I made the decision to take Ginger to the vet's so she could cross over to see Jesus; I made it three days ago, knowing it was time. Then, as you know, as you probably suspected, she decided to act as if she was fine - nothing to see here, folks, just a dog with no complaints. That happens, and when it does, we (owners) start second-guessing ourselves. We start wondering, deep inside our hearts and heads, whether what we're doing is the right thing. I prayed about it. I prayed about it, and I held her, and I kissed her, and I begged God to tell me if what I was doing was really the best choice for her - and it was.
This morning, after sleeping with Ginger one last time, she got up a little early, and Laura took her outside. She had another fit and another micro-seizure. She has been having real issues breathing when she wakes up, and though she's been getting progressively worse, we can tell from the noises that she's going to pull through. We pet her sides and held her head just right. She'd pull through it and give us that look of gratitude. It was time - I couldn't let her go on that way.
We sat on the couch this morning, and there were no worries, just loving and kissing, and I told her over and over that I would always remember her. The hardest part about her aging has been that she slips in and out of a trance-type state where she has no clue who I am. I know she trusts me as best she can, but I'm a complete stranger to her some days. Most of the time, she cuddles and knows where she is, but lately, she's been staring at walls and floors - and she'll stand off a bit, until I pick her up and bring her in, letting her know that she's safe. It takes a long time sometimes for her to come back to me.
Throughout the day, she rested. She slept in my lap while I worked, and she snored up a storm - a sound I will always remember, love, and cherish. When she woke up, we went through her seizure spell again, but this time she had a really bad bowel accident, and after that, she became sick too. She wouldn't eat anything, and drinking wasn't easy for her either. I knew then, around noon, that I had made the right decision, and I wouldn't let my heart talk my head out of doing what was right, best for her.
When Laura and I took her, it was literally across the street. We could have walked. We pulled into the parking lot and let her out. She walked into the place, and immediately her nose caught the smell of antiseptics. She knew where she was, even if she hadn't been to that clinic before. It was hard to wait with her, knowing we had only minutes left, but we prayed. We cried, and we prayed, and I know she knew. I know she knew. When we went into the room, Laura kissed her and waited out in the waiting area, and I stayed.
The doctor shaved a little patch on her arm, the tech held her tightly, and when the medicine to help her sleep was given, she literally turned to me, and she had a smile on her face - an actual smile. She didn't flinch, she didn't pull away from the tech, she just relaxed, sighed, and smiled. If anything, I know now exactly where my precious girl is - and I'm OK with it. I really am. Before Laura and I could cross the street to go home, she was home. She was home-home, not just in a temporary state of life - and she will be missed for years to come.
Thank you for all your thoughts, prayers, and comments throughout the weekend. They have really helped. It will be hard for me, but I'll see her again - when I pry her out of my dad's arms.
Photo Credit: Me. (Ginger's last photo) November 9, 2011, to April 27, 2026.
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