My chihuahua used to run like an antelope through mountain passes and climb like a goat up the steepest cliffs like it was nothing. We used to jump off tall bridges together and not get hurt and hop on trains going 40-miles-per-hour and laugh about it later over a pitcher of Mexican beer. Often, we'd attend funerals and volunteer for pallbearer duties after painting a huge church for free and then we'd go to Walmart and scream at crazy people for hours and hours. But now, my dog's elderly and awaiting death with dignity among dog-eating Haitians in Springfield, Ohio. Soon he'll be in Heaven with Jesus forever probably unless God finds out that my little chihuahua Chico is a suspect in 78 murders.