Faith: When you have a choice, be a Tank

We’ve hit a rough patch at Head Acres.

So many of our permanent residents are seniors, some more “senior” than others. Two of our super seniors are struggling.

Skye is our senior Great Pyrenees, so named because Wayne said no one would mess with him back in “Big Skye Country.” He has been a protector and friend to assorted dogs, cats, ducks, geese and sheep. And people, even though he thinks we’re sheep, too.

He’s old for a pyr, and struggles with hip dysplasia and arthritis. We’re fortunate to have a great team of vets and techs who help us keep him — and all the critter crew — healthy and happy.

Tank is another senior boy. He’s a failed therapy dog who has battled doggie lupus, heart issues, and now some other unknown illness.

Tank was named by my dad’s wife. As a pup, smaller than the rest of the litter, Della said that anytime Tank would hear my voice or see me, he would muscle his way to the front of the pen, like a little Tank.

Tank and I have history. We rescued his mom — Shadow — the day before a big ice storm; it took us nearly two months to get her. Twice a day, we would go out to the hospital fields and try to entice her with food. I’d call for her, and her head would pop up from the weeds. Wayne dubbed her Shadow of the Serengeti; she was spooky and injured. She was a walking skeleton, so off to the vet we sped. About a week after we caught her, she had a litter of pups. That was almost 10 years ago.

Shadow is still with us, as is Tank’s sister Freckles. Shadow and Freckles are healthy and happy. Tank, well, Tank is happy.

The visit to the vet last week was a kick to the gut. I was a wreck; Tank was ok. On the drive home, Tank’s life flashed before my eyes. I have this old, beat-up denim coat. As a pup, he would ride around in my coat pocket. He’d curl up in the pocket, and poke his head out of the top, hanging with me while I fed animals, broke water in tanks, cleaned pens. He’s been a traveling companion, a hiking companion, a writing buddy. I decided to make him a bucket list.

That evening, we took Tank and Bandit to Hillcrest Park. Saturday, he came to Portales and chilled with a rawhide while I worked. Later, he curled up next to me while I watched a movie. And I had an epiphany. Tank didn’t need a bucket list; he was living it.

We — I — could learn a lot from dogs. Live in the moment. Be happy. Smell the flowers and other interesting (and sometimes disgusting) things. Greet each day with a smile. Enjoy the ride. Be with the ones you love. Don’t lose today worrying about tomorrow. Be a Tank.

Patti Dobson writes about faith for the Portales News-Tribune. Contact her at:

[email protected]