CHICO THE CHIHUAHUA - Blog

CHICO THE CHIHUAHUA

Oh, Zeus

4/16/2022

I don't like to admit that I only come on here and write when I'm sad, but truth be told, words don't really come when I'm happy.

Paco, Chico, Zeus is sick. How sick is yet to be determined, but he's sick.

I found a lump on his lip; it's hard, it's dark and it's growing.

As I drove to the vet, I thought of this blog and these posts. Knowing you're on the way to bad news is tough and although we didn't get any news yet, the idea of my boy having to have surgery to remove the lump is troubling enough.

I hope that I'm wrong about all of this and I hope it's nothing; maybe a clogged hair follicle or something to do with allergies, but in my heart, I know something is up. Zeus hasn't been himself for a while now, lethargic, heavy breathing and trouble walking. These are all things that can be chalked up to an ageing dog, but are also things that can't be ignored.
He was at the vet recently because I thought I heard a 'whooshing' sound from his heart, much like that of you, Paco, and you, Chico. It turned out to be pancreatitis, but in a mild form. Great, off to the pet store we went for a low fat food. The troubling thing was that Zeus was always doing really well on his food from The Honest Kitchen, but due to the pandemic and supply chain issues, we've had to change it a few times. It's no one's fault, but it absolutely made him sick.
Back to the drawing board, I find a different, and available, food. We switch over a few weeks, yet Zeus seems to be getting more and more tired, and then I find the lump...

Friday will be his surgery to remove the lumps (there's one on his neck as well) and to see where we stand.

I'm not ready to lose my big boy. I know he's old and I know eventually he'll pass over to the bridge and meet you boys, but he's too young. He'll miss out on his golden years like you did, Cheeky.

I miss you boys.

Paco, I rescued another dog.

8/24/2019

I rescued another dog, Paco. His name is Chewie and he's a little chihuahua mix. He reminds me of your brother a lot, in looks anyway. He's a good dog - quiet, playful, great on the leash and Zeus and Leia love him. He fits right in.

It was hard, losing you. It took me a long time to be ready for another dog. A lot of me thought that I shouldn't, as it is a lot of work, having three dogs in a city, but I don't plan on being here for more than a year or two, and I'll figure it out. Then it's off to greener pastures, somewhere I have yet to decide, to live a life of saving animals and growing food. I just want a simple life, Mr. P. I'm tired of all of this.

I wish you could meet little Chewie. You would have loved him when you were younger. Let's be honest, in your old age, you might have been a little annoyed.
I got him so that he could come to work with me, as I had hoped that you would have, but he seems to like being at the house more than coming with me. I don't blame him, as he's young and at home he gets a really big play pen. One day, he'll come, I'm sure.

Anyway, that's all for now. I love you boys

Paco. Always Paco.

7/2/2019

Recently, I spoke of your death. I was crass, harsh and hard on myself. The truth is, little Paco, that I'll never forgive myself for what I did to you. I know it was time and I know that I gave you the nicest passing that I could, but no matter how anyone puts it, you passing wasn't peaceful. The needle hurt you, you had a hard time breathing and the whole process hard to be sped up. It was awful and then you were gone. I wish your passing was different, moreover, I wish you were still here by my side.

I'm dead inside today, Paco, but no matter how many times I had this feeling before, you were always here with me. We just had each other. Always. You never let me down and in a world where I am let down by people every single day, I find myself absolutely lost without you. No matter how sad, how happy, how irate, you were just always there.

I fucking miss you, Paco. This never gets easier. You too, Chico.

We always have the music.

5/14/2019

Lucho recently bought us a record player, as this is something we've been dreaming of these past few months. The thought of sitting and listening to old music how it was originally intended to be listened to just seemed so romantic, and in a relationship so full of love, it seemed fitting.

Naturally, one of the first albums we purchased was Pink Floyd - Dark Side of the Moon. D'uh.

Last night, we put on Dark Side of the Moon and just listened. We could hear each note that was written to be played as music and we could feel the intimacy that the record player brought to the room. It was exactly how I thought listening to this album properly would be.

As the songs played on, I couldn't help but feel sad. This album IS my father. There is nothing more 'Malcolm' than Pink Floyd. This feeling brought me a feeling of love, but also a feeling of loneliness. I remember being young and living with my family in our home - the only place that I have ever really called home, and hearing this album played from time to time. I'd go downstairs, get shushed by my father and stand beside him, not even realizing the beauty of what we were listening to. I'd ask him questions and he wouldn't get mad at me, but he wasn't overly stoked that he had to pause his music. I never really understood this until last night, when I was taking the trip down memory lane. I sat there, remembering what it was like to have my family so close, including the dogs and just living. I missed it. I remember the look of absolute tranquility on my father's face when he would be listening to his music. Hell, I even remember him being an idiot wit his headphones on, when I wouldn't have the slightest clue what he was dancing and singing to.
I finally understand why he didn't like being interrupted, as he was in another place, one of complete freedom in his memories.

I sent him a message and he told me that he too had listened to that album last night. Somehow this didn't surprise me, but rather it made perfect sense.

We will always have the music and with that, we can take those trips down memory lane and live with our beloved pets again, if only for a little while.

This is so fucking hard

5/11/2019

The past three summers have been really fucked up. We lost Kira, then Paco and now Sophie. The Drury family dogs are all gone, well the ones we grew up with as a family anyway.

I find myself lost, and hating the fact that I have to feel this sadness again. It seems so familiar, which is no surprise, as it's only been a year since I lost Paco. It's such a crazy thought that a whole year has passed.

Sophie was such a beautiful dog. She loved my parents unconditionally and never put up a fuss. I mean, she'd bark at dad for dinner, but she was never a bad girl. She was a very special dog to me. We had an amazing bond right off the bat, a bond that never faded, no matter how much time passed. I wish I could have said a proper goodbye, but I knew it would be unlikely that she would still be alive in September. It's the same way I felt when I saw my family at Mandy's wedding, but with it being my parents saying goodbye to Paco, knowing that that would probably be the last time they would see him.

I just sit here, sad and I hug the dogs, but then my heart breaks all over again because I know my parents don't have another dog to cuddle extra hard in this time of sadness. They just have to get through it on their own. It's at this point that I remember how lucky I am and how Zeus and Leia have helped me get through some of the hardest times in my life.

To my parents

5/9/2019

Today my family grieves, for we had to say goodbye to yet another beloved family pet, Sophie. Sophie spent 16 years with our family and watched my sister and I grow from teenagers to women.

While it's a sad day, I find comfort in how Sophie left this Earth. She went peacefully at home, with mum and dad at her side. The whole family got to say goodbye and Sophie even let us know it was ok by giving mum and dad one last kiss.

This post is for my parents, because it has not been easy for them for the past few months, as Sophie aged more and more and started really slowing down. This didn't stop mum and dad though, 69 and 70 years old, respectively. They'd clean up accidents, wash doggy diapers, clean the carpet, and hold her bum up to pee when needed. Sophie was slowly slipping away from us, and my parents made her absolutely comfortable every single moment, right up until the very end. This is how all dogs should be treated, with the utmost care and respect and I am forever grateful to have such wonderful, compassionate people as parents.

We will miss you dearly, sweet Sophie. May you find your peace with all of the other Drury dogs that have found their way to The Rainbow Bridge.

It's Just a Cup of Coffee

3/5/2019

Things have changed a lot since you left, Paco, but right now, life is good. I'm in a really good place; I have a perfect home, an amazing partner, and a great job. There's not much to complain about... well there shouldn't be.

I find myself saddened by one, seemingly tiny thing: my cup of coffee in the morning.

It was our routine for over two years, to wake up, have your num-nums, and then sit together while I drank my coffee and we waited the hour until you could be fed. Recently, I decided to quit caffeine. I guess I just wanted to prove to myself that I could. I did so, and was proud of myself, but I was so sad and couldn't really figure out why. I felt as though I could cry at any point in the last two weeks, but for a reason I couldn't understand. Last year was so bad, that I just assumed it was old feelings resurfacing for the first time, but it wasn't until one morning a few days ago that it hit me - I was sad about not having my coffee.

How could this silly thing be what's making me so sad? I can't really explain it. I suppose that cup of coffee means so much more to me than what's inside. It was the whole routine: make coffee, hang out with you and then start my day. I just remember sitting on the couch with you at our summer house last year, basking in the sunlight that April had to offer and just soaking in what precious time I had left with you. I was going through some intense personal shit, aside from you, but that never mattered in our last months together, it was always about you.

You'd just sit beside me and go to sleep. It's as though we both knew that your time was coming to an end, and deep down we were both ok with it, so we enjoyed every moment we had left. There was sadness there, but it was hidden by the sheer pleasure that my morning routine brought to me, because my morning routine was all about you.

I don't know how time flies so quickly, but it's already been 9 months since you went to be with your brother. A piece of me is still missing, never able to be replaced. You boys were everything to me. Thank you.

I hope you two are enjoying the sun up at the Bridge. I promise I'll see you again one day. Until then, I'll have you at my side every morning that I sit and sip on my coffee.

I love you.

Frig

10/25/2018

I miss you, Paco.

I don't know how to say this, but when you died, things got a little easier, in the sense that I didn't have to worry about giving you your pills, and what time I had to be home at etc. That being said, I would have dealt with your illness until the day I died, if it meant that I got to spend my life with you.

I just got an email back from Dr. Berkshire, the doctor who helped you go peacefully. He put your photo up in the 'Memorials' section on his website. While I liked receiving the email, and being reminded of you, it made me miss things that I didn't know I missed, such as taking care of you. You needed me, Paco and I needed you. I'd give you your heart medication and you would make sure that I had all the love that I needed.

I looked online, at senior dogs that were available to be adopted. It made me sad, because I don't want to feel like I'm replacing you, but it also made me realize how much I miss what we had, even if you were sick. We had our routine, and you were the most important part of that. Life is just easy now; the dogs get by just fine on their own. I'm not saying I need the stress of having a sick dog, rather just babbling on about how special the bond we had was. We had gotten so close, as everything was about you. You were always important, and so were your brothers, but when you got sick, everything had to change. I stopped my life for you, stopped spending time away from the house, didn't go on trips and so on. It was hard, but you were so worth it.

Anyway, I could sit here and talk to you forever, even though in reality, it's just me talking to myself. I miss you, and I miss Chico. Things will never be like they were and that's the hardest thing to accept.

I love you, little buddy.

It's not enough to say that I miss you boys.

8/12/2018

It's been a crazy summer. It's been a crazy year.

Paco, I'm sorry. I have such guilt looming over me tonight, and I'm not sure why. What I do know is that I wish you didn't have to move right before you died. I know it stressed you out, and I'm sorry. I wish you could have spent your last days on the heated floor, just snoozing away in comfort. It saddens me to think that you were uncomfortable; it saddens me to think that you are not here. The same goes for Chico.

I've lost something I can't ever get back. I'm so sad, Paco. I try to think that it might be something else in my life, but then I remember that I lost you not long ago, and I realize that you are why I'm sad. Everything else is just background noise. Nothing seems as important.

I fucking miss you boys.

Thursdays

6/21/2018

Thursdays are the worst. It’s the day I lost you, and the night that I lost Chico. I guess Chico died on the Friday morning, technically, but it doesn’t matter.

It’s been three weeks, and some of me still feels like this isn’t real. I can’t really explain it, but it’s as though you’re not gone, but I don’t see you. I don’t think I’m in denial about you not being here, but maybe I just feel your presence still. Sounds like hippy bullshit, but stranger things have happened.

I’m adjusting to my new ‘normal’ with the two brindle dumb dumbs (you were the only sane one of the bunch, Paco). It’s a bizarre normal. I don’t have to worry about timing things out, or staying up late after work to give you your pills. I just wake up and go. It’s different with the dogs, too, as they are ready and willing to go on all adventures. You used to be excited, but it broke my heart when you’d be so uncomfortable that you’d just shake. Still, I’d be happy just sitting at home with you. You were my best little buddy, and you were a really nice Chihuahua.

I still cry about you, albeit not as often. I still think of you all of the time and I still look at photos of you. You were such a cute boy, such a character.

It saddens me that I couldn’t really write after you died. I know that it’s not my fault, but it has been comforting, over the years, to look back and read old posts about Chico. I know it will still be nice to read the ones that I did manage to write about you, but I wish I could have written more.

I love you, Paco.