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.