MIss Ginger D

2009 - 2021

You came into our lives on the late hours of January 1st, 2011.

We were all uncertain about this change in our life. For us, we didn’t know how our other canine companion would get along with you, how you might fit into the mold. For you, we were your third home, your third family. That night, you were unsure if you could sleep on our bed, like you didn’t belong. So instead, you slept on a blanket next to the bed that night, and a few nights after that. Little by little, however, you warmed up to the idea, and before long you declared a spot on the bed as yours: The pillows, because of course you would, and the more the better.

You nestled into our lives so easily. Even Houston, who had been stand off-ish and stubborn when you first came home with us, grew to love you with ease and came to rely on you as only bonded companions could. You taught him that it was okay to be adventurous. You were brave and fearless. The little dog who could—though whether or not you were supposed to was a different story—and you shared that fearlessness with him, and us, too.

For ten years, you guided Houston and you provided joy and comfort to all of us. You darted out gates and chased down rabbits and mice with ease and pride—although we asked you not to. You got into the trash and made countless messes because, apparently, those q-tips were just the best chewy snack—although we asked you not to do that, too. We learned you were a girly girl inspite of it all, and while you hated baths, you didn’t mind being clean. You ate popcorn on movie nights, and you watched the neighborhood and barked at birds and trespassing dogs and everything in between, even the wind. Especially the wind. The daintiest yet fiercest little girl.

You enriched our lives in so many, countless ways.

Then March of 2021 came around.

You were overweight, and while we had tried to get you to lose it, you started losing it faster than was heathy for you. Being the brave and fearless girl you were, you hid it well at first, but you were sick. The doctor said it was diabetes. Treatable. There were underlying concerns, but we focused on stabilizing the diabetes—and it worked. It took a couple of weeks, but you were acting more like your old self. Not 100%, but you had some energy, some life back in you. We thought, “Yeah, we can do this. She’s got this in the bag.”

But my dear, sweet girl—you were old. At least twelve years of life on this earth, and the diabetes was only one way your body was failing you. In the end, your pancreas was what gave up on you first. We tried for several months to get your pancreatitis to lay down, to leave you be, but just when you were about to catch your second wind, you’d get sick again. Though always curious, always willing, you became less and less like your energetic self.

On July 5th, 2021, I scooped you up and took you for your last car ride. Your other, and—I admit this without any hurt feelings, it’s okay—favorite human came later. She brought Houston, who was just happy to see you. I think you were happy to see them, too. Surrounded by those who love you, and cheered for you, and wished for nothing but the best, we did the only thing we could for you.

After ten years, seven months, and four days of so much love and joy, we let you go.

It’s hard not seeing you on your cot, or on your spot on the bed, or sunbathing in the yard. It’s hard to watch as Houston comes to terms with what this means. It’s hard to come home to a home that’s a little more empty than it was when I woke up. But it’s easier knowing that you can finally rest now.

We love you so much, Miss Ginger, and we will always miss our girly girl.

“But what is grief, if not love persevering?”