He was only just a little guy, what one calls a mutt. He could fit into the palm of my hand. I took him from his mother a couple of weeks early. It was a one-time visit to Whidbey Island ; the owners let me take him right then. He wupsed on the ferry boat coming home, but I knew he was going to make it. God forgot to zip his fur coat up all the way. He had a fuzzy white soul patch peeking out onto his chest. The rest of him was black. He smelled cozy, of warm milk and musky food.
When I brought him home to Ruffner Street in Seattle , it was almost dark. Mom and Dad thought he was real cute. Mom told me to get a box for him and to put some paper down. He could learn to wee wee and poo poo on that. We played with him awhile and gave him some milk. I put him in the box for bedtime and he yipped something fierce. Mom told me I couldn't sleep with him. He had to stay in the kitchen. I could leave the light on for him. He was only a puppy. He had to learn where his place was. Mom told me to fix a hot water bottle for him; to tuck it under a soft blanket and to put a clock in the box. The warmth and the ticking might help him feel he was near his mother and her heartbeat. I name him Yippy because he didn't crying at night for weeks.
I was near eleven years old with Yippy came into my life. One year later, I forgot all about him. I had discovered boys. Mom and Dad took care of him.
Bootsy came soon thereafter. A neighbor brought her over to us one day. She was a fluffy half-Persian kitty with tortoise-shell markings. Yippy made room for her. She had little boots of white fur on all four paws. She looked elegant and on top of things. Yippy was a real guy; he would let it all hang out. Yippy had feathery wisps between his toes, catching up with his paws. His walk was kind of straggly.
Bootsy seemed the smarter of the two about taking care of herself. And she found a neighbor, Mrs. Carlson, who would pamper her. Bootsy would sit all day on a silk pillow, keeping Mrs. Carlson company. Yippy would doze on our concrete front porch all by himself. He would try to scare away the cars that went by. It's a wonder he never got run over. Mom would try to take him for a safe canine-friendly outing in the fields of Fort Lawton near-by, but “the damn fool wouldn't get out of the car.”
But Yippy and Dad formed a strong bond. If it hadn't been for Dad, Yippy wouldn't have lived. The veterinarian wanted to put Yippy down for distemper but Dad wouldn't do it. He carried Yippy in his arms outside when he had to “go.”
Yippy pulled through his supposed life-threatening illness and before long Dad went on a campaign to toughen him up. He would keep Yippy outside as long as possible even when Yippy was shivering. He had Yippy sleep on the back porch or in the kitchen with the doors closed. Whenever we ate in the dining room, Yippy was relegated to the kitchen. The linoleum floor in the kitchen was the Berlin Wall for dogs: any noses or paws on the rug of the dining room were sent into retreat. Begging and pleading and puppy-dog eyes didn't work either.
But Dad did save Yippy from hanging himself once. Dad had come home for lunch; Mom was at a bridge party. Dad ate the sandwich that Mom had prepared for him and had his afternoon beer. When he was finished, he went out through the back door and the side gate toward the front of the house where his Oldsmobile was parked. That's when he heard Yippy barking in the backyard. Something told Dad to go back. He found yippy hanging by his collar on our picket fence. He accidentally hooked himself. He had likely been jumping up and down wanting Dad to stay. He could have chocked to death.
And then one summer Yippy got a bad case of ticks. Dad took him to the veterinarian. When he and Yippy came back, we couldn't find Yippy. There was only this wiggle-waggler with a crew cut. He was all gray skin with bumps. We guessed it was Yippy, because he was so happy to see us.
In the late fall, Dad made an announcement that changed our lives forever. We were all standing at the kitchen sink. Dad was moving his lips. I was looking out the window. It was black in the sky, as if all the stars had fallen to earth. I could see streetlights and house lights glittering. I heard Mom asking me if I wanted to go to San Francisco . Dad had gotten promoted. She was clinging to the sink. Oh yes, Oh yes. I would be closer to my journey to becoming an actress and we'd live a more sophisticated life. Mom didn't realize how good this would be. She'd be okay.
Dad said we had to sell the house. He had to be down to San Francisco in two weeks time. You got to really move when you're moving up. Dad was entering the fast lane.
Bootsy got a new home with a family at the newspaper and so did Yippy. Except Yippy didn't believe it was his home. He thought he was just visiting. One day Mom opened the door to get the morning paper and there he was flopped on the front porch, as usual. Only now, his paws were torn and bloody. His new home was four miles away, after all. This happened two or three times. Mom was beginning to lose her patience. How could we move if Yippy wouldn't co-operate?
On the Saturday before we moved, after he downed a half-glass of Bourbon, Dad saw Yippy in the yard. From the kitchen, I could see Dad put Yippy into the car. Yippy jumped happily into the front seat of the Oldsmobile to join Dad. I could see Yippy's ears, bouncing carefree. I didn't feel anything watching Yippy leave us, but Yippy's ears kept bouncing in my throat. I wasn't close to Yippy anymore. And now he was gone. In order to pursue ones dreams, you have to leave home, you have to leave hearts behind. Grandma had done it, Dad had done it, even Mom had done it. Now I had started doing it.
A couple of days hence, Dad learned that the people who were buying our house would adopt Yippy. Dad called the veterinarian. Yippy was no longer available. He was sold for five dollars for research. I didn't know what research meant. Something told me not to ask. Dad couldn't eat his breakfast for days.
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Dad won a National Award for bettering the Circulation Department of the San Francisco paper and getting it out of the red. Mom felt she had lost almost everything – friends, a life apart from Dad and myself, a feeling of belonging. She got her hair and nails done every week as compensation. I won Miss Congeniality in a Beauty Pageant. Bootsy lived happily ever after. And Yippy? He never wanted to leave us. Why would he want to give up a good home? He didn't know about what it takes to get by in the world and about how to get ahead. Yippy was only a dog, after all.