Patches in Our Family

Patches in our Family



         All my dreams came true in the summer of 1982.  It was one of those great seasons, when the temperature is a perfect partner in convincing your mom you need to run through the sprinklers every day.  The library had a teetering stack of bound pages and illustrations I was waiting to devour, and we had a new addition to our family.
         This new addition came, of course, in the perfect way.  My parents gathered us three siblings onto their lumpy mattress, letting the anticipation swell within our small bodies.  My father always had a way with dramatic announcements, and this would not be a time he would let us down.  As we listened to the lecture of responsibility, love within a family, and looking out for the ones we love, I played with the frayed end of my T-shirt, pondering what was coming our way.  Then I was answered by a small squeak.
         In all the grandeur of ceremony, I had ignored the small cardboard box by my mom’s feet, and it was at this juncture in time that I noticed the top bouncing in a very unnatural way.  A black muzzle probed through the space of containment, while my excitement and understanding escaped my composure.  “A puppy!”
         Patches was a great new pal.  His energy and attention were endless; this was a great reward for me, and a great amount of work for my parents.  Having a younger sister of only a few months, my mom was quite busy with diapers and feedings.  My younger brother was as useful as my shadow, so it was determined that I was to be responsible for the new family member.  I fed Patches his gourmet meal each morning, commenting on how stinky his food was, “today”, as if it was different each day.  After refilling the water dish, I would reenter the house to see dishtowels on the floors, marking my trail.  (It seems water can become slippery when stepped upon.)  My brother would help with the “yard-cleaning”, but when the excrement found its way down my leg one time from his shoveling skills, I insisted that I could do it myself.
         The most difficult chore attached to this new family member for me, was exercise.  Puppies tend to grow faster than 4th graders, so his muscles bulked up pretty quick.  I soon found myself not taking him for a walk, but the other way around.  Neighbors would watch my trusty dog drag me down the street, my arms fully stretched to their limit as I continued to yell commands to him.  He usually ended up doing just as he pleased, happy I was along for the ride.
         The true test of Dad’s lecture came towards the end of the summer, just 2 weeks before school started.  Patches was taking me for a walk, and we found ourselves galloping past Phillip’s house, a boy who was a friend of convenience only.  He was standing outside his garage, covering his carrot-top head with a driver’s helmet.  His freckled face was smudged with grease, but there was no denying he was pleased with himself.  Yanking on the reins, I convinced Patches over for a gander. 
         The go-cart was a marvel any child would appreciate.  Phillip’s mom had let him saw the legs off some old chairs, and his dad had helped rig safety-bars over the cockpit.  The lawnmower motor revved to a great roar when my friend pushed on the accelerator, and I had to admit he seemed a lot cuter behind the wheel of this fantastic scout project.
         Reactions are something that I can do really well, and I gave Phillip all his money’s worth.  I should have left when Patches started urging me on to better smelling grounds, but I hesitated.  It was that hesitation that gave Phillip an idea.
         With a smirk, he invited me to go for a ride.  I declined, sighting my dog as a reason to stay on solid ground.  He then challenged me, knowing my weakness for wanting to appear strong and independent.  After much vacillation from within, I accepted the dare, and tied my antsy companion to a tree.
         Sitting in the cart, I was amazed it even had a speedometer, and almost a complete floor.  Phillip placed his goggles, fastened his seatbelt, and looked over his shoulder to enter the cul-de-sac.  I reached for my seatbelt, and found the edge of my seat.  No seatbelt?  Panic welled within, and I grabbed onto the closest safety-bar.
         My suedo friend sped into the protected street, spurting loose gravel in every direction. He accelerated, slammed on his brakes, and boasted of all the stunts he was perfecting as the day progressed.  His newest trick was to spin like a top, which he wanted to let me experience.  He proceeded without regard to the laws of physics, not knowing I would fall victim to centriphical force.
         All I remember of my flight is the launch into space, abandoning that cart and his boy, the safety-bar’s mock of my grasping strength, the skidded stop, using the palms of my hands as break-pads, and the chunk of air that exploded through my teeth.  I lay there for what seemed like centuries.  Like a faucet will gradually fill up a bathtub, my pain slowly flooded my body.  It started in the skin mingling with the asphalt, and then warmed through my nerve-endings viewing the sky.  I was on fire, but couldn’t quench the flames, for they were inside my very being.  My body begged to yell in anguish, but my pride stifled a groan.  A boy’s shadow crossed the pebbles in front of my face, showing more interest than remorse.
         “Are you okay?”
         Not knowing how to answer, I rolled onto my side, convincing my limbs that position was for the best.  My shredded palms and bloodied knees begged too many words to articulate.  My answer was a mumbled, “Yea.”
         I shuffled over to my whining dog, fought the leather leash’s knot, and turned towards home.  I didn’t know how my joints and muscles would react to the normal drag-of-a-jog down the street. I sat on the curb with tears in my eyes, and considered leaving Patches with the enemy.  I looked into those dear brown eyes, and surrendered my pain.  Instead of smirking, or insisting on his own desires, my dog gave me the greatest gift he could on that day. Patches looked out for me.  He nursed my knees and palms, and waited for me to stand.  Then, on that great day, with my dad’s lecture echoing through my mind, Patches let me lead the way home.