Ginger

My darling dog, Ginger, died this morning. She collasped yesterday evening. The diagnosis was bleeding into the lining of the heart. She was eight years old.

She had come upstairs from the den and simply laid down and couldn't get up. Gary and I struggled to get her into the car and got her to the emergency vet within an hour.

She was a wonderful dog. Her gentle, kind spirit will be with us for a long time. I have wonderful memories of her.

She had never seen snow when we moved to Wisconsin two years ago. I'll never forget that morning I let her out in her first falling snow. She stood very still, tail erect and nose quivering. Then she started a long wild dash around the yard and frolicked in sheer joy. She loved the snow. This Monday's snow was for her. She was delighted and immediately went out to roll in it. For a California dog, she really enjoyed Wisconsin. I don't care if it snows again this winter.

I remember the first time I saw her. I have a picture somewhere from that first day that I will scan and post. She is about five weeks old and is sound asleep. I picked her up and sat with her sleeping in my lap for an hour. It was love at first sight.

Love comes in many forms, but the dedicated, unconditional love of a dog is a true gift.