In Memoriam

This is a page of my memories of Ginger, and my family’s memories. When you read this, think of all the animals in shelters everywhere. She was one of them, and she died loved. Can you give a dog that love? Can you give a dog a family? If you can, I encourage you to adopt one from a shelter. Please honor Ginger’s memory by giving another dog a home, a family, and love.

In Memoriam

When her mommy and daddy saw her at the shelter, they knew she needed love. They took her home on Memorial Day Weekend, 1999.

“Chair, dog.” She would come and stick her paw out, and he’d wipe it. “Other paw.” Obediently, she would allow that also to be wiped. “Back paw,” and another was cleaned. “Other back paw,” and he wiped it free of all the mud. “Go get Mommy.” She took off like a shot.

A little bundle came home one day in the car with her owners. When she saw them at the door, she sniffed the bundle.  She was curious. Happy that her mom was home, she barked. The bundle began to cry. She licked it and it still cried. Her mom soothed it. What was this thing? She wondered. Why did her mom have it? Her mom was all hers!

When the next baby came home, she still objected, but loved it all the same. When numbers three and four came along, she just loved them. Babies were interesting, and small. They were her puppies.

Baby number one was giggling on the floor, and her daddy was playing with her. Racing around like a mad dog, she headed straight for the baby, wanting to play. Her daddy put himself in front of the baby. She hit him in the forehead, but she never meant to. He had to get stitches. She was sorry. She just wanted to play.

“Squirrel! Squirrel!” her daddy said as he opened the front door. She raced outside. Usually the squirrel escaped up a tree, but once she came back in with squirrel hair around her mouth.

She used to love to jump in the air and catch snowballs, and then eat them. When the babies blew bubbles she would snap at the bubbles and wonder where they went.

She once ate an entire bowl of barbecue sauce.

The sicada killers were all over her yard. Often she tried to eat them.

Baby number one wanted to take a picture of the two of them – dog and girl. The only way they could get the dog to sit still was for baby number two to hold up a treat while she took the picture. After three, they had to stop, because the dog was foaming at the mouth.

When baby number one was nine, that not so young baby started putting the dishes in the dishwasher. She (the dog) earned the nickname “vacuum cleaner” because she always licked the dishes.

Her last bath made her smell like pina colada.

She threw up her breakfast.

She lay down and wouldn’t move. Her mommy called the vet.

Her mommy took her to the vet’s the next day. There was a sack of fluid attached to her heart.  The vet drained it and the dog stayed at the vet’s.

Around 3 pm that day, her mommy got a call from the vet. “The fluid is coming back. Do you want to say goodbye?”

Her mommy got the family together and told them she would have to be put to sleep. She had a tumor on her heart. All the babies cried. They weren’t babies anymore. Her daddy cried. Her mommy cried. They didn’t want to say goodbye.

She was brought in on a leash. They said goodbye and they cried. They would each get a paw print to remember her. They took hairs that came off when they petted her. She always did shed a lot.

She died in her daddy’s arms on September 18, 2010.

Her name was Ginger, and she was the best dog ever.

The Best Dog of All

I remember when you tried to run me over,

I remember when you wouldn’t fetch the ball,

I remember when your barks would give me headaches,

‘Cause these things made you the best dog of all.

I remember when I was a little girl,

We still don’t know if you ate that squirrel.

I remember you chasing me ‘round our upstairs hall,

‘Cause these things made you the best dog of all.

I remember when you threw up your food,

I remember when you lay down and wouldn’t move,

And when I said goodbye, you looked all confused,

And you were the best dog of all.