In second grade I was a really, really weird kid. Of course I was oblivious to it then, but looking back, it's impressive the amount of self esteem I carried considering. Let me paint you a picture: Seven-year-old Kellianne used to lay with my back on the floor of my bedroom and document my current crush's name on the plywood underside of my upholstered desk chair. Being upside down was fascinating to me, apparently, as I remember routinely coming home after school, grabbing a snack, and making my way over to the carpeted steps that led from the kitchen to upstairs. I would enjoy my snack while laying on my back, upside down on the stairs, imagining what it would be like to live in my house if the ceiling was the floor so people would have to step through doorways and be careful not to trip over lights. At Costco, I would find the aisle with animal fur rugs and lie on one on the bottom shelf until my parents were finished shopping. I was inspired by the movie Harriet the Spy and was so determined to think that tomato & mayonnaise sandwiches were delicious (I was sure to always be vocal about how "delicious" it was with a fake smile plastered on my face). Speaking of my face, second grade was also the year I developed a very severe case of the chicken pox (at the same time I lost ONE of my front teeth.. it was an unfortunate sight) which left me with a small scar between my nose and eyebrow. To make for an even more unfortunate sight I had a bowl-cut.. yep, a shaved at the neck, above my ears, bowl-cut with bangs. This is what (the best version of) it looked like:
I was obsessed with yo-yo's, Lisa Frank, and Oregon Trail. But more than anything else, second grade brought with it my obsession with getting a dog.
I would wake up every morning and grab the sports section of the newspaper, flip to the very last pages, and start perusing the classifieds for puppy ads. Any description with the words "Chow" (my breed of choice.. ew) or "Free to a good home" were insta winners and were immediately cut out and taped onto a piece of notebook paper for safe keeping and consideration at a later date when my parents would hopefully, finally, agree with me that our family needed a dog. This went on for two entire years. My parents, the sweet souls they are, thought they could satisfy my desire for a dog by offering an array of other, smaller pet options. Silly them. Over the course of second through fourth grade our family went through a variety of pets including lizards, goldfish, hamsters, and a hedgehog. Due to unfortunate events and my amateur skills as a pet owner, none of these pets lived very long... Which left us, once again, with a missing piece to our family.
December 24th 1997.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, and everyone had gone to sleep for the night. Everyone except my nine-year-old self who was WAY too jittery with anticipation of the next morning. I knew Santa had visited because I heard him rustling around the living room earlier. So there I lie awake staring at the ceiling imagining what the living room and tree must look like lit up and filled with colorful presents! I wasn't counting on Santa to deliver me a puppy because the year before he had pulled quite the stunt. (I had listed a puppy as the only item on my list, and awoke Christmas morning to a huge STUFFED ANIMAL puppy. *cue major disappointment*) This year I had been sure to specifically write "a REAL, ALIVE puppy", but had since convinced myself that Santa didn't do live deliveries. Anyways, as I was lying in bed, my ears perked up. I heard a strange sound downstairs (at the time I remember thinking it sounded like a donkey... yep... ) and my curiosity got the best of me. I tiptoed down the stairs to survey the scene and take a peek into the living room. JUST as I was about to round the corner, BUSTED. My dad came around the same corner and looked me square in the face. Uh oh. Before any words were spoken I quickly pivoted, and raced up the stairs probably crying and uttering some excuse for why I was sneaking around to peek at presents.(I'm going to go ahead and guess my dad wasn't buying my story...)
December 25, 1997.
THE.BEST.DAY.OF.MY.LIFE.THUS.FAR.
You guessed it.
Santa finally agreed with me and, despite my parents' objections, brought my family the tiniest, sweetest, most lovable Beagle puppy in the world. I don't know a happier moment in my childhood than snuggling with her on Christmas morning on our big couch pillows and watching her run around. After her first walk to the end of the block that afternoon, we agreed that Holly was the most fitting name, considering she was our Christmas miracle dog. This is a picture of Holly in her first dog bed shortly after Christmas with my
youngest brother Michael.
Since Christmas 1997, Holly has been an integral part of our family. Her favorite activities include eating cheddar cheese, sniffing scent trails on walks, watching/following anyone who is at the refrigerator.. or in the kitchen for that matter, sitting by the back door and spying on squirrels through the glass, transforming her dog treats into play toys, sneaking around every room of the house when she's home alone (I've caught her deer-in-the-headlights multiple times!), avoiding the pool like the plague, racing along the fence line that runs along High Drive and being sure to "protect" us all from every single dog being walked, and above all else.. nap. She wins a dog lifetime achievement award for napping more percentage of her life than any other dog, ever.
Holly has been the most perfect dog for our family; complementing our loud and busy lifestyle by being mellow and loving. While we eat together as a family, she sits/lays a few feet away and watches our conversation flow, while also keeping an eye on the floor for scraps of food. She is so helpful with the dishes by licking the plates clean an extra time before the door closes to run a cycle. She doesn't mind not being walked often because she has an entire world of a yard next door that she has taken to exploring every nook and plant of over the last 15 years. She waits eagerly for her stocking every Christmas morning and embarrasses easily when we dress her up for halloween. Holly has loved and welcomed every friend or acquaintance, family member or member of our church, whether young or old, with a jump to say hello and she is even sure to sniff them all out just to make sure no one is dangerous ;) Over the last few years she has loved dragging her dog bed into the most central area of the house (right by the heating vent so she can enjoy warm air) to keep an eye on everyone coming and going at all points of the day.
No matter if I was throwing a temper tantrum, laying upside down on the stairs, had a face full of acne, braces AND glasses, was gone for almost entire days on end for school and sports, left for the summer to work at camp, or moved out for college and didn't see her months at a time, Holly has always been the most faithful and loving dog. When she would spy me walking into my house through the garage door, she always trotted right over to welcome me home. Her young puppy days of jumping with excitement have evolved into mellow (ie. lazy) greetings or acknowledgment but I know she is just as loving and happy to see me as the day we first welcomed her into our family on Christmas of fourth grade.
Today, with a very heavy heart and after 15 years of experiencing our family and friends grow up, loving us, being the recipient of our unending love for her, and providing us SO many funny memories, my family is putting Holly to rest. She has developed a heart problem that she's been fighting for a few years and this winter's cold would be too painful for her, to the point where she won't be able to do the things she enjoys most-- running around outside and exploring what the world has to offer her little doggy self. I never imagined what this day would feel like, but I sure as heck wasn't thinking it would feel this difficult. I wish more than anything that I could be at home and see her one last time, but alas, I am in Colorado, exploring the world like Holly loves to do. Thankfully I was able to FaceTime my pup old lady one last time before she leaves the world today and talk sweetly to her, hoping somehow to convey how great of a companion she's been to me since the days of playing on monkey bars. It seems almost silly to try to thank her, because she's an animal of course, but I'd like to believe that somehow, in some other-worldly way, she was able to understand just how strong of a tie my heart has to hers. There will be a Holly sized spot in my heart for as long as I can imagine.
I love you sweet girl.
