Goodbye, Ginger

I just got home from putting Ginger to sleep. A few hours ago, she collapsed and fluid collected around her heart, which made it hard for her to breathe. Putting her down was unexpected — she was fine up until 8:00 tonight. My parents walked her and fed her dinner and it was business as usual. I was trying to relax in the living room while she barked at the dogs who walked by.

It’s almost 1 a.m. and I just walked into my house, to total silence. I’d gotten used to walking into a quiet house — lately, when I came home, Gigi would be asleep on a chair or the couch or, sometimes, in her own bed. She was getting old, and my arrival wasn’t a big enough deal to merit her waking up.

Now, there’s just silence. And reminders. Seeing her water bowl and her basket of toys and knowing she won’t be there when I wake up tomorrow, these are painful things. I won’t hear her Strawberry Snortcake sigh, I won’t get to flip her ears back, I won’t feel her lean into me when I give her a hug.

This is the last picture I took of her, a couple of weeks ago. She didn't care for photos or dumb antics like balancing toys on her back, but she'd tolerate stuff like that if I praised her and didn't laugh.

I think she liked having my parents and me there as she dozed off on her final slumber. We pet her and told her she was a good dog. She could be really naughty, but she was still the best. I’ll miss my cranky old lady.