Chachi was a birthday gift I didn’t know I was getting. He turned out to be my child. My son. He was, in the end, about as much work as a real human son. He jumped out of a 2nd-story balcony. I had to pull him around in a little red wagon for three months while his legs were in casts. He chewed his way out of his travel crate on an airplane and roamed the cargo hold on a flight to Atlanta. When the plane landed, he jumped out of the cargo hold and delayed flights at the nation’s busiest airport. He was THAT GUY.