Patrick Angel

Years of the battle of his lung disease was finally taking a toll on my father. My father was a man of slight frame but had a presence of strength. The man didn't have to use words or motion to get his girls to 'calm down'...all it took was the eye..the 'stare'...the 'evil eye'. The four of us could feel that look across town if he thought you were up to no good.


With my mother, the 'glue' that held the family together with her stubborn strength and moral code started to 'unstick' as the rapid developing signs of Alzheimers settled in. Our family home was turning into a stress filled emotional mess.


My three sisters and I would drop what we were doing with our own families to be there; do whatever they needed. No questions asked no request to minor. The requests became more out of the ordinary as the days were getting closer to the holidays. The requests were his way of setting up the house in preparation of his death. So he felt a food processor, a large screen television, a blender and some other kitchen gadgets would accomplish his goal. The thing that he knew "momma would need most when I am gone".....would be a dog to watch over her. My sisters and I kept ignoring that request. How could we get them a dog? My mother's memory was suffering daily; forgetting simple tasks for her daily routine. Our father on the oxygen machine being rushed to the hospital every few weeks.


It was a bitter snow covered Christmas Eve day in 1998. We knew, but never acknowledged aloud it was going to be daddy's last Christmas. We've had too many close calls running back and forth to the hospital saying our last good byes. I left my husband's store late that morning to head over to my parents house to see if they needed anything before Christmas.


I greeted them with long hugs and the words "I love you" to both, and sat down at the family court (the kitchen table). I didn't see it coming, and then WHAM! Mom got up looking for the slipper she misplaced that morning so Dad and I sat chatting away. What does this little POPEYE of a man do? Turns the tears on about a puppy. The man did the crying thing!!! POPEYE CAN'T CRY! This was the man that I feared the evil eye from! This man didn't have to step in my direction for me to behave! His tears were flowing like a broken water pipe.


Ten minutes later I am in my car. Driving everywhere. I went to shelter to shelter, dog pound to dog pound and found absolutely nothing! My search only resulted in finding large dogs that would be able to give my parents horse rides. Not one small dog who was looking for a home. I couldn't return to crying POPEYE without a puppy to protect my mother! I called my husband and told him my dilemma. At this point I said "obviously the only thing I can do is buy a puppy". He replied "Go for it, it's your dad!". I pulled into a parking lot and walked in to the most dangerous place that I have ever been introduced to...THE PET STORE!


$1300.00 later I walked out with a leash, collar, toys, food, food bowl and a cardboard box with the cutest little fluffy tan and white ball of fur of a Shih-Tzu puppy. After I pulled into my parents driveway, I jumped out of my car with my arms loaded with the new 'protector fuzz ball' and his puppy gear. As I entered into their house my mom saw me and knew what I did. She motioned for me to come towards her. I brought the box-o-fur with me and opened it up. She saw her new guard and tears welled in her eyes and said "wake daddy" as she pushed my arm towards the living room where he slept. I took the little 'bundle of fluffy joy' into the room. I saw this frail man, my Popeye, curled up on top of the sheets that covered the couch, as the oxygen machine was making its ticking noise. At that moment, my eyes welled up. I said "Daddy..I have something for you". He opened his eyes and the tears just came one after the next. He held on to that puppy and just laughed like a little boy. He turned to me and said "His name is Patrick.. a good ol' Irish name after your husband!" (yeah -ok I ran around like a chicken without a head - and my husband gets the credit!!!). So Patrick was loved, and played with for a few days, and then dad was rushed to the hospital. He came home for a few days and passed away about 48 hours later.


Patrick earned his middle name Angel for those few days he chewed on my dad's feet, napped on his chest, gave puppy kisses, barked at my mom, got into puppy mischief and made my dad's wish come true. My dad just knew that the little 2lb Shih-Tzu was going to protect my mother from any harm and take care of her. Patrick stayed with my mom and health aides, until her Alzheimers progressed and she needed to be moved out of our family home. The family house had to be prepared to be sold. Family memories and personal items had to be packed up and now little Patrick didn't have a home.


My husband and I received the 'gift return' of this little furry beast. The two cats we had in our tiny apartment didn't really appreciate the new addition. They have been living in harmony for the past 7 years. Patrick and his 3 other canine brothers live upstairs while the feline twins live in their domain in the finished basement.


Till this day, my Patrick Angel is perfect. He never barks when he isn't supposed to. Never growls at anyone or anything when its not called for. Never steals the other dogs food or treats. Never goes pooh anywhere he isn't supposed to. He is simply perfect. My husband has a different opinion when Patrick feels the need to bark at 1:00am or is shredding my husbands slippers. As far as I am concerned he is my angel and can not do anything wrong.