Lessons on Death from a Seven Pound Chihuahua

Nearly 17 years ago, my daughter decided she wanted a chinchilla for her 14th birthday. I didn’t know much about these furry rodents, but decided to take a look at the local pet store.

I quickly discerned a chinchilla wouldn’t be a fit for me, but then my gaze scanned over to a pen of sweet, adorable chihuahua puppies. My boyfriend at the time tried to convince me to get one for her. It was a vehement “no” for me because we already had a well-loved black Lab. Why would I want to go through another puppy stage of chewing and potty training?

Yet something was tugging at my heart. These AKC registered pups were out of my price range, but my boyfriend quickly grabbed a newspaper and found an ad for a lady selling unregistered chihuahuas at a fraction of the price. I was still a hard “no,” but he convinced me to “just go take a look,” and I half-heartedly agreed.

After a long drive into the middle of nowhere we came upon a farm and as we pulled up, a pack of multi-colored chihuahuas came running up to greet us. The owner invited us inside to see the two pups that she had left: a black and tan teacup female and a black and white spotted male.

Before we got there I had already decided I wanted the teacup female pup because I thought it would be fun to dress her up lol. But when I knelt down, the black and white male with an adorable pirate patch over one eye sat up on his hind legs and looked me square in the eyes with a gaze that clearly conveyed, “we are meant to be.”

Ugh. And I knew it with every cell in my body. Before I knew it we were driving home with this sweet, little creature, totally unprepared for puppydom.

Boy, was my daughter surprised to find out that instead of a chinchilla, she was getting a chihuahua! Her joy was contagious and she named the newest member of the family, Kobi. But even though he was technically her dog, he very quickly became mine.

Kobi was on my lap 24/7. Followed me everywhere I went. All. Day. Long. I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without him jumping on my lap. He went in the car with me to pick up my daughter from her activities and to run errands. We took long walks. And we slept snuggled up together. We were equally smitten with one another. I didn’t care if we were co-dependent, his constant unconditional love felt so good.

For the next several years, I went through a lot of challenges and heartbreak. I took care of my mom on a long Alzheimer’s journey and also lost a great number of other loved ones. My daughter grew up and went away to college and my nest became empty. It was just me and Kobi now. And grief was a constant vibe in my life.

But through it all Kobi was there supporting me, like he truly knew the depths of my suffering. He seemed like an intuitive, wise old soul.

Sometimes I was so weary, I’d lay down on the couch to take a break. Kobi would climb on my chest and literally hug me by wrapping his little arms around my neck. Then he’d compassionately nuzzle his nose in my ear as if he was trying to take away my pain and cheer me up.

Honestly, I’m not sure what I would have done without Kobi during those heavy years as I often felt all alone in my sadness. He was truly my emotional support animal.

When Kobi was around 12, he started coughing a lot and losing weight and I was afraid it was time to put him down. The vet said he had congestive heart failure and a bad heart murmur. But, she felt like he could maybe live up to one year on proper medication. Of course I wanted to keep him around as long as I could. After all, we were soulmates and I couldn’t imagine being without him.

The anticipatory grief immediately started for me. If the vet said he wouldn’t make it more than a year, then when would it all end? I didn’t think my heart couldn’t bear another big loss.

But Kobi’s health improved some and I felt a bit of relief. One year passed. Then two. Three. And four. Albeit there were many ups and downs with his health and some big scares, he just somehow kept living. His vets were even surprised at his longevity. In his 16th year, Kobi really slowed down. Our walks got shorter. He couldn’t sleep with me anymore because his eyesight wasn’t good enough to get up and down from the bed. Eating was a struggle because of issues with his gums and teeth. Breathing became more labored. But he plugged away at fully loving and appreciating me every day and I did the same for him.

I could feel Kobi’s life force fading even though his spirit was strong. One day I knew the end wasn’t far off and had to make the gut-wrenching decision to let him go. I didn’t want him to suffer for the sake of staying alive for me. So I painstakingly made the appointment to put him down.

I was determined to make Kobi’s last day as meaningful as I could for him. And me. We went to Wendy's and got a hamburger which he fervently devoured. Then I told him we were going on his last walk and I asked him to deeply enjoy it. And he really seemed to.

Our final stroll was longer than any we had taken for weeks. He even confidently trotted for a while. Kobi rubbed his nose in the grass, watched birds and squirrels, smelled everything he could and many times just stopped and stared into the distance as if perhaps he was contemplating his last hours on earth.

After the walk, I had a couple hours to snuggle him as I recalled out loud to him all the wonderful things we had experienced together. I let him know that I would deeply miss his presence, but that it was ok to leave his weary body and sweet, sacred heart behind. I assured him that our energetic bond would always survive and that I would be okay.

The drive to the vet was filled with dread and anxiety for me. The staff at Mixed Pet Animal Hospital was truly amazing with their kindness and gentleness. There was a soft blanket on the treatment table for him, the gentle sounds of ocean waves playing in the background and a box of kleenex for me.

Normally Kobi is frightened and shaking when we go to the vet. But this time was different, he seemed to calmly understand and accept what was about to happen. As we waited for a few minutes for the vet to come in, I caressed him and told him how much I loved him and that he’d be safe. He seemed to take it all to heart with a keen understanding of the circle of life.

At one point he turned and looked me in the eyes, intently holding my gaze exactly as he did the first time I saw him as a teeny pup standing on his hind legs. I received it from him as, “see, we were meant to be and it was wonderful.” Then he gently licked my face as if to say goodbye. He had not been able to even lick my face for quite a while, so I knew this was his attempt at a soulful farewell.

I wish I could say that letting him go was easy. It wasn’t. I cried for days. I keep thinking that I need to feed him or that it’s time to go for our afternoon walk or that he’s going to suddenly jump on my lap. I’m heartbroken...but grateful. Grateful for having my life enriched by this tiny, wise creature that loved and comforted me in the best and worst of times.

This quote from Erica Jong gives me peace. “Dogs come into our lives to teach us about love. They depart to teach us about loss. A new dog never replaces an old dog, it merely expands the heart.”

Thank you, Kobi, for being a teacher of life and death for me and for getting me in touch with my delicate heart. Even though I am nursing my grief, I feel very alive and human.

Rest in peace you seven pound hunk of love. 5-9-24