Patches: The Dog

a blog by Brian

My best friend, my snuggle buddy, my set of always listening ears died today. I don't why I am sitting here blogging right now but the only other thing I can do is cry. Patches was never very involved with the blog. I didn't mention him much and I rarely included him with any sort of blog related event/thing. But even though many of you do not know the extent of this animal, he always has and will be with me, in my thoughts, my emotions, and my memories. 

Patches was his name and eating was his game. He fucking loved eating, especially bread. The kid could not get enough of bread. It was almost alarming, you could give him a large juicy ass steak and he would take him dog ass time chewing it up in his mouth, making sure no one would have to stick their odd smelling hands down his throat to retrieve something larger than the hole it is being feed into. But you give the guy a little piece of crust or some inner fluff and its in his belly before you knew he had taken it from your hand. 

He was a funny dog, before him I had never met an animal that would profusely chew his food before swallowing. We used to call him SheepManDog, he had the hair of a sheep, the mind of a man and the body of a dog. I also nicknamed him, fairly early in his life, Moo. Now when I originally started calling him Moo, I didn't have much of a reason, other than his deep white color which only resembled half of the barn animal I nicknamed him after. I definitely wasn't aware at the time but Moo was the perfect nickname for my brother in paws. 

He was soft, his hair was like a mixture between a pillow and blanket. It never made your skin itch upon touch, it just curled around as if it welcoming you in. I never cuddled with a cow, but I imagine it is a lot like taking a nap with my dog. Or at least, I hope its half as soothing but I know its not even remotely close. The idea that he's gone and everything that we shared is gone, is too hard to grasp right now. 

There is so much that he has done for me and now it is just draining knowing I can't do anything for him anymore. 

Patches was such a good dog. He wasn't the best dog but he sure made an argument. He basically could speak, if he ever wanted something he would come find whoever he could and either rub himself like a cat, up against your legs or woof all up in your space (The latter came with older age). He never barked, until this last year. 

I knew he was going to die.

I really did and believe me, I've cried many more times thinking his death was a lot closer than it actually was. I remember crying by his side numerous amounts of nights wondering if something was wrong with him or not. After I would become too consumed in my own sorrow and stopped petting him for a few minutes, he would lean up from laying on his side and look right into my eyes. As if he was saying, "What the fuck are you crying about pussy? I'm fine". I certainly never took those as hints and let my sadness drain naturally. 

He just had this way, at times, of letting you know exactly what hes thinking without doing a fucking thing. I swear that motherfucker would smile all the time. I don't give a fuck if you want to disregard me, he definitely smiled. Whether it was on the inside or out, I couldn't tell you, but I know he was happy and that we made each other happy. 

Maybe he didn't like all the pictures I took of him. But that will be one annoying thing I did to him that I do not regret for a second. Not only was he a dope dog but he was photogenic as fuck.

He absolutely loved that fish toy. It was 100% his favorite toy. Which is pretty crazy, considering Patches stole that toy. Yes, that is right, our honorary friend and boy was a thief. I can't count the number of times, a family member or I, would walk into the woods with him and not too much later be found running back, chasing Patches with some random neighbor dogs chew toy. 

The fish was his prized trophy. 

I always thought it was weird. Patches, throughout his life, either hated or loved those squeakers in plush chew toys. I really couldn't tell whether it was hate for the high pitched squeak or over encompassing love that had him violently tear apart significant portions of stitched fabric to expose the plastic squeaker. Pull out the plastic ball shaped noise maker, and chew the fuck out of it, until it could no longer squeak. 

I Love You Patches, there is nothing I could write or say or do to show or tell anybody how much it meant to have a being like you in my life. 

Rest my Prince, go float around in the never-world, mingle through the flowers and never come back. 
Patches "Moo" Gerson, April 23rd 2003 - September 14th, 2017