Jaco chose his moment. An afternoon nap under the caretaker’s cottage, then simply… didn’t wake up. So many tears.
Seven years old. Seven years at Tavola. Our albino boy with that mesmerizing blue eye. Secret Agent Man. Jaquismo. The Nose. Handsome Boy.
Jack buried him on the hillside overlooking the sea, under the mango tree where the Tavola family gathers for lunch. Where Jaco would flash his trademark grin, hoping for a morsel. Where he’ll always be part of our daily ritual.
Here’s what made Jaco extraordinary: He belonged to all of us. Me, Jack, Vivian, Keenan, Christian. Not the way happy-go-lucky dogs love everyone. No—Jaco made each of us feel like we were the master. Well, second to him, of course.
That’s why this loss cuts so deep. We’ve all lost our dog.
I’m writing this from Denver, three weeks before my return to Fiji. The timing stings. I’d imagined our reunion—him rushing into my arms for a hug, welcoming me home and reclaiming me as his. His goofy kitchen dance. Instead, I’ll visit his grave.
My heart breaks, yet here’s what I know about loss: Endings carry the seeds of beginnings.
Five days before Jaco passed, I idly wondered if we should get a puppy. Let Jaco train his successor. The next morning, our landscaper appeared with a yapping bundle—a stray he’d found.
We laughed at the synchronicity. Decided to wait. “Jaco might not appreciate sharing his kingdom.”
What I missed was the current already in play. The transition already unfolding.
On November 1, 2018 my daughter Vivian and I arrived at Tavola. The puppies—Jaco and Luna—joined us just weeks later. That blue eye chose us as much as we chose him.
He was there for everything.
- The leaking villa saga? Viv and I returned from the vet in torrential rain, hiking up from the main road (no vehicle yet), puppies in arms, to find water pouring through the ceiling.
- Pandemic lockdown? He slept in my room night after night.
- Cyclone Yasa? He weathered that storm by my side—Category 5, direct hit.
- Chivalrous escort? He walked our ladies home to the neighboring hillside, their self-appointed protector.
Jaco led security with fierce loyalty — and he loved with his whole being.
Jaco was wise. Sensitive. After two years together during the pandemic, he couldn’t bear my departures. He’d disappear as I was leaving—too sad for goodbyes. So I learned to sit with him the day before, explaining I was going but would return. His lower lip would quiver. He’d try not to cry in front of me. But he understood.
He was so very human.
Albino dogs live harder lives. More sensitive. Eczema. Tumors. But these last months? Shiny coat. Boundless energy. No signs.
Maybe that’s how legends exit. At their peak. Leaving us with the best version to remember.
As Vivian wrote: “My island boy forever ♾️”
The mango tree will keep growing. The family will keep gathering. And somewhere in another world, a blue-eyed puppy is still choosing his humans. Just as we choose him, over and over, again and again.
Rest easy, Jaco. You were the hero of the villa. The heart of our story.
And heroes? They never really leave. They just become part of who we are.
Love fiercely. Magic is unfolding. 🤍