Where's the Dog? Our life without Ginger.

We recently lost Ginger to liver cancer, aka Old Age. Before that her brother, Bear, was also lost to us. He was old, too. It is a difficult transition going from dog to no-dog. Some of the ways I list below:

I drop food on the floor and look to make sure someone eats it. Oops! I have to clean it up myself.

I come in from work and no one greets me, tongue lolling, eyes sparkling, tail wagging, saying, "Oh my God, you're home!! I thought you'd NEVER get here!"

Leaving the bedroom, I don't have to check to make sure there are no dirty laundry baskets around, tempting someone to eat the crotch out of my Victoria's Secret undies. I no longer put the trash up on the sink, or on my husband's dresser. No raider is going to take dirty tissues and God knows what else.

In the kitchen we don't put the trash up on the counter anymore. In New Jersey, when Ginger was already old (last summer) she dragged the dog-proof trash can with the locking lid into the living room via the plastic liner that was sticking out at the top, and proceeded to shred that liner into submission, dragging much of it out of the can. She was, I must tell you, only 20 pounds at that time. The can was quite a bit bigger.

We can keep the door to the porch open now. For Ginger, our leaving it open was a temptation not to be missed. She loved the rabbit poop that Charlie kicked out of his cage. It didn't always agree with her, but she never stopped hoping the next time would be okay.

Why do I miss all of this?

I miss her and Bear because they were family.

I think of how incredibly pampered and wealthy we are compared to much of the world, when others starve, or eat dogs. (Hawaii, not a starving place, eats dogs anyway. Don't take yours there without a dog body-guard.) It is a luxury to own a pet and love it with all your heart. It really  is. I think of the Birdman of Alcatraz (Bert Lancaster, anyone?). Loving unconditionally, all the time, is hard work. Why else would we keep putting the "trash up", hiding chocolate way up on top of the china cabinet (she could leap onto the dining room table with one leap, all mini-poodle of her). Why else would we make sure the old dog has her pill everyday to make sure she doesn't pee herself?

We love our family members, but if they are not children, we do not tolerate such behavior. We expect much more from them.

But a pet, a dog, is a special friend who loves you not matter what, even when she walks backward with her tail between her legs because you've caught her "in the act". Give her a pat and she's your bouncy friend again.

All of this has been said before, of course. I could easily slip into silly sentimentalism. But we humans are a sentimental bunch. And we love to love. So we are looking for a reputable mini breeder (allergies mean poodles for us). Let us know if you know one! We miss the mess of dog-loving.


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