Peewee

As long as I can remember, I always asked my parents for a puppy. Every Christmas, every birthday, every chance I got, I asked for a puppy. My parents always said no. No, there's no room. No, they're too much trouble. No, you're allergic. No, No, No. Finally, one day in 1998 my perseverance paid off. I walked into a pet shop with my mom (just to look of course) and won her over when she saw the cutest, smallest, whitest little chihuahua she had ever seen. A couple of days later we brought him home. His name, Peewee. At the age of 22 I finally got my first dog. Needless to say the dog and I were inseparable. I taught him tricks, I took him for walks, we played fetch with his favorite stuffed cow (la vaquita) and he slept in my bed with me. When I got married (in 2002) my mom said "you're not taking my dog with you".

How do you like that? The people that wouldn't let me have a dog for all those years, now didn't want to let him go. I let Peewee stay with them (as if I had a choice) since I was never really home those days anyway (work during the day, school at night), so he would've been alone all day if he went to live with me. So of course Peewee then got attached to my mom. They would go for long walks twice a day, she taught him tricks and of course they played all day with his beat up cow. He would watch the soaps with her or watch the game with my dad and curl up on the sofa next to them so they could scratch his back.

Even though I didn't live at home anymore, Peewee was always at the door to greet me hello whenever I came. He liked Christian too, but only from a distance. Christian loved chasing him and he had just recently learned to say "Peewee! Peewee!". Christian would grab his cow and throw it to him and Peewee would run to get it and then bring it back and they would do it all over again. They were perfect for each other because neither would get tired of the game. It was endlessly amusing for both of them.

In the past month or so, Peewee hadn't really been doing well. He'd always been a bit chubby (7 or 8 pounds), but recently he had been jaundiced and had lost some weight. We were concerned, but still hopeful. The vet gave him some medicine because he said his liver function was not doing well. The medicine didn't work and the weight kept coming off (he now weighed a little over 3 pounds). An appointment with a specialized vet was made, a scan was taken and the worst was revealed...cancer of the liver. They said perhaps surgery would help, but that carried only a 40% chance of success. We received this dreadful news last week. I guess we were in denial since he was still up and running about.

Last night I went to see him because my mom was crying and she wanted to put him to sleep because he had been throwing up and could barely stand up anymore. He was sitting up in his little bed, but was very weak. He looked like he was using all his energy just to sit up for me. I asked him to lay down and I put the blanket over him. I patted his little head and cried next to his bed. Christian came over to pat his head too. Without any of us having said anything, Cman seemed to understand that all was not well with the doggy. I sat there for a little while caressing Peewee's head. If I knew that was the last time I was going to see him alive, I would have picked him up, hugged him, kissed him and held him. Held him all night long if need be.

This morning, the first dog I ever had, the first dog I ever loved, passed away. I am beside myself with sadness.

Rest in peace my little baby. I love you and miss you.