I know you’ve all been waiting on pins and needles to hear what happened to the Hahamongna Chihuahua, spending sleepless nights worrying about the little guy. Here, finally, is the update.
Back at my place, he lay on the floor, barely able to keep his eyes open, yet each time I came into the room he’d stand up and wag his tail. The little guy now adored me, and the feeling was quickly becoming mutual.
Already I was testing the waters, mulling over how to make it work, hoping he could make a harmonious transition to becoming a new member of the pack.
The cats, both bigger than he, were unperturbed by his presence, a refreshing change. Ramona lounged on the floor just a foot away. Frieda was cautiously curious, and then ignored him. But he growled at them as they passed.
Life must be difficult when every creature you meet is bigger than you and therefore a potential threat.
Something about this little guy’s scrappy looks with his bulging eyes made me think of Grandpa from the Munsters so that’s what I started calling him.
That night, the cats slept in my bedroom, Tommy in the kitchen, and Grandpa in the living room. It made me happy to see his little body curled up on the makeshift bed of blankets, sleeping soundly.
In the morning, I took him out for a short walk and then went back to the house to take Tommy out. But the little guy wanted more. To save time, I decided to walk them together. I left Grandpa waiting at the front door and brought Tommy in his snoot loop toward him. I picked up the little guy’s leash, and Tommy with his overbearing energy went right up to his face. And bam!, there was a dog fight, the pit bull against the Chihuahua.
I spread my arms, a leash in each hand, as wide as they could go, sending poor Grandpa airborne. And that was it. It was over as quickly as it had started.
I took Tommy for his morning walk alone.
The plan was to drop Tommy off at Starcrest Kennels for doggie daycare and then take the Chihuahua to the Pasadena Humane Society. If no one claimed him after the required allotted time, I would spring him from the shelter and foster him. Maybe I could even keep him, although the morning did not bode well for a house of harmony.
I worried about his options if I couldn't keep him. Veronica said she might be able to get him on a transport if he passed a temperament test, but what if he didn't? He wasn't a cute cuddly lap dog. He was elderly and curmudgeonly and, with his cherry eye and a wheezy cough, he had health problems. What would I do if no one wanted him? I had turned my life upside down to save Tommy, and after two and a half years I finally felt as if I had my life back. I wasn't sure I could take another upheaval, not with my small space and no yard and the constant threat of fights. But what had been the point of saving this guy from the streets if I were to just turn around and let him languish at a shelter for 5 days before being euthanized?
In the car, Grandpa crawled into my lap to get protection from Tommy’s wild gaze. But like I said, he wasn’t a lap dog, he didn’t cuddle. He stood up to see what was happening outside the window, his little legs boring into my larger ones. At a red light, I lifted him to his blanket on the passenger floor. I scratched his head and made cooing noises at him, which really perplexed Tommy. Why was he getting all the attention?!
Once at Starcrest, I left Grandpa in the car while I brought Tommy up to the reception area. As I turned back toward my car, Rita, the owner, passed by. I told her about how I'd found the Chihuahua, and jokingly asked, "Do you want to keep him?"
I expected a laugh in return, perhaps a gentle "no, sorry, I can't..." but instead she said, in all seriousness, "let me see him."
I took her to the car and we discussed what to do. I told her I thought I should take him to the Humane Society first and give an owner a chance to claim him. She said well, if that's what you want to do. But I started to change my tune as we considered his stats: unneutered, cherry eye, with a yellow rope tied around his neck. Whoever “owned” him didn’t seem to take very good care of him. Doubtful that someone was looking for him but if they were, didn’t we want better for this little guy?
Rita took him under her wing, and that's the last I've seen of him. He's since been neutered, had surgery to fix his cherry eye, and gotten all his shots. He's in quarantine in "the condo" until Rita's sure he's healthy.
Rita says he's fiesty. He put up a good fight when she went to give him a parvo shot. She called him a fierce warrior and named him Ponchito.
Once he's out of quarantine, I'll post a picture of him.
Rita, like Veronica, is a hero.
Ponchito the Fierce Warrior. Lucky dog!