His mum was pregnant with him when she was found wandering on the streets in Los Angeles as a stray with stab wounds on her torso and neck.
Miraculously, she was rescued, saved, fostered, and ended up coming out to my rescue in Canada, and mine became her forever home.
Jesse was the sole surviving puppy and of course I kept him too. Jesse was always a frail little guy, hence the “outlaw” name, to give him some confidence maybe, who knows. It was kind of like calling a Great Dane “Tiny”, or a fat dog “Slim”. The name did make people laugh when they heard it.
Jesse lived with us for 5 years, from birth onwards, and his mum Lucy and auntie ‘Baby Girl’ formed the trio of damaged-by-humans chihuahua dogs who lay up on my pillow at night, and shared a dog bed during the day when they were not outside sunning themselves, catching bugs, sitting in the window barking ferociously at the neighbour’s Rottie and other big dogs passing by.
Jesse got cancer, the fast kind that hardly lets you catch your breath before its too late and has gone everywhere. It started with a limp and then invaded his tiny body until his heart gave out.
We made his last month the best one, unlimited treats, people food, ice cream, tummy rubs, finger tip massages. On the night he was dying, I bathed him in a warm bath to restore his dignity and make him fresh and sweet smelling for his journey across the bridge. As the warm water comforted him I told him all about Heaven, the Bridge, who would meet him there (two of my elderly rescues who had passed months before) and all the fun he would have basking in the sun, chasing bugs, the best bugs Heaven had to offer. I promised him that I would put some of his favourite home made biscuits with him for his journey. I told him not to be scared and to announce his name proudly when he felt a little nervous. I told him to look out for my mum who I lost when I was only 23, a true dog lover and someone who would be his “human” until I saw him again. I lay him with his mum Lucy where he was happiest, on half of my bed pillow, and she groomed him until he took his last breath. Little Jesse James, my gentle outlaw. You will be missed.