Paco Jose

You are missed

He may not have ever crossed the border, but he could bark and growl with a Mexican accent that betrayed his Ozark roots.

Kris Kristofferson could have been writing about him when he penned:

He’s a walkin’ contradiction

Partly truth and partly fiction

Takin’ every wrong direction

On his way lonely way back home

Except, he was not lonely. He was loved more than most of his species. He spent 15 years as the loyal sidekick, best friend, confidant and would-be protector of my firstborn grandchild.

He could be a contradiction. His small size belied his gruff mannerism.

I remember our first meeting at my home in Hampton, Virginia. His reputation preceded him. He had bitten others in the family, most notably, my son.

My granddaughter warned me about him. “Papa Joe,” she said, “Paco doesn’t like men.” With that, she left me with him on a leash while she tended to matters inside.

When she returned a few minutes later, Paco Jose was seated comfortably on my lap, as if we had been close friends for years.

It is true he did not care for men. In fact, he did not care for many people. For some reason I became one of the chosen few and always enjoyed the opportunity to be in his company. I like to think he was partly named for me.

I have known several people who I instantly associate with their canine companions. Trite phases such as “joined at the hip” characterize the connection. In this case, it is not trite. They were inseparable. If you saw my granddaughter, you saw Paco.

One of the characteristics of the breeds, he was a Chihuahua, was that he was a big dog in a tiny dog’s body. I am sure in his imagination he weighed more than three figures and could take on the fiercest of the “bully” breeds.

I remember him play fighting with my German Shepherd, who grew to be 120 pounds. Paco never flinched or cowered at the difference in size. In his mind he was equal or superior to the gentle giant who could nearly fit Paco into his mouth.

He was a traveler. He had three or four different addresses in Missouri and three in Virginia. He had a way of making himself at home where ever he lived or even visited.

The backs of sofas was always a favorite spot. He enjoyed occupying the high ground. You would think he had military training, knowing it gave a tactical advantage.

Although he barked ferociously at about anything, he was surprisingly social. He even has his own Facebook page with 45 or so followers.

He always came to mind when someone would post a meme of a ferocious looking Chihuahua. Perhaps he could be a Desperado for Hire, ready to take on the baddest of bad hombres.

My granddaughter described him as curious, bossy, sweet, lovable and the best. He was all those things. Paco was her constant and he only had one real fault, a fault he shared with all dogs. They do not outlive us.

I do not think they leave us though. The image of grand reunions on the other side provides consolation and hope. The anticipation of reuniting “up yonder” resonates with so many of us who cherish our pets and find their loss devastating.

There has been too much traffic on the Rainbow Bridge, but it will continue as certain as tails wag and hearts become broken, way before any can ever be prepared.

Rest in peace, Paco. You have been a good boy, a great boy. You gave your all to the girl who became the woman who was your constant. Now you watch and wait at the bridge, tail ready to wag once more.