Ginger and Bella

PHOTO: Ginger (in the back) and Bella inside Amanda’s car.

The dog in the back of the photo is Ginger; the other one is Bella. The last time I saw them was this past September, when we visited my sister Amanda in northern California. Ginger was already suffering from the usual aches and throes brought about by old age. Bella was still a young pup.

I saw Ginger for the first time in late 2006, in Savannah, Texas. Jerry, Amanda’s husband, had the dog on his lap inside their car. The three had just arrived from California and were going to give Texas a try.

At first, I thought their pet was a little too spoiled. What did I know? I had never owned a small dog or one that traveled inside the car with me. But my perspective changed quickly once I got to know Ginger a little better. She used to run towards me whenever we visited their home. She would bring a ball and drop it near my feet so I would pick it up and throw it, so she could then retrieve it and bring it back to me to keep playing. She was small and feisty and filled with energy and seldom wanted to stop partaking in the ball-chasing routine. She was cute, too.

Once Amanda and Jerry left Texas and returned to the Golden State, I didn’t get to see Ginger much, but she recognized me every time we visited their home in Manteca, California. She wasn’t as playful anymore; the passing of time had made her more sedentary. Eventually she gained a companion, a slightly larger dog named Bella, which by the way never really trusted me and often growled at me as I approached her and tried to gain her friendship, whenever we were in their house. Once I gave up giving her my unrequited love, Bella would sometimes come near me as I sat at the dining room table, maybe to smell me, but would also growl and go away once I tried to acknowledge her presence. She was tough to understand. Pretty dog, though. Reminded me of some women I’ve known.

Last September, during our annual visit to the area and to my sister’s house, a heartbreaking mishap took place. Ginger, who was nearly blind by then, fell off the small ramp that leads to the backyard as I was taking both dogs outside so they could do their thing. It wasn’t a big fall, a foot and a half at the most, but it temporarily incapacitated her. She stood on one spot on the concrete below and didn’t move, letting out whinny whimpers that scared me to death. I thought she was badly hurt. I ran towards her and picked her up. Once I had her in my arms I took her near Bella. She was still on the ramp, probably wanting to find out Ginger’s fate. She then went near me and licked my hands. I really think she was trying to thank me for helping Ginger. Imagine, the dog that had often growled at me and had previously kept her distance as I tried to gain her friendship, was now licking my hands. What an awakening moment!

Once inside the house, we all noticed that Ginger looked fine. She was also able to walk to her dish to drink water. But that sudden fall must have been a scary and distressing occurrence to her. Although she had made that journey on the ramp thousands of times, her lumbering senses, I bet, were no longer helping her find her way. That happens when you get old.

A couple of weeks ago, my sister Amanda informed us that Ginger had to be put to sleep by a vet. She was too frail; her health was gone. She lived a long life, though, and enjoyed it, and received the love and care of her owners. She also outlived one of them. Jerry, my brother-in-law, died this past July. Also from complications brought about by old age.

AUTHOR: Pedro Chávez