My little chihuahua, Paco, was one of a kind. He and I had been through a lot together. I thought of him as my soul dog, a gift from God. He’d come with me to Colorado when I moved in with my son to help with his twin daughters, Piper and Mia. Paco was sweet, affectionate and perfectly behaved, particularly with the girls, who were six at the time.
Then, after five years in Colorado, my beloved Paco got sick. The vet did a series of tests. “It’s best for Paco to let him go,” he told me.
I had Paco put to sleep, yet my feelings did not die with him. I wandered around the apartment with his collar in my hand.
