Pedro of Lord Roberts
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When I moved back to Winnipeg in 2009, my dog, Pedro, made connecting with people easy.
He could not contain his excitement when he saw anyone walking down the street. Young, old, rich, or poor – it didn’t matter. He wanted to meet everyone. He introduced me to some of my closest friends in the area.
South Osborne was a dog haven, and I got into the habit of taking him everywhere with me. Chocolate Zen Bakery welcomed dogs and sold treats that looked so delicious I often thought of taking a bite.
Photo by Candice G. Ball
Pedro loved to explore the neighbourhoods of Lord Roberts.
Once, after an early evening stroll down to Banana Boat to get Pedro a doggie sundae, I decided to pop into the Park Theatre to rent a movie.
“I’m so sorry,” said Erick Casselman, owner of the Park Theatre. “I’m afraid dogs aren’t allowed in here. It’s against the health code because we serve food.”
My exact thought was: “Are you not aware that my dog is a guru and quite possibly a mini god?”
I later learned that it is believed chihuahuas descended from the techichi – a breed the Aztecs considered sacred soul-guides. The dogs were cremated with the owners to navigate the underworld. It couldn’t be any dog – it had to be the owner’s.
I am an atheist, but the chihuahua origin story rang true for me.
Loving my dog is the closest I’ve ever come to understanding religion. He always had my undivided attention.
During Pedro’s senior years, taking care of him became a form of devotion.
I believe my daily practice of holding him and giving him ear scratches sustained him in those last few years. I know he could feel my love long after he lost his hearing and vision.
Photo by Candice G. Ball
Pedro keeps an eye out for anyone approaching. He loved to meet new people.
My dog lived for 19 years and seven months, thanks in large part to the excellent care he received from Anderson Animal Hospital and Wellness Center.
Though Pedro’s bloodwork was excellent in February, his tough little body began to shut down on March 24. Because he just kept living and living, I thought of him as immortal.
There will be no more walks across Elm Park Bridge or sitting on a bench on Churchill Drive giving him belly rubs.
It is so quiet here without the clicking of his nails on my floors, yet I still move carefully to ensure he doesn’t get under my feet. I still wake up in the middle of the night to check on him.