His eyes continue to haunt me. The portals to his soul, the way he communicated with me, their intensity. We were a family of two, just Paco and me, and now, just me. Remembering Paco is easy. What is difficult for me is the void he has left behind. He was always there: beside me, sitting on the edge of the dining room rug facing the kitchen watching me cook, hoping I was scrambling him an egg, perched on the terrace in the doorway where he could watch my every move, on the bed at my feet, curled up between my legs on the sofa or trotting by my side on the sidewalk.
Yes, Paco trotted. People passing us by would notice him and marvel at his skills. He came to me this way. It was a strong, confident, regal trot. Paco was about 10 inches tall, 20 inches long and he only weighed 9.25 pounds. In early days, my fear of stepping on him was ever present. But he was smart enough to stay clear of my big feet. I know, everyone thinks their dog is smart, but Paco had more than intelligence, he had insight and understanding and a tremendous amount of patience.
I wrote about how I acquired Paco some time ago, so I won’t revisit that part of our history. I will just mention that when he joined me in Portugal he was skin and bones, weak, and fighting several serious illnesses. When Maria, his vet told me he might not make it, I wept shamelessly in her office. He was less than a year old and weighed under four pounds. I got him home, held his face in my hands, and asked him to fight with me. I said, “If you live, we will have a life of adventure, lots of friends, and good food.” He rallied and fought for six years, until a strong and resistant bacterial infection took him from me last week. Six years that I will forever cherish.
After admiring how handsome he was, the first thing people who met him would say is, “He’s such a sweet dog.” Paco would give himself over to you within the first 10 seconds of meeting you. He made everyone feel special. He would pass along that contagious joy, lick you a thousand times, and glance over at me to let me know that he could love me and love others as well. One of his jobs (he embraced responsibility) was to greet people at the elevator outside of my apartment. No matter who it was, they were treated the same, with a warm welcome. My Amazon delivery guy looked forward to my stop and specifically asked me to order more things so he could see Paco. He was seldom met with fear and if he sensed it, he just backed away.
The thing about a dog that is not always apparent to non-dog people, is that dogs see all of you and sense how you are feeling emotionally. If you live alone and have a pet, your emotional needs are often met by your pet — certainly the case for me. Now, I’ll have to rely on myself or close family and friends.
This has been very difficult to write. I find myself stopping and starting quite a bit.
As I write today I’m feeling a great deal of anger. It seems very unfair to me that Paco was taken so soon. It was apparent to me early on that he was probably beaten as a puppy. If I went near a stick of any kind, he cowered. If I raised my voice, he made himself very small. And after the abuse, he was dumped in the woods to fend for himself, where he could die of starvation or an animal attack. And then, after being rescued and only a few years later, a bacterial infection he didn’t have the means to fight stole his life. Yes, I am angry; I’m angry at those who abandoned him and I’m angry at this fucking infection.
But I’m not supposed to dwell on any of those things. I’m expected to just be grateful to have had him in my life and focus on the future. Nobody wants to be around a grieving person. I sense it all around me, just move on Chris.
I’m not ready to move on, escape, get away, hide my feelings. I want to remember Paco all day everyday until the memories are all beautiful and comforting. For now I need to see his struggle, his cries for help, his pain. I need to see it, so I can understand his absence in my life; so I can accept his death.
I have had a couple of people suggest that I consider another pet. I don’t want to disparage those who go this route, but that is not who I am. For now, I cannot imagine the ability to love another dog. I would be comparing, resenting, and spending way too much time trying to erase memories. I need time.
I’ve been told that I did a very unselfish thing by euthanatizing Paco. That stopping his suffering was the most loving thing I could have done. These are nice words; comforting words, but I know in my heart I could have done more. Six vets confirmed his diagnosis, but maybe a seventh vet would have provided another remedy? Maybe that invasive surgery in Lisbon was the answer? Maybe if I had waited a few more days, his condition might have improved? Were the plants on the terrace the source of the infection? Of course I know on an intellectual level, these are not all rational thoughts, Nonetheless, it’s where my brain goes these days. Processing a loss is an important piece of the grief puzzle. Allow me doubt, allow me time.
Another harsh reality: Paco started getting sick 16 months ago. I had just had shoulder replacement surgery and recovery was challenging. His infection was more difficult to deal with because my arm was in a sling — back and forth to the vet; healing, hope, and disappointment, over and over again. And then in November 2025 I needed to have my gallbladder removed, again making it difficult to attend to his illness. Paco’s infection continued to return after multiple antibiotics, other strong medications, several surgical procedures, and again, many trips to multiple vets.
Over the last few months, when the infection was in his middle ear, eustachian tube, and nose, he had problems breathing at night when the mucous would build up. Early on I could flush out his nose and give him some relief, but after a while, it didn’t help. I was giving him sedatives, steroids, and pain medication. All of these helped in the beginning of the infection, however, they became less and less effective over time. I would have nights with constant interrupted sleep and the pain of seeing Paco in distress. I trusted his doctors, but being a realist, I knew in my heart that this resistant bacteria would eventually take his life.
All of this consumed me psychologically and emotionally. I talked to friends and family who were sympathetic, but who had no real answers. I also posted his symptoms and diagnosis on several animal help sites. People with good intentions, shared similar experiences or offered their sincere sympathy.
And here’s where I reveal my real feelings, feelings that continue to plague me with guilt. There were times when I would hope (I don’t pray), that Paco would die in his sleep so that both he and I would no longer experience the suffering. I should add that at times I would have these thoughts in the wee hours of the morning and then see the vet the next day after a flushing procedure under anesthesia, only to be hopeful once again. This cycle repeated four times over several months. There were two times during this period where I considered euthanasia, only because I did not know what else to do.
I noticed that I was beginning to make some bad decisions about other things happening in my life; my mind was often foggy and a feeling of hopelessness was pervasive. I’m really good at hiding pain and discomfort, but some people noticed my anxiety and would ask me about what was happening. I was reluctant to dwell on the situation; too much sharing pushes people away.
There were several individuals who were more involved and harder to share the news of his inevitable end. His groomer/sitter has been a part of his life for years. In addition, I have two very close friends with a dog that Paco spent a great deal of time with. Nina (pictured with Paco) loved Paco. They were like brother and sister; respectful of one another, tender, and always happy when they were together. Especially delightful to watch considering their size difference. Nina’s parents were also very much in love with Paco. They were involved in his life so much that I recently named them as his guardian should something happen to me. Sharing the news that Paco was being euthanized was agonizing, but the right thing to do. There were goodbyes on his last day. We’re all remembering Paco together and their presence in my life has made a very difficult reality, a bit less painful.
Some final words before I go: because of Paco’s serious issues when I rescued him, I was always acutely aware of his compromised immune system. I was often so filled with fear that I’d lose him, it became emotionally challenging. There were a few times when I was certain our time together was over, only to be proven wrong; making me grateful for the time that followed. I’m fully aware of where I am in the grieving process. I know that like Dana, Ashley and Giorgio, my dogs that came before Paco, I will someday just think of him and smile. But like people in our lives, every so often, someone comes along that stands out above the rest, Paco was that someone for me. I know he was a dog, but he was my soulmate and best friend. Knowing that Paquito touched so many in his short life gives me great comfort. Remember him, that’s what will keep him alive.
“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.”
— Anatole France
Papagni Pages 
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