For Ginger

Yesterday was a sad day for my family. My family’s dog Ginger died in her sleep. It is probably harder for my family to deal with the loss of a pet more than other families. You see, when we get a dog, it becomes a member of a family. It gets multiple nick names. It gets dressed in any manner of people clothing. It gets half of my mom’s peanut butter sandwich every morning, and it gets half of my dad’s popcorn at night.
So this post will be a tribute to Ginger the sweet little sausage that she was.
My mom, sister, and I went to the humane society when I was 11 years old to look at the puppies. We found Ginger. She was the smallest of the litter, and she was shaking. We took her home and when dad came home we made him close his eyes, sit down on the couch, and hold out his hands. We dropped her into his hands and looked at him with the biggest, sweetest, can we keep her eyes. He couldn’t say no. Ginger had a interesting start to life with us. She was a sickly little thing and wouldn’t eat anything but bread soaked in milk. We were excited when she moved onto rice and then puppy food.
Soon she gained some spunk and grew a little. The funniest thing about her was her tail. It moved like a cat’s tail. It didn’t wag, it wiggled. We thought that from her short hair that she would have a thin silky coat. Ha, were we surprised; soon she grew a huge thick sheltie coat. It was beautiful even though she shed like a fiend.
One of my favorite memories with her was at McPherson College Track. We were all walking or running as a family. I think I was training for Volleyball. She got loose on the track and proceeded to herd us like sheep. If one of us strayed from the group she would walk along the outside of us and slowly walk us back into the group.
She also liked music a lot. She used to lay under mom’s stereo and listen to the music. Mom insisted that she liked soothing music best. Ginger would also play hide and seek with a bone. I could give her a nyla-bone and she would take it hide it and come back to let me know that it was hidden. Then she would help me find it. That dog could seriously talk to you with her eyes. If you asked her a question she would snort a response. I believe that she knew in her head exactly what you had said.
I will miss her. She was a great friend and a good playmate.