I lost my executive assistant this weekend.
She'd been with us for over a decade. We got used to each other's habits, frustrations, and joys. She left her toys and sweaters lying around and I sometimes tripped over her cushion on my way through the living room, or over her pretty much anywhere in the kitchen. Or on my way out of the bathroom. Or getting out of bed. I left stuff lying around too. Ginger never complained.
For a month or so we thought she might have a virus, or maybe she'd gotten some bad kibble. But once we took her to the doctor, things were made painfully clear. She had numbers on her liver enzymes that were higher than any all three vets had ever seen. When I asked if there was anything I shouldn't feed her, thinking of her carrots and her propensity for tasting anything we made, I was told, "You give her anything she wants now." It was the "now" that did it.
We didn't even have three weeks after that, but even up to the last day, she managed a small wag when we came in. She came to have her ears scratched, or her back rubbed, even though those things might have hurt against her failing body. I really believe she did those things for us; that she knew we needed that contact.
On Sunday my husband took her outside. After a few wobbly minutes she just lay down in the yard. She closed her eyes and took in the sunlight.
We called the vet. We wrapped her in her blanket and put on classical music in the car (because she liked classical music -- trust me), and put her on the big front seat in the Camry.
We have always told people she was the smartest dog we ever had. She grasped almost everything we said, I think. It was probably just a matter of anatomy that she couldn't talk back. We all figured out ways to communicate. We said our good-byes to her, hoping she understood what we had chosen to do, and the vet came. Ginger went to sleep with her head in my hands and her heart under my husband's. It took us a little while before we could gather ourselves and go back outside.
"Look at that," my husband said as we came out into the bright Sunday afternoon light. Without our dog.
A few feet away, there was a car. The license plate read "ILVMIPIT." I love my pit.
She knew. It felt like an answer. It felt like she'd found her own way to say she got it. She loved us too.
I should not have read this at work...says the girl with tears streaming down her cheeks.
ReplyDeleteBless you, your family and Ginger. So sorry. *hugs*
Thanks, Debbie, for the hug.
DeleteOh, Lynne. I'm so sorry about Ginger. She was a soft, lovely soul and I know you will all miss her. It's hard to say good-bye, but she knew you all loved her and she loved you.
ReplyDeleteHugs all around.
xoxo
Thank you, Jeannie. I keep thinking I hear her snoring softly in the background while I'm working at the dining room table. Sort of comforting.
DeleteI am so sorry. I'm crying here for your loss and for the love all of you had for each other. The most painful gift we can give our beloved pets is the one that hurts us the most. The one you gave Ginger. That pain will linger for a long while but please know your sacrifice was the greatest expression of love you could have shown her. Ginger's tricky way of communicating via car tags is more than proof of that. A true sign. Of love and of thanks. <<>>
ReplyDeleteI always suspected she had a brilliant sense of humor. And you know how I feel about different planes of existence. Thank you, Debbie.
DeleteI've been down that road at this count seven times. It never gets easier. It never hurts less. It's always a gut wrenching moment when you realize there's nothing more you can do but have the grace to let them go. And you did exactly that. It's the remarkable final gift we can give the animals that share our lives and make our lives so much better than they would ever be without them.
ReplyDeleteMy condolences at the loss of Ginger. I met her. She was a great dog and a fine spirit.
Thanks, Robin. She really was great. I just found a bunch of her nose smushes on the front door glass. I think I'm leaving them there for a while.
DeleteLynne, I'm so sorry. I knew she was sick and that she was homeward bound but I didn't know it happened the other day. I have not doubt she'll be hanging around for a while to ease your sadness. You'll see her shadow sitting in her favorite place and feel her cuddle beside you when you cry - that's the great thing about kindred spirits with more than two legs, they never really leave us...
ReplyDeleteAh damn Lynn, I'm so sorry. Ginger was such a sweet baby. She was so friendly. I really liked her. I've been down that path many times and it never gets easier. You have my heart on this. I don't know what to say. Take comfort in knowing she loved you as you loved her. No one can take that away.
ReplyDeleteI understand about not cleaning the nose smushes. We did the same for Boneapart, Cookie, and Shadow. Hugs to you and your family.
You had a dog named Boneapart? That's wonderful. I knew I liked you. Thank you, Donna.
DeleteI'm so sorry for your loss, Lynne. I recently almost lost my pet too so I can only imagine how you are feeling.
ReplyDelete(((((((Big Hug)))))
Lynne,
ReplyDeleteI'm just reading this now, and want to add my condolences. I loved Ginger too. She was the sweetest dog and changed my opinion of the breed. :)
Wow.... As I sit in my truck waiting for your niece I open my email with your blog link. I go to your blog and read this incredible post. I can't help but cry. (Hope no one sees me babbling, but I really don't care) I so will miss her. She was the sweetest little girl. Len always bragged on how great a dog she was. It also brought me back to our Jazzie girl. That feeling of hoping the Dr can give us just a little bit of good news, just a little more time. The moment you hold them and see their eyes close your heart breaks into a zillion pieces. God how that stinks. I tell myself I can never go thought this again, (I lost count how many times I've open my life and heart to a pet) however, I do it again, and again. Because their are so many who need us, and we need them as well.
ReplyDeleteGinger was so fortunate to have found you guys and for all of you for finding her. It was destiny. As I sit here thinking of her I remember her first camping trip. My gosh, she was so small curled up on your vans floor board. All I know is that if I came back as a dog, I'd look for you guys as my family, there isn't a better one on the face of this earth! ❤.