I've learned with age that pets mean different things to different people. When I was just a kid and living in Arizona, one of my two sisters was given a choice of picking a family pet for her birthday. We all went together to the Humane Society to check out the animals and see if we would be able to adopt one of her choice. I remember that the majority of us took a liking to a mid size German shepherd puppy, but since the decision was up to my sister, too bad...hahaha, she liked a cute little black poodle and cocker spaniel instead and nobody was able to change her mind. In my opinion it was more like the puppy picked my sister instead and then put a spell on her heart to make it go the dog's way. The adoption papers had her named "Blackie," but it was later changed by family consensus to "Chiquita," which from Spanish to English translates as "Tiny."Chiquita did all the puppy things from peeing in the car, chewing on the furniture and side of the kitchen cabinets, to whining enough when left outside of the house to guarantee her indoor pet status. At one point in time we also had rabbits, which when I finish with my psychotherapy treatments I will some day tell the story about my sisters locking me up in their huge cage while our parents were not in the house, forcing me to clean their stinky home. We started with one single black rabbit, which we named Periquito, assuming it was male. Later it was decided that Periquito was too lonely so we got another rabbit, this time white, and named it Periquita, assuming it was female. Soon Periquito and Periquita did what all rabbits are so fond of doing and we realized when twelve other baby rabbits were born that we had it all wrong. Just because a rabbit is black it does not make it a male rabbit, and just because the other is white it does not make it a female rabbit. In fact, we had it completely backwards, so soon we re-baptized the creatures and switched their names in order to save them from any further gender confusion trauma. Chiquita loved it when it was time to clean the rabbit cage because it gave her time to do a bit of her own dog against rabbit bonding by chasing them all over the back yard. The funny thing is that all she really wanted to do was play with them, so after the rabbits would get tired of running away from her they would just give up and stay still in one place, which would then make Chiquita nudge them with her cold wet nose while crying as if begging for the transvestite rabbits to start running again. The rabbits had a nasty little trick they would play on the dog, running very fast towards the backyard house wall and then in an instant changing directions. Chiquita would be chasing them like a mad dog and because of size and momentum she would not be able to turn as quickly as the rabbits could and end up crashing against the house head first. From this she developed an eternal bump on the top of her head.
As a family we bonded with the puppy, which soon grew much bigger than anticipated making her name a bit unfit for her size, yet still perfect in our hearts. Two years later, when we made our final move back to Puerto Rico, Chiquita went with us on a trip across the United States riding in the back board against the rear windshield of my dad's huge four door Chevrolet Impala. By the time we took this cross country trip, in our minds and hearts she was already an integral part of our family and the number one criteria when selecting a motel to spend our nights for almost two months while on the road was that they would accept pets. In fact, Chiquita pretty much slept in bed with me throughout the whole trip. My dad, having had his first heart attack just a few months before, had been trying to quit smoking. However, in his moments of weakness, he would graciously offer to take Chiquita for an evening walk so she could do her business while he would sneak a few puffs of his cleverly hidden Winston pack. Not once did Chiquita tell him out! Smart move if she intended to keep her motel room sleeping status instead of in the car, right?
Years went by and Chiquita became what in my mind had to be the most loved pet in the world. When she started to get old we knew it was too cruel to take her to strangers to have her groomed, so soon we found ourselves buying a set of electric clippers and doing the job ourselves. I say "ourselves" loosely since it was really my dad's job, which somehow later became mine instead. I swear it would take at least four hours for me to cut her hair while she sat totally frustrated on top of our ping pong table. She grew so much hair that I could easily fill up a standard size pillow case with just one hair cut. I remember that when it was time to groom her, we would have to spell out the words, because if anyone said "you have to give Chiquita a haircut and bath," there went the dog rushing away under a bed to hide from everyone in sight. Interestingly, the dog was bilingual, you could say it either in Spanish or English and it would have the same exact consequence. Instead, my mom would say "B-a-ñ-a la perra" giving me enough of a lead to get all the necessary tools and then sneak the leash around her neck to drag her to her torture chamber. Once the ordeal was over she would run all around the house, room by room showing off her new hair do in an exhilarating dance.
In our family, our love for our pets has always gone beyond what most people would consider normal. When one of our pets died, it was pretty much as if a family member died. We grieved our lost companions with all of our heart and found it amazingly difficult to get over their loss because they were part of the family. I was already in college in Mississippi when Chiquita died, and trust me when I tell you that it hurt like hell. Since then my mom has also lost another canine companion. It was just as traumatic as lossing Chiquita, maybe even more. The bond was not limited to dogs and rabbits. In fact, when my brother was little my oldest sister and her boyfriend brought him two colorful little chicks as a present. You know, the ones that are colored red, or blue, or yellow, or green to make them seem more desirable to children. You guessed it, these two birds grew big and fat laying eggs every morning for years, but they also grew incredibly dear to my brother's heart. As all older brothers and sisters, we too found joy in sometimes torturing the youngest by telling him that the chicken he had just eaten for dinner was one of his dear fine feathered friends. His face would change colors in rage biting his lower lip while holding up a fist in the air threatening to beat us up if it was true. Of course mom would give us up in our lie and make things right again. Don't worry dear brother, your pollancas were never in any true danger, we loved them too.
I can understand how many of you might think that we are way too attached to our pets, it certainly does seem to go a bit into the extreme to love a dog, rabbits, and some chickens the way we felt for our friends. However, when love finds it's way into your heart there is very little you can do regardless of gender, race, and in some cases species too. I for one hope that they have a soul too, that way I can reunite with my sweet pets when I check out of this life. It may sound dumb or maybe even ridiculous, but you might one day discover that the unconditional love you felt coming your way from your own pet was no accident. I know in my heart that in my life they have always been a blessing to me. We still love you Chiquita!
Dad
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