R.I.P. Ginger
I was informed this afternoon that my dog, Ginger, has died. She had had a heart mumur for quite some time, but it wasn't until only a few months ago that it got bad. We put her on medication and that helped, but this past week she all of a sudden got much worse. We tripled her medication and that helped, but not for long. This morning her heart gave out on her. She died in my father's arms.
I can't say I'm shocked. While she shouldn't have been taken from us so soon, she was not in good health. After the tripling of her meds, I knew the time was close. But I didn't know it would be this close. I wanted to see her one last time, to tell her I love her, to "fill my tanks," as my mom puts it. I am grateful, however, that I never saw her when she was really bad. I'm grateful that we were able to make her life a little better during these last few months. But most of all, I'm grateful that she didn't die alone, which was one of the possibilities that saddened me the most about her death. She was the most pampered dog I ever knew. We treated her like a queen, and if any dog deserved it it was her.
She was the best dog anybody could have wanted. While everybody says that about their dogs, I can say it with certainty. She was sweet, playful, lovable, adorable beyond belief, and a loyal friend and companion. She was resilient too, surviving two attacks by a German Shepherd and back surgery. Many afternoons were spent watching her chasing squirrels through the yard. Many nights were spent with her curled next to me in my bed. Many evenings were spent sitting in the TV room, watching her play with her toys and laying in front of the fireplace. Those days are gone. I'll never snuggle with her again, see her face in the doorway as I come home from school, watch her romp around, or walk her around the neighborhood anymore. It hasn't yet fully hit me what a loss this is, but I'm sure it will soon.
I had her for nearly half of my life. What a good half it was.
I'll miss you. I hope, wherever you are, you're at peace.
I love you.
I can't say I'm shocked. While she shouldn't have been taken from us so soon, she was not in good health. After the tripling of her meds, I knew the time was close. But I didn't know it would be this close. I wanted to see her one last time, to tell her I love her, to "fill my tanks," as my mom puts it. I am grateful, however, that I never saw her when she was really bad. I'm grateful that we were able to make her life a little better during these last few months. But most of all, I'm grateful that she didn't die alone, which was one of the possibilities that saddened me the most about her death. She was the most pampered dog I ever knew. We treated her like a queen, and if any dog deserved it it was her.
She was the best dog anybody could have wanted. While everybody says that about their dogs, I can say it with certainty. She was sweet, playful, lovable, adorable beyond belief, and a loyal friend and companion. She was resilient too, surviving two attacks by a German Shepherd and back surgery. Many afternoons were spent watching her chasing squirrels through the yard. Many nights were spent with her curled next to me in my bed. Many evenings were spent sitting in the TV room, watching her play with her toys and laying in front of the fireplace. Those days are gone. I'll never snuggle with her again, see her face in the doorway as I come home from school, watch her romp around, or walk her around the neighborhood anymore. It hasn't yet fully hit me what a loss this is, but I'm sure it will soon.
I had her for nearly half of my life. What a good half it was.
I'll miss you. I hope, wherever you are, you're at peace.
I love you.