It's Like They Can *Smell Me* Or Something.

This month my sweet, one-eyed dog, Paco, makes a year of no longer being with us.

I can still recall when he came to me on a cold Christmas night, a hideous red Santa cape flapping in the wind behind him, his one closed eye permanently winking at me in the most endearing of ways.

I immediately knew I had to have him and love him and keep him, and that's precisely what I did until his final goodbye last year.

Paco taught me that life can still be beautiful even if you're missing essential parts like eyes and several teeth and your breath smells like you swallowed a zombie corpse the week before. That all you really need is love and a cozy place for sleeping to be happy and satisfied while walking this earth.

That no matter how many blows we endure, there's light on the other side if we're brave enough to fight through those brief moments of darkness. Mostly, he showed me that even when people we've known for most of our lives reject and kick us to the curb, others will pick us up and restore us to a place of peace and joy once again.

I miss you so much, my one-eyed bandit. You sweet, chubby, resilient, little fucker of a dog.

Bearing this in mind, it's only right that when I see a stray dog in need I pick them up and do my best to find them a loving home.

Tonight on my way to the store I found this beast, whom I've named Lucas.

I'm deathly scared of chows and their black tongues but he seems to like me just fine, or at least the fact he hasn't bitten my face indicates so.

If I'm not back tomorrow than he mauled me in my sleep and it's been super nice knowing you.

Love, peace, and chicken bone grease,

Annah