Save a Pet, I Saved a Pacco

A dog can change a life. I like to think I changed Pacco’s life. As a kid growing up, my family had dogs; Schipperkes to be precise. Belgian herding dogs the color of midnight, no tail, and plenty of spunk. My parents had owned Drexel and Jackson, sibling Schipperkes from an AKC licensed breeder in Nebraska prior to and during their time in Georgia, which was several years prior to my birth and I lived with these two wonderful Schipperkes until my mid tweens. Jackson was the first to go; he developed throat cancer and after several months of my parents witnessing him deteriorate, they had him put down at the ripe old age of 14.

Jackson had seen his way across the US twice, from Alabama to Ohio where I was born, and then again across the country to Las Vegas. He lived a happy and healthy life and even visited out next home in Montana where Drexel would live out her remaining years. Drexel lived for almost another three happy years before sadly passing on to greet Jackson in the Great Beyond.

For several years after, my family did without dogs. It was lonesome and after much outcry from my sisters and me, my parents conceded and went sniffing about for another Schipperke. They found Kai at a nearby Amish breeder in the Rockies of Northwestern Montana that we also called home. Kai came home and lived with us for 9 years. Kai unfortunately contracted diseases that attacked his immune system, diseases that had existed in his bloodline, dormant until his unfortunate and early death. My parents have not gotten another dog since being robbed of Kai.

This decision sat with our family and after joining the United States Marine Corps, I witnessed my sisters grow up with that decision, robbed of childhood with a pet. I harbored my own feelings on the matter but I resolved to get a dog as soon as I was free from my enlistment. As it happened, fate had it planned differently. My enlistment, originally up in 2017, was prolonged to 2018 for reasons I’ll not share here. This stagnant period in my life caused me to impulsively rescue and adopt two rats from a feed store; I hid them in my wall locker at the barracks and Oryx and Arden lived with me from March 2018 to their deaths at the ripe old age of 2 in the winter of 2019-2020.

After my enlistment ended, I found myself back in Montana and working for the Flathead County Parks, Rec and Weed Department as a temp clerk. During this time, I still found my thoughts focused on a dog and so I began looking. Fate seemed to have me in its grasp because as I searched through the local county websites, detailing the animals up for adoption around the Flathead Valley, I received a work email. The email pertained to things coming up in the next week and had links to multiple other pages detailing programs and such. One link, the only one I clicked on, detailed the Flathead County Animal Control’s plans for delivery to Missoula County Animal Kill Shelter following the Memorial Holiday weekend. Their only passenger: one 8 year old, Chihuahua/Terrier mix named Pacco, set to be put down on Tuesday because he had aged out of the system.

The shelter was closed by the time I got off work that Friday, but Saturday morning I was in their parking lot 30 minutes early to be the first in line. The lock clicked and a lady greeted me, asking what I was here for. I told her,

“I’m here for Pacco.” She seemed surprised and with hindsight, I know why, but at the time I thought nothing of it. She led me back to the fenced in visiting yard and then minutes later out came the saddest looking dog I have ever seen. He was so terrified yet elated to be outside, pulling on his leash with all his 10 pounds of might.

“He’s very skittish,” the attendant said as she let him off the leash to do his business. “I’ll let you two get acquainted for a few moments.”

She handed me the leash and went back inside. I approached the currently busy Pacco but he was not having it. As soon as I stepped toward him, he went nuts, whining, barking, staying as far away from me as the fence would allow. He wouldn’t come anywhere near me no matter how much I made kissy noises or talked sweet and gentle to him. Most people, like everyone that had come to see Pacco in the past, would have given up, having seen a broken dog and conceded to finding a better pet. I could see that in Pacco, this dog just needed someone who was willing to give him a chance.

The attendant returned minutes later and I told her I’d take him. She seemed pleased but wary. She took Pacco to go get his things and sent me up front to fill out paperwork. Once all of that was filled out, the lady assisting me told me that I had 7 days to bring him back if it didn’t work out without paying the rehoming fees. I didn’t pay attention; Pacco wasn’t going anywhere. When everything was completed, I was given Pacco’s supplies, bed, leash, and toys. After it was all in the car and secured, I went back in and retrieved Pacco. He seemed so happy to be outside and we immediately went to the nearby grass so he could relieve himself. Then it was into the car.

From the moment I got in the car, Pacco was on my lap, just panting away with joy. We drove home and I brought Pacco inside after again using the facilities. We spent a good hour or so just sitting on the sofa, Pacco on my lap as I stroked his fur. Then the TruGreen landscaper showed up to detail the lawn and I let Pacco out back while I went out front to go and let him know he was good to start wherever. What I didn’t think about was how skittish Pacco had been around me prior to getting him home, and I rediscovered that when I went to retrieve him from the fenced-in yard. He wouldn’t come and he wouldn’t stay still long enough for me to catch him. This game of Spenser and Pacco went on for uncounted minutes, until the TruGreen worker appeared around the side of the house, almost ready to treat the fenced-in section.

After several more failed attempts to capture the evasive fuzzball, with the assistance of the landscaper, I was able to corner Pacco long enough to pick him up and bring him inside. After that, life with Pacco went on pretty naturally. When my parents returned from their vacation, they fell in love with Pacco, my mom more than my dad (or so he’d let you think). My sisters also fell in love with Pacco, and I watched a dog with a history of neglect and abuse learn what a good family with lots of love to give could be like. Pacco became my best friend, sleeping in my bed, following me everywhere, even playing gently with Oryx and Arden.

Pacco’s life would have been so short-lived if I hadn’t gotten that email. Kept outside on a chain, with obvious signs of abuse and neglect, and a fear of everyone, Pacco was cast aside with the excuse that he “barks too much,” a paltry attempt to excuse his 8 years of mistreatment. Every time we got in the car, I watched Pacco’s demeanor change as if he thought this would be his last car ride. He shook every time we went to the vet, from the moment we arrived until we were back in the car, as if he thought maybe this time he wouldn’t come home.

Yet Pacco got better, showing increased health and spunk, and by the time we arrived in Ohio, he was an entirely different dog. Starting off with Pacco, I had to always have him on the leash to ensure he wouldn’t run off. By the time we were settled in our new apartment, Pacco would walk next to me whenever I told him to heel, would come when called, obeyed all my other commands, and we almost never brought the leash on walks. Pacco got on well with other dogs, only barked at strangers he viewed as threatening (which I’ve found has often entailed they mistreat animals), and acted as the perfectly lovable fuzzlie he is.

Then in November of 2018, when Pacco needed to be seen by the new vet in our cozy Ohio town, he was diagnosed with cancer. After further tests, it was found that the cancer had metastasized to his spinal column and had begun growing along its length. There was nothing they could do besides give him medicine to alleviate pain and discomfort, making him comfortable in the final six months he was given to live. Pacco had only had one or two episodes of bile relieving prior to this appointment, but with his new medication, bile relief came more frequently. Some would have seen this as the end and had Pacco put down, or seen the constant bile messes as the last straw, but I saw that this dog was just trying to enjoy his final days and I have been rewarded for my efforts.

Pacco will be 11 this May 10th and he continues to live and behave as a younger, happier dog, playing, snuggling with my two cats, even giving my now-passed ball python Ramen rides around the house wrapped around his stomach.The cancer gives Pacco his “off” days and I didn’t know how much responsibility I would take on adopting Pacco, or how much selfless love I could give a single animal. Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t know what I was in for because having Pacco along for the ride, from Montana to Ohio, Ohio to Sturgis, Sturgis to Arizona, and wherever we go next, will always be worth whatever it takes and Pacco will always live in my heart. I don’t know how much more time I’ve got left with my Pacco, but you can bet your bottom dollar that I’ll enjoy every moment I’ve got left with this awesome fuzzlie.