Ginger

 

I've been trying to write an entry about the sweetest member of our family since I started this little blog in January.  I think I knew time was limited to document what a precious part of our crew she is before "something bad" happened.  Well, it's harder than I thought to describe someone so precious to me without writing an entire book or movie.  Thus, books like Marly and Me by John Grogan or The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein.  How do I describe Ginger and what she means to us with out going back in time and reliving our time-line a bit?

And so the following is probably boring to many.  But it's important for Jonathan and I to put our story into words so that we never forget how much we loved Ginger and how loved we were by her. 

This entry is for us.

Jonathan brought Ginger home to me at the end of our first year of marriage.  She was a gorgeous, happy, well-mannered, four year old Golden Retriever.  The effect on the two of us was immediate.  We were now a family.  Really!  In our 600 square foot house on Finn Hill, she made us complete!  She went everywhere with us.  Hiking, camping, visiting friends and family, BBQs, Home Depot (until they changed their policy)...everywhere.  She was part of us and we loved her like crazy. 

In the nine years following, a lot happened.  We added a cat, moved two times, re-modeled two houses, changed jobs, had two babies, eight roommates and constant gatherings at our house. Ginger was the constant.  She never changed or wavered.  We could count on her sweet golden body to greet us at the door, sidle up to us when she'd see us pull out her leash, get excited when she saw us packing up the car to go somewhere or plop down at our feet when we'd finally crash on the couch at the end of the day.  There were movements of hers that became so predictable.  Through each change, we could count on her to be our faithful girl.  Even through big changes.

I'll never forget bringing Sam home from the hospital when he was born.  She was so excited.  She couldn't stay away from him.  She just kept wagging the whole back end of her body and trying so hard to sniff her new boy in his little carseat.  I said something to her that I'll never forgive myself for.  Just thinking of it today puts such a horrible lump in my throat as tears stream down my cheeks.  I was so annoyed at her eagerness and her being in my way to get him out of the carseat.  "Ginger," I said, "I never thought I'd care so little to see you."  I regretted it the second it came out of my mouth.  But there began the first big change in our family.  Ginger dropped a notch in rank and we suddenly saw her as our dog.  Not our baby. 



Two guards to the stairs from Sam

 Of course, she moved right into the role.  I started calling her 'the other mother in the house'.  If Sam woke up and cried in his crib, she beat me there.  Wagging her tail furiously at his door and looking at me like there was a fire in his room.  She even stopped sleeping in our room for awhile and started sleeping in the hallway between us and Sam.  If a dog walked up to us on a walk, she stopped right between Sam and the dog and stood firm as a soldier.  As Sam learned to crawl and then walk, Ginger was right there making no movement as he pulled handfuls of hair out of her to steady himself.  She was perfect. 

Sam and Ginger watching the world

When Ben came, she was less enamored (which is why sadly, I can't find ONE picture of the two of them together) and just took the transition as gracefully as before.  She knew the drill.  Be good.  Be still when he crawls all over you.  Love on him.  Clean up the food that he drops.  Crash with us at the end of the day. 



Ben



Ginger's true love was the same as ours: Family.  And hiking.  There wasn't a hike that we went on without her.  In the days before the boys, we could count on her to complete the hike three times as she would run along ahead of us, then back to check on us and then ahead again.  Once we had the boys hiking along with us, she stayed pretty close to them.  No fail. 

Really, could we ask for a better dog? 

Four weeks ago, Jonathan and I had to make the worst choice we've ever had in front of us.  Of course, it wasn't really a choice.  Ginger had started coughing up blood and the X-rays told us that her lungs were filled with Cancer.  So, wait until her pain is unbearable?  Or end her pain and thus say goodbye to our sweet girl?  We cried for three days before we finally made the decision.  By then she had stopped eating and was pretty slow moving.  The two of us took her in together.  We sat with her on the ground sobbing as she licked us and loved on us until her very last breath.  I'd love to say that it was very peaceful and comforting.  But it was horrible.  It was absolutely horrible.  Enough said about that.

These past weeks have been...weird.  Each one of us have mistakenly expected Ginger to be at the front door when we walk in, (Ben has actually yelled, "Hi Ging!" more than once) or to hustle over to us when we drop a piece of food on the floor, or to accompany us on a walk or hike. 

A week ago the boys and I were on a trail and a big goofy dog ran up and basically tackled both of them.  They were hysterical.  I was calming them down while telling the dog owner it was fine and to JUST GO so that I could take care of them with out her stupid dog taking them down again.  Why hadn't that ever happened to them before?  There are always dogs on the trails.  As we got back on the trail, Ben said to me,  "If Ginger was here she would say 'BACK OFF!' to that dog."  He's right!  That's why they've never been harassed by a dog before.  She was always there in between them. 

Things are different now...and none of us like it. 

We're moving on and forward without our golden girl.  I don't expect to ever feel the same way about another dog.  We've had our good one.  She was the best and we miss her terribly.  But I will always be so thankful for the nine years we loved and were loved well by such a perfect, beautiful friend.

Goodbye sweet girl.  We love you.