Patches

Sleeping on his rug

You don't know what you got till it's gone. Last night I went to a study group and I left my phone at home to charge.  I got home picked it up and I had three missed calls from my brother.  I knew something was either dead, dying or in a comatose state in New Hampshire. As it turns out something was dead. Patches, our dog of more than 17 years died January 15, 2013. If ever a dog had a longer more fulfilled life I wouldn't believe it. Even mans most long lived friend has a shorter life than man himself.  You think we could pick something better, like turtles. We picked Patches out as a puppy, from a litter my cousins had.  As a puppy he un-knowingly ventured out into the dread road.  This stunt landed him with a broken pelvis and he spent most of his puppyhoody in confinement.  There's nothing like having a puppy and not being able to play with him because he has to remain mostly stationary.  He survived and that was important. The next years he would become a runner as he kept up with us on four wheelers.  He would become a swimmer, as he retrieved ducks. Most of all he became a companion. Accompanying us on family trips and walks. While my mother was staying in a sketchy part of Salt Lake City known as Taylorsville, Patches became a sense of security.  He laid by the door and kept watch. When it was cold he came inside, and when we were scared he kept us calm.  In the weeks preceding I took him out to play tennis ball, more commonly known as fetch. Even as old as he was with arthritis, deafness and blindness setting in, he still wagged his tail like a puppy when he saw the tennis ball. Five out of six times I threw it too far, and had to fetch it myself. A few of his dislikes were summer baths, pulling sleds and Smokey. Summer baths were an annual occurrence, which included getting soaked, usually me, and chasing a dog around a horse chestnut tree with a bottle of shampoo in one hand.  When we were little we thought Patches would make the perfect sled dog.  I mean we were little, he was a dog, there was snow, and of course we had a sled. We would tie his leash to the sled, and yell mush, and he would sit there.  We thought the trick would work better in the summer with a wagon...we were wrong.  I think he took a liking to Smokey, even though Smokey is a poodle. Smokey would stick his head through the fence and steal his food, but Patches would ignore it. He was a good sport. Patches lives on through his puppies.  One afternoon our neighbors dog escaped the confines of an open yard and met Patches, 8 weeks later Patches puppies were born. Roaming was one of Patches' favorite past times, and landed him in the pound not once but twice. We always found him and brought him back home. A lot of his meals were leftovers. If we had extra meat, fat or gravy he would be the lucky recipient. I made bacon one weekend and poured the fat into a cup to be taken out to him, and remembered he wasn't there. Patches is under the peach tree in a Patches sized box.  He spent a good portion of his life under the tree, and it seems fitting. He had a good life, and was a good dog to a couple little kids. I hope everyone is lucky to have a dog like Patches.

Penguins

Stiff legged penguin walk terrain

Stiff legged penguin walk. I do it, you do it, the penguins in Antarctica do it, my little nieces do it.  Why? Ice is slick. Nobody wants to walk around in shoes with spikes on the bottom all winter long, so we had to improvise. This stiff legged penguin walk is handy for the moment when you are walking on ground just fine then you hit a slick spot, and your life flashes before your eyes.  Those goals you've had...long before you knew about ice...you realize you will never accomplish them.  You remember all the witty things you've wanted to say and you know you will never get the chance.  Then like magic you get your bearings. It's very surreal. You switch modes from walking like a champ, "yeah that's right I've got this whole walking thing, been doing it for 20 years," to "OH no, oh NO, are these my legs, why am I so TALL?" It is then that you remember if you straighten your legs, and barely lift them off the ground, this ice walking is really not so tough. I will admit that if you have seen documentaries on penguins; how they walk, general penguin duties, calls, eating strategies etc,  the walk comes much faster, and you will look like a pro. You are right, I lied, you're going to look like a dork.  But at the end of the day you won't have those terrifying yet exhilarating near death moments.

Tear here...HA

Oh Ketchup, mayonnaise and yes even fruit snacks how you have lied to me. Tear here for easy convenience...I have fallen for your tricks one too many times.  The ultimate liar, and I think it should be noted, is honey. Honey goes best with scones. Duh! When do you realize you need honey with your scone? After you have grabbed your scone and your hands are greasy from all the scone goodness.  You grab the little packet of honey (for those of us too cheap to buy a honey bear, or for those sitting in a restaurant to cheap to buy honey bears) expecting all your taste bud dreams to come true in 5.8 seconds.  It is then that you realize tear here is not as easy as tearing there. There is that little dotted line, so inviting and self explanatory, but what stands between you and that dotted line, is sixty seconds of struggle. All you wanted was a scone with a lil' bit o' honey. First you try tearing, and then you try biting spitting little bits of plastic wrapper everywhere but get no where...then you get desperate. Asking those around you, who have not fallen prey to the greasy hands. First you turn to family, who have probably dealt with this before, and want to squash the scene before it happens. Then you turn to your friends who are more likely to laugh at your conundrum than simply tear here. After you have exhausted all possible acquaintances you turn to the waiter. Waiters don't seem to understand that all you want them to do is tear on the dotted line. They just look at you quizzically and refill your glass. That's when you see it...your last glimpse of hope...of humanity...a knife.  You rush the table you grab the knife, you grab the honey packet, you position them perfectly, and you prepare to cut. Then you realize the only thing standing between you and the dotted line, you and honey, you and a delicious scone, you and dessert, or breakfast, or dinner, or a scrumptious snack, you and what you want most, is, it's a, your last hope is a butter knife. Really?  A butter knife? What's even worse is when it's a plastic butter knife. The injustice! The horror! But yes it has happened.  If you are lucky you remember in time that on your two inch fold up into your pocket, pocket knife there are some fold up into your pocket scissors.  You are finally able to defeat the tear here dotted line. You eat your scone, your fries, your hamburger like the champion you are.

The dotted line, also known as the enemy

Tearing there gets me this.  Not as detrimental when it is a bag of fruit snacks, the snacks remain at the bottom of the package.  Ketchup gets all over.  Mayonnaise does not get all over. Honey is sticky and gets all over.

Empty bag of fruit snacks after defeating the dotted line