Pat's chicken died.  Lisa and Becky made the observation that Pat had been rescuing animals all of her life.  She had a kitten named Sheba that got hit by a car and was obviously dead.  Lisa said, "Pat got it out of the street and brought it back to the house to see if she could fix it.  Poor thing was flat.  And missing some parts.  But Pat refused to give up on it.

She always had some animal around.  Once, our next door neighbor offered her a calf that the mother cow wouldn't nurse.  So we put up fence between our house and our neighbor's house, brought the calf to town and Pat fed it every day.  No, you aren't supposed to have animals in town, but nobody on the street complained.

When we left Pryor and moved to Miami (Oklahoma), Ken and Scott took the back seat out of our Chevrolet, and put the cow (who was now grown) into the back seat.  Head out one window, tail out the other.  And that was how they moved the cow.  People would pass them on the road, then pull over, and you could see them trying to figure out what a cow was doing in a Chevy.

When we finally got moved, we had two collies, a horse, a cow, and our next door neighbor's geese, ducks and chickens--who knew Pat would feed them.  And of course, cats.  That had kittens.  And more kittens.  Pat was happy with the entire zoo, until the horse ran her under a big tree limb and knocked her out.

And then an opossum moved into the barn to feast on baby chicks.  So Ken got a shovel and started to the barn to dispatch the 'possum with Becky trailing behind him begging Ken not to kill it.  "Give it one more chance, Daddy.  Please.  Just give it one more chance."  He didn't.

I don't know if Becky really cared about the possum, or was just worried about Pat finding out.  A possum will play dead.  I don't know if Pat could revive one.  I know she would try.