Chihuahua Fever

It's been three and a half months since my precious Falina passed away. There are times in my day when a thought of her will cross my mind and my heart begins racing, my breath catches in my throat, and I find myself in a near panic that she's gone. And then the tears flow again. Oh, my heart aches for her. Even though I've still got my other four-legged knuckleheads, they're not Chihuahuas. Falina was the center of my heart. Even her name, slipping sweetly off my tongue, has a sacred sound. I find myself singing, "Falina, say it loud and it's music playing. Say it soft and it's almost like praying. Falina, I'll never stop saying Falina." ("Maria" from West Side Story) Yesterday morning I awoke to a dream that the little Chihuahua I owned over 20 years ago, named Taco, came back to me as if he were only lost for a while. I was overjoyed to see him! He was my little man, my baby boy, my Tiny Tim. And then I woke up...and no Taco. No Falina. No ChiChi (my first Chihuahua from 1969 to 1983). I find myself going to PetFinder.com, searching all the Chihuahuas in need of a home. The ones in nearby rescues have too high of adoption fees for me right now, and the others are too far away. And none of them quite call out to me the way my Falina did from the very instant I set eyes on her. I know nobody will ever replace my precious Falina, just like Falina didn't replace Taco, and Taco didn't replace ChiChi. They were all different. But to have no Chihuahua is agony. My sweet little ones are in my dreams, surrounding me like invisible angels, calling to me. I've got Chihuahua fever something awful. And the cure still seems a long way off.