Nine years ago, while tabling at an event for the organization Howling for Wolves, our lives took a delightful turn when we met our precious little boy Pancho. The event was hosted by a woman who ran a chihuahua rescue and she was showcasing a selection of her adorable dogs in hopes some would be adopted. As my daughter walked past her bundle of little chi chi's our Pancho instantly captured her heart. Within two days he was officially ours. Originally named Toby, we decided that the name Pancho was more reflective of his spunky personality.
Initially Pancho didn't transition well into our home. We already had 2 other chihuahuas, so we were very unprepared for the realization that Pancho had an intense dislike for other dogs. At the even where we first met him he seemed cheerful and sociable, happily mingling with his fellow dogs, but it was a facade that misled us. Behind his happy exterior lay a dog who didn't enjoy the company of other dogs and had a lot of anxiety. Once inside our home he quickly became defensive, and what ensued were constant altercations with our other pets and many emotional outbursts towards us that resulted in a few bites on our hands. At one point we found ourselves questioning whether adopting him had been a mistake. Yet, abandoning Pancho was never an option for us. His history of being abandoned before weighed heavily on our hearts, propelling us to try and work with him the best we knew how. We invested time in creating a nurturing environment, striving to help him acclimate to his surroundings. Although he never shed his animosity toward other dogs, he gradually calmed down and grew to co-exist peacefully, most of the time, with our other 2 chihuahuas, and he'd only get snappy with us in the evening.
Pancho would get cranky at bedtime, when strange dogs would walk by our house, and when he was hungry. He had seizures that were triggered by too much human activity around him. He loved nature and would have lived outdoors if we allowed it. He loved going for walks and really enjoyed when I carried him on a walk, especially as he aged. He had a very sensitive stomach, and vets thought maybe it was IBD (irritable bowel disease) since he became very restricted on what he could eat. He had many trips to the ER vet, multiple surgeries, was on a plethora of medication... but he wanted to live. He fought harder than any dog I've ever known. Pancho had a larger than life personality and he was stubborn. I loved how when any of us would cry he'd rush over and lay his head on our legs to draw our attention to him away from our sadness. He loved to lightly play rough. He'd make what we called his little "exorcist" noises as we teased him. If we'd stopped he'd nudge for more. When we'd go on walks we'd pretend to chase him and then reach down to grab his little butt and his ears would go straight up and he'd stop quick and give us the side eye, bark or growl once and take off running. It was adorable. Days when he was hungry but we couldn't feed him because he had just taken his medication and needed to wait an hour he'd sometimes go find a paper bag in the kitchen and look to see if there were food scraps in it to snatch. If Maya tried to grab the bag away he'd go Cujo and she'd be pulling the bag in one direction and he'd pull the other. It was hilarious. He'd eventually stop but it was his way of saying "woman, feed me now" and of course he'd inevitably do it immediately after he was given medication. Ironically he wasn't interested in his food at all before the meds. We think it was his way of getting the nasty taste out of his mouth.
Pancho was a special boy. He had the silkiest fur, something we've never seen in other dogs. Even other people commented on it. He was a little guard dog, would sit in front of the picture window facing the street every single day and bark anytime a dog went by. He was always game for an adventure; trips in the woods of northern Minnesota, bike rides, nature walks. Even when he'd get sick if I said "wanna go for a walk" his little head would pop up and he was raring to go. He loved to be in the sun. Once we had an X-ray that showed the extent of his arthritis we understood why laying in the sun felt so good to him.
In this last month he deteriorated quickly. He lost his ability to walk much, he'd flinch when touched. He was sleeping a lot more and his weighT was dropping fast. He had chronic acid reflux for years which we treated with famotidine and the occasional sucralfate but 7 months ago he ended up in the ER and he was put on heart and blood pressure medication. Around the clock we were giving him famotidine, sucralfate, vetmedin, and sildenafil. He wasn't doing too great afterwards so we opted to get his teeth looked at and sure enough he had 4 abscessed teeth. 10 extractions later he was a new dog. Like a new puppy, running everywhere, ready to explore and live life. A few months later, a few days ago, his health took a nosedive. He started coughing and couldn't stop. He had labored breathing. A trip to the ER resulted in him getting new drugs; a diuretic and pain medication. They didn't help. He kept coughing and he was in serious distress. We brought him into the ER vet again but they said the condition was progressive. They said maybe they could squeeze a couple months more out of him but they weren't sure. It was incredibly hard to make the decision to let him go when his mind was still intact. The night before I had asked him "do you wanna go for a walk" and he didn't flinch so I knew, I knew this was the end of the road for him.
It was so hard to let him go. We had to decide to bring him home and let him progress through the heart failure which would include slowly suffocating or we had to end his pain at the vets office. It never feels right to make these decisions for a living being that can't speak for themselves. We're ending our pain just as much as we're ending theirs and that always makes me worry if it is clouding our judgement. I've been down this road before with other dogs and it never gets easier. No matter what decision is made it always feels like the wrong one. One thing I know for sure is if we had more time to book more appointments, connect with other specialists, and explore other options I would have taken it. Time just wasn't on our side.
When I think about Pancho now I think about how he saved me from a broken heart. My Gypsy died suddenly 2 years ago. We had her the same amount of time as we had Pancho, exactly 9 years. I was so broken after she died and Pancho knew. He instantly started hanging around me, wanting my attention more than ever before. We bonded even though he was my daughter's dog. I'm so grateful for that and all our moments together.
I have faith that someday I'll see little Pancho again. He'll be standing right next to my Gypsy to greet me when it's my turn to exit this body and journey to wherever they all have gone. Until then I'll be thinking about him every day. 💜
