had a such a sweet temperament and was incredibly gentle… as much as a dog the size of a small pony can be.
Of course, his size did present a few challenges around the house. He was basically a four-legged wrecking ball with a wagging tail. But in my nine-year-old mind, his sheer size also made him the perfect candidate for my personal steed. So, naturally, I attempted to ride him like a horse. It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time ………. he was enormous, and I was basically the weight of a wet sock.
The good news? I managed to mount him. The bad news? Gravity did its thing, and I tumbled off, landing nose-first onto the concrete pad that held our neighbor’s metal laundry line pole. My nose bled like a crime scene, my head pounded like a drum solo, and by the next day, I was sporting two glorious black eyes—because apparently, nothing says “good decision-making” quite like looking like you lost a boxing match with your own dog.
Leffers eventually went to doggie heaven and after Mom and Dad separated, I talked Mom into letting me adopt a rescue. I think she felt badly about the divorce and granted me a trip to the pound to find my new fury friend.
Together, we picked out a poodle mix named, “Missy.” I was a busy high-schooler so Missy spent more time with my Mom than with me, although when I was home, she followed me around and slept on my bed at night. O.K. yes, I might have deluded myself into believing she liked me more.
My Mom was not fond of Missy and would claim to be annoyed when she jumped on her chair while she was reading a book or watching her favorite show, Murder, She Wrote. Missy, however, had the persistence of a detective herself, perhaps inspired by Jessica Fletcher, because she would wiggle her head under Mom’s free hand, forcing her into an unintentional petting session. Mom would sigh dramatically, and mutter, “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” but I’m pretty sure that was just her way of pretending to tolerate Missy, for my benefit, while secretly adoring the fuzzy little menace.
Of course, you girls remember Ninja, our black Chow. He and Missy were good friends for several years. With Ninja still a pup and Missy the undisputed “Doggiarch” 🤪, she took him under her wing and taught him a few tricks. One of her quirks was her dislike of snow as she hated going out in it to potty. Naturally, Ninja picked up on that too!
After Missy was gone and Ninja grew into a full-fledged adult dog, he seemed to embrace his inner warrior—strutting around like a knight in a full, hairy suit of armor. And while he once may have given snow the side-eye, he eventually decided it wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, he started charging into snowdrifts like a fluffy battering ram, as if every snowfall was his personal battlefield.
Those are the stories I remember about my pets growing up. I’m happy to report I was not responsible for the guinea pigs Steve had for awhile before they spent an afternoon in the sun and well …… met their demise……….
Xoxo, Kiki
I loved reading about and remembering Hungry, Leffers, Missy, and Ninja. Thanks for writing and including pictures.
What fun stories. I think this is a great idea. 🙂