My little Ginger.

Oh my dearest little Ginger may she now find rest. I was just fifteen when I saw an ad in the paper for two Chihuahuas. I discussed it with my mother and she agreed to take me to the house and meet the dogs. That night we went over to a woman’s house. Just mere seconds after I walked in the door, this beautiful golden long haired Chihuahua ran up to me, wagging her tail. The long stands flying back and forth. I instantly fell in love with her. She was perfect, and she had chosen me. With a glance at my mom, she nodded her approval. With leash in hand, Ginger and I walked out the door that night, and into a whole new life together.

Whomever said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, never met my six year old Ginger. I taught her to dance. Oh how cute she was. She would hope up on her hind legs and bounce around, paws stretched upward. She easily learned how to beg as well. She would sit upright on her rump and fold her arms into her chest. Sometimes she would also give a long drawn out growl. “Arr, Arrr, Arrrrrrr’” was the sound she made. It warmed my heart just having her there.

We were pretty much inseparable. Except for school, she went almost everywhere with me. Always inches behind my feet, or on my lap. I often carried her around as well. For six years old she was amazingly hyper. Given her state of pudginess from being fixed before I got her, it was amazing just to see her walking around. No one could guess by looking at her actively playing, that she was that old.

She was there for me through thick and thin. Always listening to what I had to say. She would paw at my hand for pets and then lick it to show her sympathy or appreciation.

Oh how I miss her now. Being a new years day baby, she aged dramatically on her thirteenth year of life. She remained active till then. She suffered a massive stroke, or at least that is what the vet called it. Though she admitted she wasn’t really sure what happened, only that her heart sounded strong. The vet told me that day that if she didn’t get better by the end of the week, that I should probably have her put to sleep. With a prescription for pain medication, I took her home that day with full intentions of not letting that happen. After all she had always been there for me, I was going to be there for her now that she needed me so.

I crushed up the pills daily and put them in a syringe filled with water. No there was no needle, just the container so it would make it easier to squirt it down her throat. I also had to buy baby food for her to eat, as she couldn’t move. I spent that week force feeding her water and baby food diluted with more water. She laid there motionless, completely unable to move for a few days. I would clean up the pillow she lay on daily. She couldn’t go outside, she couldn’t even move.

Slowly she began to get more mobile. First just her head, then slowly her upper body. Till she was able to get around dragging her back legs. Oh my poor little Ginger. I took it as a sign that she was recovering, albeit slowly. She was getting better, I felt my heart lighten a bit, knowing she would not have to be put down.

Over the months she recovered almost completely. She had many mini strokes over that year. She was doing well, or so I thought. My heart broke when I realized I had been selfish, she was suffering. She was now not even trying to go to the bathroom outside, she would just go to the fireplace on the little pieces of wood. She was refusing to eat much and drank little. I knew it was time to let her rest. Though I didn’t want to.

I took her to the vet about a month later. I held her as they injected her. She laid there in my arms and slowly slipped away into sleep. I continued to hold her for awhile, and then let her go. The vet buried her for me in a nice little pet cemetery. My beautiful little girl could now rest, and I still to this day wipe tears from my eyes when I think of her.

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