I've been unusually quiet these past couple of weeks.
Some of you have noticed, reached out, and even brought me food and hugs.
Thank you so much for that.
The truth is, my family had to say goodbye to a very cherished member:
Our beloved dog, Pacha.
Part of me doesn't believe the words I'm writing because just a week before her diagnosis, Pacha was healthy, strong, athletic, joyful, and completely convinced that every day was hers to claim.
If you came to our house, you were immediately welcomed into Pacha's world.
It didn't matter if you were a close friend, the gardener, the UPS driver, the electrician, or the mail carrier. Everyone received the same enthusiastic greeting.
Pacha would greet you at the door with a wagging tail and then race to find
a toy or tennis ball and proudly show it off. It was her way of saying,
"I'm so glad you're here. Shall we play?"
She loved everyone.
And everyone loved her right back.
Even people who were afraid of big dogs or fearful of the pit bull breed
fell in love with her.
One of my favorite things about Pacha was watching her with Rocket,
our sweet 13+ year old terrier.
Rocket has arthritis now and his body can't quite keep up with his heart anymore.
Yet, every day, Pacha would entice him to wrestle.
She'd bow low, bounce sideways, wag furiously, and convince him that today, surely today, he was still a young lad.
Rocket usually believed her.
Unfortunately, his joints did not.
I often had to step in because Pacha never accepted that Rocket had limitations.
In her mind, her best friend was capable of absolutely anything.
At night they curled up together, sleeping next to one another
as they have for years.
Eight months ago we moved into a new home with a huge backyard.
It was Pacha's paradise.
She chased birds, stalked iguanas, and sprinted after rabbits with
complete determination and absolutely no success.
For hours, she would lie beside the pool, convinced it required
constant supervision.
Then came the mallard.
Every day a female mallard would land in the pool for her afternoon swim.
Pacha was fascinated and desperately wanted to meet her.
The duck, however, preferred a long-distance friendship.
Watching the two of them became one of my favorite daily rituals.
Pacha would race circles around the edge of the pool,
barking excitedly while the duck calmly paddled slow circles in
the middle, occasionally glancing over as if to say,
"You're adorable... but we're keeping the water between us."
Pacha also had wonderfully peculiar tastes.
One of her greatest delicacies was the cardboard tube from the middle of
a toilet paper roll. She made quick work of that recycled paper product.
Pacha was also incredibly sensitive and intuitive. If one of my children was
having a difficult day, Pacha knew just what they needed.
She would quietly climb onto their bed, curl up beside them, and stay there for hours, sometimes days, providing an accepting and loving presence.
Her warmth and loving protection gave them the courage to face the world again when they were ready.
She did the same for me.
Every morning I'd wake up to discover that she'd somehow migrated across the bed and claimed my pillows as her own, sometimes even claiming my head as her pillow! I became remarkably good at sleeping diagonally.
It seemed a small price to pay to avoid suffocation.
Pacha was the dog I could always introduce to other dogs,
even fearful or insecure ones.
She had a remarkable ability to read the room,
respect boundaries (or push them ever so gently),
and make others feel safe.
Within a single week we discovered Pacha was in severe pain of unknown origin.
Almost overnight, her back legs became paralyzed.
An MRI revealed an inoperable spinal tumor.
Modern medicine could not cure her.
One of the greatest gifts we can give the animals we love is the willingness
to let them go when staying becomes suffering.
It is one of the hardest acts of love I have ever known.
As she took her final breaths, I leaned close and whispered into her ear:
"Thank you, Pacha.
Thank you for everything.
You are the best dog and the best friend we could have had.
You are such a good girl, Pacha.
We love you forever."
I hope those were the last words she heard.
My heart is broken.
My house isn't the same.
If you've ever loved an animal this deeply, then you already understand.
Thank you for your patience while I've stepped away. I'm finding my way back.
For now, I'm simply grateful that for 8+ beautiful years, we got to love one extraordinary soul named Pacha.
