An original blogger long before the "easy" media existed. Compilation of newspaper articles and stories written by Betty Ainslie (my mother) from early 1960's onward, about everyday life as a wife and mother. Snapshots of life in suburban Chicago...
Never did I figure that the day would come when I'd be the one to say "no more dogs."
But it is impossible to repeat perfection---and that's what we had in Patches.
I really can't remember a time when we were without a dog. Well maybe the World War II years, and then we sent our Springer Spaniel to one set of parents on the farm as most army housing frowned on dogs.
As a kid I had various Fox Terriers and Cocker Spaniels. Pop and I had Springer Spaniels, Cockers, a crazy Basset and finally for over fourteen years--Patches.
He was the only Heinz variety we ever had and our boys had rescued him from a farmer who was about to drown him for a cheap box of candy. He was probably the ugliest puppy I had ever seen. A skinny rat-like tail, matted dirty fur full of fleas and tics--but a pair of soft brown eyes that melted our hearts. He was trained in a day---washed and de-bugged four times and suddenly he emerged with curly black and white fur, floppy long ears, a Fu Manchu goatee and a tail that waved like a banner. Patches did his best to become the Sheepdog I'd always wanted--with a few variations, he succeeded.
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Son no. 1 called him John L. Dog because of the heavy eyebrows the dog groomer gave him that looked like the real John L. Lewis.
"What kind of dog is he?" many people asked as Patches became our constant companion. If we could have discovered the formula we could have sold a million copies..
Patches barked when the doorbell rang. Had a special whine greeting for each of our boys. Anywhere in the house I'd know which of our boys had arrived home. He never got on the furniture of beds and felt very uncomfortable if he were held, as he registered sheer panic if all four feet were lifted off the floor at the same time. He could walk on his hind legs, even dance. Catch the food thrown him, sit up and actually read our minds.
He never chased sticks or ran after a ball--such nonsense was not part of his puppyhood. He'd return a ball or stick once that was it--from then on he'd turn his back on the thrower.
He always managed to place his body between a stranger at the door and a family member. I'm sure he would have tackled giants for any of us. His devotion was evident but never messy. He never licked our hands or faces in any greeting.
As the boys left for college, Patches became our dog. He accepted being a grandfather to our grandchildren with more dignity than we did. Small hands could hurt and unintentionally pull his hair; or unsteady little feet might step on his paw, so Patches would withdraw in dignity to hide under our king sized bed.
He never yielded to larger dogs or cats and guarded our yard from any intruders. He knew our exact house boundaries and stayed there--untied. He loved to ride in the car so we seldom left him behind. He taught many a child that had been terrorized by animals that his fur was so soft and not to be afraid to pat gently. He hated swimming but to be with us tolerated a boat and allowed our boys to coax him out beyond his depth if all of the family were in the water.
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Patches grew older more gracefully than we did too. I never knew him to snap or growl--to fret if his meals weren't on time or to refuse to answer when we called.
The wife of Son no. 1 declared she'd been scared to death to meet us--you know how it is to meet for the first time the parent's of the guy you're going to marry. But Patches rested his beautiful head for a moment on her knee as she sat on the edge of a chair, regarded her with his soft brown eyes and stayed close to her for the hour or so they were with us. "I relaxed and didn't bite my fingernails once. I was too busy petting Patches."
He never barked to go out. He'd make his wants known by putting his head under our elbow and nudging gently. If he was ignored he'd grow more insistent and really jostle our arm.
We took a plane back up North two Christmases ago and Patches flew for the first time. He took the whole thing in stride and actually ignored his boys when the whole family got together. They decided it was either jet lag or Patches had finally done just about everything. He'd ridden trains, boats, cars, bicycles and finally planes. So what else is new!
I noticed Patches was aging last summer when he'd stand at the foot of the stairs of our place up North and look at us as much to say--"If you are coming right down I'd rather not make the trip." This from a dog who always had to be at our feet no matter where we went.
Now Son no. 2 in his ten year old wisdom had said, " Did you know Mom that when you spell dog backwards it spells God?"
. I didn't then----I just knew Patches was special, but we all realized when he had to be put to sleep that each one of us personally had lost our very best friend.
Written when Mom had been retired a number of years. According to the Port Charlotte Village news flyer this tribute was printed on, "season 79-80 draws to a close". Probably one of the most "loving" articles she ever wrote--and one of the best!
