Are There Tacos Over the Rainbow Bridge?

A final lesson from my furry, taco-loving bestie

My old girl, in what may be her final winter. Photo by author.

Sometimes life gives you exactly the gift you need — if you take the time to recognize it. My 16-year-old dog, Chela, was a gift that life gave me while I was busy making other plans. She came into my life when I almost hit her with my car.

As I was walking with my old girl by the lake today, I watched her arthritic old legs wobble to and fro. Not unlike when I first met her 16 years ago, albeit for different reasons.

She was a tiny little wretch back then, lying in the middle of the road at 2 am. As my boyfriend and I were driving home from a party in Playa Del Carmen, Mexico where we lived, I spotted her on the road — I shrieked. After my boyfriend stopped momentarily freaking out at my banshee-like screech, he slammed the brakes and I vaulted out of the car.

I walked to the front bumper, covering my eyes with my shaking fingers to keep me from seeing the puppy we’d just run over.

Thankfully, she was a few inches in front of the left tire. My stomach vomited my heart back up in sheer joy. I then scooped the pup up and she collapsed into my arms, her body and mind too in shock to remain upright.

I looked back at my boyfriend who shouted ‘No!’ even quicker than I had shrieked.

“We can’t just leave her here?!”

“No, Robin.”

“But, but…,” I stared at him with my saddest puppy eyes.

‘Noooo’ he said in a defeated tone, knowing I wasn’t going to leave the pup.

I’d won. She came home with us that night, with my best intentions to find her a home. If you guessed that I foster failed — hard, you get a cookie. Despite spending the next couple of weeks trying to find her an amazing home, I came up empty. The only potential taker felt creepy enough to make my mom instincts kick in; she wasn’t going home with him.

After taking her to the beach one day with us, watching her frolic in the sand and use her long tongue to attempt to lick beer out of an empty bottle — we decided to keep her. We also named her ‘Chela’ that day, Mexican slang for beer.

Chela would be my first of two foster fails.

She also lasted longer than that boyfriend.

Chela and I spent the next decade being young, wild and free. Both of us care-freely misspending our youths on adventures, travel and tacos. We traveled around the Yucatan, over to Chiapas, and cross-border to Belize and Guatemala. Then there were regular trips to Canada. This lucky devil hit the jackpot (I’m still unsure if I mean me, or the dog).

Right: Palenque, middle: San Cristobal de las Casas, left: …Guatemala maybe?

When we weren’t traveling and conquering the world one paw at a time, we were on the beach. Or, walking down 5th Avenue as she went from restaurant to restaurant, begging for food. The tourists loved her, ‘Aww, that poor street dog, lemme give her some food’.

She ate better than I did most days. This is something I realized one day while eating an 80-cent taco from a street cart — after a nice American gay couple gave her half of the second lobster they ordered but couldn’t eat.

Then she somehow convinced me to give her some of my taco. She’s a crafty bitch.

This dog could find a taco on a desert island. If nuclear winter ever happens the only things left will be cockroaches and Chela. She once found a taco…in a field…in Canada…in 3 feet of snow.

A feat that still boggles my mind to this day. She could have been one of those bomb-sniffing airport dogs. Well, if bombs were made out of carne asada.

She’s not just crafty though— she’s diehard loyal to me, never wavering from my side in a decade and a half.

Somehow, despite rarely ever being on a leash (such is life in Mexico) — she has managed to keep me tethered to the earth. Whatever butterfly flapped its wings to set into motion the karmic chain of events that led up to me meeting Chela — thank you. I owe that butterfly a chalupa.

I gave her the best years of my life; she gave me all the years of hers.

This is her 16th year of friendship, and each day I see her legs wobble a little more. Her hearing went by the wayside six months ago, and I give her gentle love taps to get her attention and direct her now. Her eyesight is fading too, but the cloudiness in her eyes still can’t hide her joy. I’m happy to be her seeing-eye human for as long as she needs.

Not that she needs me for that, she has my other dog, Cora (known aliases: ‘Crazy Pants’, ‘Happy Feet’ and ‘Squishy Face’). She’s not a fan of her happy-go-lucky ‘sister,’ who she seems to refer to as ‘Ugh, that thing’.

But, since she’s nearly deaf, she uses Cora as her ears. She sleeps touching her so that she knows when to wake if there’s a commotion, or bacon. She still might not like ‘Ugh, that thing’ much, but she appreciates her.

My babies, ‘Crazy Pants’ and ‘Quasimodo’ (the vet says she and her humpback are fine)

Cora sits under Chela in the backseat of the car, propping her up when her legs are too weak to hold her. She’s the gentlest, most caring soul and a true gift to humanity. A stark cry from the cranky bitch that Chela has become — which, I also thoroughly enjoy. Her get-off-my-lawn era is quickly becoming one of my favorites.

Chela is the most loyal companion one could ever imagine, never letting me out of her sight because to her the sun rises and sets with me. Cora, the lil whore, hops into cars with strangers. Wagging her tail as she happily asks, ‘Where are we going?!’

That dog could make friends with a war criminal, or a rock.

Soon it will be just me and ‘Cora la Exploradora’ though.

Our walk with the three of us today was slow. Like molasses in quicksand slow. Luckily Cora ran Gonzo around the woods as per usual, as Chela hobbled along. Chela is slowing, quickly. But as she slows down due to the ravaging of time, I’m slowing down due to chronic illness.

I have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, a connective tissue disorder that means my collagen is defective. Collagen is the glue that holds humans together, and my glue isn’t sticky; instead, it has the effectiveness of holding things together with pre-chewed gum. It makes me extra stretchy, which is why I call it ‘bendy bitch disorder’. It also causes chronic fatigue and never-ending pain.

It has slowed me down in ways that I couldn’t have fathomed. But Chela is happy to keep a slow pace with me, she prefers it. Instead of me being pig-headed and pushing myself, she reminds me that it’s ok to be slow these days. Now we both take time to smell the tacos. Our carefree adventures were as wonderful as they are behind us.

But now, Chela reminds me to pace myself.

Her final gift to me.

My girl ole girl, one day soon, your service on Earth will come to an end.

Photo of me and Chela…16 years ago.

May your future home in the sky, have bottomless lobster tacos.

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