Serving the High Plains
Serving the High Plains
Patchie, a beautiful white and black heeler, is our resident grouch. We’ve had her almost 10 years and she was probably about 2, give or take, when we found each other. Like so many past and present residents of Head Acres, she came to us through no fault of her own.
She was abandoned and fending for herself on a trash pile in the fields behind the house. I found her while taking a walk in December 2013. She was a mess. Skeletal with open wounds. Fearful. Starving. Shivering.
Because of her condition, we knew we had to get her as quickly as possible. While I kept putting food in a bowl, My husband Wayne snuck up behind her with a slip leash. When she finished eating, Wayne got the leash on her and we took her home.
We called our vet and they had us bring Patchie in right away. She was half the weight she should have been and would need surgery to repair the open wounds. We weren’t sure she’d survive.
To our surprise, she survived the surgery and recovered; she has been the resident heeler ever since.
Apart from being allergic to the world and occasionally popping her hip out of joint, it has been an uneventful 10 years.
Until last week.
Patchie had a mass removed that turned out to be cancerous. Gut punch. We brought her home to recover, first in a wire kennel filled with fluffy blankets. She slept more than anything; so, we took turns sleeping in the living room with her. After a bit of a setback and another vet visit, we brought her back home again, and Wayne set up a roomier outdoor kennel for her right next to the couch. Now she has her bed with fluffy blankets, and space to move a bit wearing the dreaded cone. She can see the other dogs and trash-talk them. Almost normal.
Except for the cancer.
Head Acres has always been a land of misfits, and Patchie with all of her quirks fits right in. Rather than worry about how much time she has left, we’ll just let her enjoy her days being the resident grouch.
We’ll give her loads of snuggles and meatballs. She and I will sit on the stoop, and I’ll try to keep her heeler beak out of my coffee. She’ll growl at the birds and bite at the flies (we call them sky raisins). She fancies herself a lapdog and will get all the hugs and lap time she wants. She’ll trade a tennis ball for cookies. She’ll sneak in a stealth slurp when she can because she knows Wayne hates that. She’ll wiggle her ears at me for treats. And she’ll continue to steal my heart because that’s what a good Patchie-pup will do.
Patti Dobson writes about faith for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact her at: