Patches

He was cold. And so very hungry. And tired. The rain just kept falling, soaking his fur. He was lost and alone. He had been left on the side of the road what seems like forever ago and he just wanted to eat or sleep or get warm. His thoughts were interrupted by the bright lights pinning him in the middle of the road and the loud squealing sound as those lights, which went from little pinpoints to as big as his body, stopped moving.

The noise would have made him run. The lights would have made him run. But he was just so tired. Suddenly, he was being picked up, stroked, and there was a calming voice. He had heard voices before but they always sounded like growls. This voice was nice. He felt himself being carried towards, then past the lights. Somehow, the rain stopped and a loud noise quieted all the outside noise. He felt warm air blowing on him and he cuddled closer to the one who had carried him. As he fell asleep, he felt like he was moving again. How wonderful, to be able to sleep and move at the same time.

He woke when he was leaving the warm blowing air. He was still being carried but he was much more alert. He was a little drier, a touch more rested. He was put down on the floor, and sniffed around. No one else had been here. It smelled...dead. No, not dead, just not alive. Dead smelled bad. This was just...not alive. He nosed around a little bit then caught a whiff. No, not just a whiff, he could smell food. Oh my goodness, there was food and it was being put right in front of him and life was so good and...he ate it all. It was all gone. He looked up and saw two giants looking down at him. He recognized the smell of the smaller one, that was the one that picked him up. He looked at that giant, whimpered a little bit. The other one came back with some water, which he was very happy about. Just not as happy as he was about the food.

Time rolled on and he learned that they like to call him "Patches". When he heard that, he knew they were talking to him. And he learned that the way they said it made a big difference. One way meant a rolled up newspaper. One way meant a trip in the car (another word he had learned). One way meant a night sleeping with giants. The smaller one was Patty, the larger one Randy. Randy usually walked with him in the morning, Patty usually had him lay on her lap when he was smaller, now just his head fit. But that was okay, because she would stroke his head and made sure that he knew he was loved.

He knew a lot more than they thought he did. They would sometimes break down words, but he soon recognized what that meant too. He knew when they were happy, which was usually, and when they were sad, which was rarely.

There was a time when something happened. Patty was making a very sad sound, and water ran from her eyes. Patches didn't know what was going on, but knew that he didn't like her being like this. He couldn't speak to her, couldn't let her know his concern. She had gone to bed, laid down making whimpering sounds. He jumped on the bed, pushed his head into arms, licked her face just the once, and laid down, his body pressed against hers. He felt her wrap her arms around him, made a much louder whimpering sound, a very sad howl almost. Randy came in, rubbed her head, much like he did to Patches. Patches liked it when he did that, and apparently so did Patty. She slowly stopped making that horrible noise, told Randy that she loved him, and he said it back to her. They said a little more, and Patches knew he heard the word "food" then Randy left. Patty had settled down, pressed her face into his fur and quietly said, "Thank you. I love you, little pup." Patches was his name, but little pup was the name she sometimes called him.

More time went by. It wasn't as easy to jump on to the bed. Some days, it was impossible. He was taken to the bad place, where they stuck him and poked him, and the lady who poked him said something to Randy. She petted him, and Randy made a little noise, like Patty did that long ago day.

For days that followed, it was like Patches was the king. He ate hamburger. He ate chicken. He went to the beach with Randy and Patty, one of his favorite places. He couldn't get on the couch, his absolute favorite place, so Patty sat on the floor and he put his head in her lap.

You see, dogs are a lot smarter than people think. Patches knew his time was nearly ending. And he knew his people were trying to make him as happy as can be. He looked up at Patty, and thumped his tail just once, telling her that she didn't have to try. He was already as happy as he could be just laying with her. And had been since that night they picked him up the first time. Oh, hamburger and chicken made him happy. And playing on the beach made him happy. But laying here with his people, the ones he loved completely. This was best. This was happy.

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Patty sat on the deck. She was still devastated by the loss of Patches. She remembered the night her father died, how he had climbed into bed, comforting her. He was her best friend, and no, she would never share that with her husband. From the day she picked him up in the street, when he fit into the palm of her hand, he was part of her. People who go their whole lives without a dog will never understand.

As she finished her drink, the sun starting to lower, she noticed a dark spot, just at the base of the fence. They had put in a privacy fence for Patches so that he could run around in their large back yard without them worrying about him running into the street. As she got closer to the spot, she saw that it was a tunnel. Too small for Patches to have used any time in the past 10 years. Randy came up next to her, her actions catching his attention from inside the house.

He knelt next to the hole. It was fresh, just a couple days old. Maybe dug a day or two before Patches died. And it was definitely Patches -- the dirt was piled up on this side of the fence. He knew he'd have to fill that in at some point.

Randy slipped his hand into Patty's. He had loved that dog, but more, he loved what Patches had done for Patty. She wasn't able to have children, so he kind of become a surrogate for her. There were times that Randy knew that if he had made her choose between the two of them, Patches would probably win out. And the times that he didn't, it would have been a tough choice.

The two of them had turned and started back for the house when they heard a noise behind them. They looked to see an impossibly small puppy crawl under the fence. Patty went over and picked her up; she was nothing more than fur and bones. Patty looked to her husband and saw the smile on his face. This little pup wasn't a replacement for Patches, she was an addition to the family.

I'm writing this with my own Patches laying next to me in bed. Patches is a rescue pup, the first dog in our household, although I had dogs growing up. For years, he was able to jump up here and now I have to pick him up and put him up on it; I know our time is getting shorter. So, dear reader, this story has multiple purposes: to let my best buddy know how I feel, to let the dogless ones know why we are so attached to our furry friends, and to implore you -- if you want to meet your next best friend, try the shelter first. Lots of lonely Patcheses there just waiting to find that perfect lap to lay on.