My dog’s name is «Pinky»

He is a cream colured long haired Chihuahua, with some amber coloured areas. He shares with other species some traits that, at least for me, make him unique and special: his upright bushy tail, so feather dusterish, the canine version of a peacock’s. The darker spots around his slightly bulging eyes remind me of a raccoon’s mask and give him certain melancholic air. His short legs make me think of a kangaroo’s, leaving out the long curved claw on each digit. And his pointed triangular shaped furry ears are very fox-like.

He will be 10 next september and has recently been diagnosed with a valvular heart disease, a serious condition. Due to life circumstances I no longer live with him, although I see him from time to time. That makes me feel immensely happy. I would like to know exactly which days I will see my Pinky, so I could prepare my heart in advance and enjoy the anticipation of this meeting, like the fox tamed by the little Prince.


I think of him every day. Initially, when I was told about his illness, I was very worried and sad, fearing for his life all the time. But life, always wonderful, has given me a break and, fortunately, the veterinary treatment is working. Pinky, my dear Chihuahua, keeps barking at the air every time he goes out, chasing local pigeons at every opportunity and recklessly confronting other dogs (many of  them much bigger than him) who dare question his favourite motto, taken from the famous Mexican ranchera “The King”:

With money and without money

I always do what I want

And my word is law.


Some time ago I wrote a blog post entitled “Animals do go to Heaven” explaining how certain I am about this fact. Heaven without my Pinky would be no Heaven at all. It would be a nameless place where I definitely wouldn’t want to be.

I share with the rest of mortal beings the incapacity of knowing my death date. So, I don’t  know whether Pinky will die before of after me. If he should die first, I want his ashes waiting for mine somewhere in my house until my life will one day come to an end. When I am dead and also incinerated, I will have said in some kind of legal document that our two urns, Pinky’s and mine, should be buried in some place where it is possible, not arguing with anybody. I doubt that we could be buried together in a church. I won’t even take the trouble to ask. I take it for granted it is not allowed. I would so much rather be buried, with Pinky, somewhere in the ground. One of the many beautiful places Mother Nature, our common, Mother, offers us.

But it is still too soon for twinning our ashes. I don’t really want it yet. I want to see my Pinky jumping up and down happily when we meet, licking my ankles with his warm little tongue.

I want to bury muy face in his soft furry neck, smothering him in kisses, even though I know he doesn’t like it very much, but I don’t care. I can’t help it.

Yes, I do miss him a lot. Sometimes, when I worry that something bad would happen to him suddenly, and me not being there for him in his last moments, my eyes fill with tears. Fortunately, I soon get rid of those gloomy ideas that don’t fit the essence of my dog at all, since he is pure joy incarnated in an animal.


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