Summer heat in west Tennessee. Sunny, dry, dusty, with a heat index of 110. Patch spent the morning digging at the trench that Mr. P. swears is Goober's grave and brought a cloud of dust inside when she was done. Her white coat is dingy and she leaves rust colored dirt wherever she lies. I dampened a paper towel and rubbed her down before she settled on a living room chair.
Jean: "How is your day going, Miss Patch? Have you been having fun out there in heat?"
Patch: "Blah."
Jean: "Would you like to watch some soap operas now?"
Patch: "Blah."
Jean: "Well, can I get you anything, Madam? An iced tea? A mint julep?"
Patch: "Blah."
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