Hello world!
Thanks for reaching this corner of the site. I write code for a living, but I'm a human first — so I also do things that don't involve a keyboard.
Husband, dog owner, curious reader, and associate instructor at the International Academy of Holokinetic Psychology.
I am happily married to Xochitl
The photo above is the two of us. We've been together for a while now, and yes — we're kind of cute.
What the photo doesn't show is how we got here. That story involves a territorial dog named Bombón, and it's coming up below.
The dog saga
We love dogs. There's a running joke about their names: except for the two Pulgas (both flea in Spanish), every dog in our life has been named after a Mexican sweet or candy. The joke started by accident and became a tradition.
What follows is the story of how eight dogs came to share our home — and the four who couldn't stay.
Era 1: before Xochitl
It started with Pulga 1, a medium-sized chihuahua with light brown coat and white patches — always very thin. She was shy, her tail tucked between her legs, but behind the fence she became fierce, barking at other dogs and passersby. Despite her shyness, she was affectionate with those who treated her well, though she hated having air blown in her ears. In the summer of 2014, Pulga 1 had a litter of three puppies: Bombón, Miel (honey), and Turrón (a Mexican nougat). Three sweet names right out of the gate — the tradition chose itself.
Turrón didn't make it to adulthood. He was still a puppy when he died, and his loss taught me a hard lesson I hadn't expected at that age: not everyone sees animals as family. Some people see puppies as cute objects, as toys — and that has consequences. It wasn't our fault, but it marked me.
Miel is still alive and well. She lives in another city with my mother, where she continues her lifelong mission of pulling pranks on her.
Pulga 1 herself passed in the spring of 2019. I never found out exactly what happened. She was the first dog I ever lost — and the original exception to the sweet-name rule.
That left Bombón.
How Bombón chose Xochitl
Bombón was the heart of the house. Hyperactive, grumpy, affectionate, energetic, and feisty — sometimes all at once. Depending on the mood, we called her Bombota, Bombotita, Bombosa, or Bombonota. Marshmallow by name, firecracker by nature.
She was also fiercely territorial. She bit people. So when I started dating Xochitl, I gave her a heads-up: be careful with Bombón, she bites. What I didn't say out loud was that I'd already made up my mind: if Bombón didn't accept her, the relationship wasn't going anywhere. The dogs were non-negotiable.
What happened next is something I'll never forget. Within minutes of meeting, Bombón was playing with Xochitl's hair, and Xochitl was hugging and kissing her like they were old friends. No growling. No hesitation. Just instant trust.
That was the moment I thought: maybe she's the one.
Bombón stayed by my side through every chapter of my adult life — before Xochitl, the courtship, the marriage, and eleven and a half years of everything else. She passed on January 5, 2026. She gave us everything until the very last day. We miss her.
Era 2: with Xochitl
By the time Xochitl and I started our life together, I had three dogs: Bombón, Chocorol, and Oreo.
Chocorol — the big male of the house, named after a popular Mexican chocolate cake roll (a Swiss roll you can find almost anywhere in Mexico). I also call him Don Checho. He's a mixed-breed dwarf dog with short coat — we have no idea who his parents were, since his littermate Oreo was much larger and completely different. Chocorol looks like a dachshund, sometimes like a corgi with a long tail, but what's hilarious is his head: it's shaped like a German shepherd. When my brother-in-law first saw him, he only saw the head while Chocorol was lying down. When the dog stood up, he burst into laughter and said: "This isn't a German shepherd, it's 1/4 of a German shepherd! where's the rest?" After Bombón passed away, Chocorol and Candy now share pack leadership. Still with us.
Oreo was Chocorol's littermate. Named after the cookie, obviously. We eventually gave him up for adoption to someone who loved him dearly and cared for him. We lost track of him over the years, but we know he was happy.
After Oreo left, Xochitl adopted Candy — hard candy, also known around the house as Mamachita. Sweet name, strong personality. She's a small dog with very thick, wire-haired coat — predominantly terrier. Sometimes she looks like a lioness. She's the only one who dares to correct and annoy Pulga. Pulga knows this and sometimes throws a tantrum in front of Candy, knowing that if anyone gets punished, it'll be Candy, not her. After Bombón passed away, she shares pack leadership with Chocorol.
Then, through our own carelessness, Candy and Chocorol had a litter of five puppies. We kept them all — and sterilized both parents and every puppy right after.
- Bubulubu — named after another Mexican classic: a marshmallow-and-jellybean sandwich covered in chocolate. A.k.a. Buba. She's the largest and chubbiest of the sisters but the gentlest — she grew three times bigger than her parents. The others are always biting her long legs (she and Macarrón have the longest legs). She's an excellent walking companion, doesn't pull, has a calm and affectionate temperament. A delight to hug, though she's heavy (about 15 kg).
- Winnis — a soft candy popular on the Mexican border. The favorite of many, but she's shy with strangers and doesn't like being touched by outsiders. She inherited short legs from dad but has fine, silky coat like a long-haired labrador. Very affectionate though lazy. Rarely barks.
- Cookies — because cookies are delicious. A.k.a. Cuquis or Cuca. She's the one who looks most like a terrier. Dark coat, inherited short legs from Chocorol and wire hair from Candy. Very shy but playful. Smallest of the litter in size. Hates veterinarians (bites) and nail clipping, but loves water — always jumps into the water bowl. Loves getting wet but hates baths!
- Tutsi — the Mexican Cherry Tootsie Pop. Very affectionate. Inherited short legs from dad and his coat color and wire hair. Has a black tongue!
- And Cremino — a cream-filled sweet, and the only boy of the litter.
In 2021, parvovirus hit us. Winnis, Cookies, and Cremino caught it. Winnis and Cookies pulled through. Cremino didn't. He was barely a puppy. It was brutal.
A couple of years later, Xochitl found two puppies abandoned in a shoebox in a vacant lot, in the middle of summer. She rescued both. We kept one and named her Pulga — in honor of Bombón's mother, the original. She's a mini chihuahua: small, but I've seen even smaller. White coat with very faint beige spots. She's the smallest of all dogs in the house and can be a bit feisty because, except for Candy, nobody takes her seriously in games and fights. In Mexico we say she's always "la de chocolate" — a term given to very small kids who want to play with the big kids but don't yet have all the skills or strength to participate formally. The small one gets the title and tries to follow the rules, but won't be punished with full force if they break them. The others allow a degree of indiscipline as long as it doesn't cause problems. In this sense, Pulga is always "la de chocolate." Despite the typical territorial and aggressive reputation of chihuahuas, she loses control and melts into affection when someone pays attention to her and pets her.
Then, in August 2023 — at the peak of a 50 °C summer — someone left a puppy at our door. He couldn't have been more than three months old; his baby teeth were still coming in. We named him Macarrón. We also call him "Maca," "Macaco", and my mother-in-law calls him "camarón" (shrimp). Along with Bubulubu, he's one of the largest — though to us they seem large, they're really medium-sized dogs. He's very fluffy like Candy, could be mother and son. Maca, Candy, and Tutsi have thick wire-haired coats in yellow.
Over time, we discovered Macarrón has idiopathic epilepsy: seizures with no identifiable medical cause, apparently triggered by stress. At one point, we came close to putting him to sleep. The episodes were relentless.
But Macarrón is one of those dogs who knows how to make himself understood — he's sharp, present, and quietly intelligent.
After one especially hard seizure, I sat with him and looked him straight in the eyes, in Unitary Perception. The only thing that surfaced in me, clearly and unmistakably, was three words: I want to live.
We never considered euthanasia again. He's been on daily medication ever since, and he's part of the family.
These eight — Chocorol, Candy, Bubulubu, Winnis, Cookies, Tutsi, Pulga, and Macarrón — share our home today.
In memoriam
- Pulga 1 — the original. Spring 2019.
- Turrón — a puppy, gone too soon. Summer 2014.
- Cremino — parvovirus, 2021.
- Bombón — January 5, 2026. She gave us everything.
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