In truth, he’s a five-pound package of worthless dog. He doesn’t herd sheep or fetch and is too small to scare away a burglar. He also whines incessantly about nothing and won’t shut up no matter how much I beg. He’s so tiny that hawks are a considerable concern whenever he goes outside. For years, rain or shine, I had to go out with him and babysit until I discovered a black, sharp-spiked hawk-repellent dog jacket on Amazon. Now, the neighbors think Muchacho is a spiked-out punk rocker.
Muchacho and I have a history of over a decade and a half. He is a rescued chihuahua given to me by my sister. Since he is of Mexican breed, I named him “Muchacho,” which in English translates to “Boy.” He once chased a Mexican boy crossing my yard, and when I yelled out, “Muchacho!” They both froze in their tracks.
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