I am writing this today because today marks one of those life changing moments, an event that you will never forget and that forever changes who you are. There are lots of moments in our life that no doubt are life changing but there are only a handful of moments that can be looked at as the finality of one time of your life forcing you to recognize that it is over and you must move onto new and unknown territory. Today, this morning, I got the following text from my mom. It read:
“Just to let you know. Today will be a very difficult day. Ginger is gasping more. And she has lost the use of her hind legs. It is probably time to let her find some peace. We have a dr apt at 8:20. Will know more after that. Love you! Mom.”
…
“It’s Ginger’s time. Meds started.”
On its surface this is a sad event for anyone to go through. I have never lost a pet before, any death is always sad, watching a loved one suffer can be heart wrenching. However, losing Ginger today is sad for all these reasons and more. Ginger was more than just a dog or a family pet. Ginger was a symbol, a rock, an icon that represented the defining aspects of my life. To understand this you have to start at the beginning of the dog that came to be our Ginger.
From as far back as I can remember my love hate relationship with dogs was present. My parents often retell a tale of a dog attacking me at a park when I was around a year old, I of course do not remember this but this event no doubt shaped my view of dogs. I knew many people with dogs and I always wanted one but I would also stand there scared to death to pet them or approach them. Despite constantly being torn between the desire to have such a loving and devoted animal and the fear that this animal might one day decide to make a snack of one of my fingers I never wavered in my ongoing campaign to my parents to have the perfect dog. A Golden Retriever.
I would spend hours putting together power points trying to give my dad a professional presentation proving once and for all, a golden retriever was indeed the world’s perfect pet! At first, my dad answered a firm no citing the cost of the dog being too much. My response to this was to search every shelter and newspaper I could find for that rare ad “Free Golden Puppies to a good home!”. A few times I found puppies for $20 or $30 and offered to pay for them out of my lawn mowing money. Of course, as soon as the cost of the dog was resolved though new problems with dog ownership would arise. It didn’t take me long to realize that this was going to be much more complicated than finding the perfect dog for the perfect price. I had to make my dad realize why a dog was so important.
My first attempt to convince my dad of how necessary a dog was resulted in more power point presentations with more substantial research citing things like longer life and lower cholesterol as reasons why a dog was without a doubt a life requirement. “Dad, if we don’t get a dog we won’t live as long as a dog owner! You have to do this!” I soon realized that these efforts were fruitless and I stepped away from begging for a dog so that I could recoup and come at this issue from a more productive angle. It was at this time that a miracle took place.
Now, I know I am not the only kid in the world that begs their parent for a dog only to have those hours and hours of begging not pay off. Many of my friends were in similar situations. One friend in particular had wanted a dog for as long as I had known her and her family was really good friends with well known dog breeders in the area. We had all accepted the fact that this girl was not going to get a dog but if she ever did there would be hope for all of us. Her parents were they type of people who walk around with handi-wipes in their pockets so that if they come across a mess they can clean it up. Walking into their house you saw nothing but pristine white floors that sparkled in the glare of the afternoon sun. In other words, the type of family that you were surprised they had kids because of the mess that comes with having kids, you could not possibly imagine that they’d own a pet because the mess involved in that would simply cause the world to implode on itself. However, my friend was blind to all this. All she knew was that she must have a dog. I thought of myself as a relentless pursuer of the perfect pet but she made me look like an amateur and there was something sad about this because we all agreed that if there was one person who would never be allowed the pleasure of owning a dog, it was this girl. Her parents were simply too tidy.
So during my hiatus from the dog campaign something truly amazing happened. This friend of mine, who was unanimously voted least likely to ever be allowed to have a dog, shows up to soccer practice with the most beautiful golden lab puppy you have ever seen. She came running out of her parent’s van holding this fluffy bundle of a puppy. I was in shock. There is no way that this was happening. I knew I had to up my efforts. This was only the start of a chain of events that led to having Ginger in my life though.
When my friend got her dog and brought her to our soccer practice a miracle happened. As if everyone, parents and kids alike had the same thought, if this girl and her parents agreed to a dog then anyone could handle a dog. Puppy ownership spread like wild-fire through our soccer team that year. By the end of the summer there were four more puppies hopping around at the soccer games. Everyone was getting puppies, but my dad continued to say no. I was heart broken. I didn’t know what was worse, the fact that I was getting shot down at every request or that I was watching all my teammates playing with their puppies and people who were indifferent to having a dog now had a new puppy while I so desperately wanted one and could not convince my dad to allow me to have one.
I continued with my power points but knew I needed more. I needed to get some people on my side. I begged my aunts, uncles, friends, friends parents, even my godmother to help join my campaign. With lots of begging I built up quite the power house team to again approach my dad. Again though, I was told there was no way. I was beginning to feel like this issue had taken on a life of its own and to me not being allowed a dog started to represent to me my dad not wanting me to be happy. I was devastated.
It was March of the year following the “Dog-boom” of the soccer team when some relatives from England came to visit. I was still pursuing my campaign of dog ownership but it had lost a lot of its oomph and became more of a daily routine than the passionate heart felt presentation it once was. During my cousin’s visit they noticed a small brochure about dogs that I had created in hopes that it would be the decision turning piece of information that my dad needed in order to agree to a dog. They asked about it and I immediately perked up and regaled them with my passionate desire to own a dog and why a Golden Retriever was absolutely perfect and why I was the perfect dog owner. They chuckled approvingly and they too began to bug my dad about a dog. “Awe, come on John. Give the poor girl a dog.” To which he still chuckled and said, “Nope.” But, I had other plans.
One afternoon while we were all trying to decide what to do while my cousins were in town I suggested we go down the street to the local pet shop just to look. I wanted them all to see the perfect dog. I wanted to show them that a golden was indeed the ideal pet. After much begging by all the kids we loaded into our maroon mini van and headed down the street to the pet store. We pulled up and I barely let the car slow down before swinging open the sliding door and racing into the pet store, to the back corner, where all the precious puppies were kept. I looked frantically and finally I saw what I was looking for. “Six weeks old, female, breed: Golden Retriever”. I looked around and found someone who worked there and said, “Please I want to hold that one!” I of course needed an adult to come say it was ok so I grabbed my mom who said, “We can look Andrea, but your father is not going to get a dog.” Yea yea yea I thought. I would deal with that detail later. Right now I wanted to play with this perfect little ball of fur.
The employee went back behind the cages, opened the door to the kennel and I pointed to the one puppy who wasn’t sleeping but was instead bouncing around ripping up the paper in her kennel. As the man came around back to my side of this wall of puppies my heart skipped a beat. He held out this perfect little puppy and I froze. I wanted a puppy so bad but I was also still fairly scared of them. I couldn’t let my dad get a whiff of my fear though and before I could devise a plan to hide my fear my sister popped up and grabbed the puppy out of the employee’s hand. We went to a small little play area and started playing with the puppy. I kept my distance unsure of this little ball of energy but loving her at the same time. She knew how much I wanted her though because this little puppy spotted my mom, walked over to her, and cuddled up into the smallest little fur ball you have ever seen right at her feet and snuggled in. I think you could physically see my mom melt. My mom picked her up and petted her and she kept snuggling in. My dad however would not be a part of this but it was too late. Everyone but my dad had already fallen in love with this light golden puppy with bright red ears.
After a few minutes my mom excused herself and she and my dad went off somewhere to ‘talk’. I can only guess what was said but it must have had been something along the lines of, “Come on John, a puppy wouldn’t be so bad.” A few minutes later my parents came back and I saw my moms famous, “You’re about to be very happy!” smile. I also saw my dad’s famous, “I’ve lost another battle.” sigh. I felt my stomach jump through my throat and could barely get the words out. “Please dad, I PROMMMISE I will take good care of her! She’s perfect!” As soon as I said it all my cousins chimed in, “Yea! Come on Uncle John!” My dad, for the first time, started asking questions. “Ok, so how much is this puppy. What else am I going to need? How much will all that cost? You mean I’m looking at $800 today? Is all this stuff really necessary?” After many questions and much reassurance by both the pet-store employee and myself I found myself at the check out counter with a pile of “first time dog owner” things and a small puppy in my sister’s arms. I had still not overcome my fear but I knew this was perfect. I was in shock. I was walking out the door with my first puppy.
I had spent hours and hours filling a notebook with possible names for when I got my first dog but none of them fit. My sister was holding the little puppy while I petted her and we were trying out names. They all felt wrong. Then, my sister said, “We should call her Ginger. Because she is all light colored and her ears are the color of ginger.” As soon as I heard it I knew that was her name. Ginger… Ginger Wersyn. Welcome to the family.
We rode the rest of the way in the car back to my Aunt’s house and then back to our house. I had finally gotten up the nerve to hold my new love and joy and I never wanted to let her go. How could I have ever been so scared of something that I could instantly feel so much love for? When we finally pulled into the driveway at home I stepped out of the car and put Ginger down on the grass. She was practically engulfed by it as she pounced around chasing every little insect that buzzed around her. I ran out to play with her but my dad stopped me promptly. “Andrea, this is your dog. You need to bring in the kennel and set it up and give her water and food and ….” I reluctantly left my new little baby to set up her perfect living space. We set up her things in what would come to be known as “Ginger’s Hallway”. I washed, dried, and filled her food dish with water and puppy food. I put blankets and towels in her kennel to make it a soft inviting place to be, and I then rushed back out to play with Ginger.
After about an hour my dad made his first move towards accepting our new family member. She was panting a lot and was not drinking her water. In her kennel at the pet store she had the equivalent of a giant hamster bottle to drink out of and we began to wonder if she knew how to drink out of a bowl. We all talked about it and brain stormed ways to help her drink when my silent father stepped up, knelt down to the dish, and said, “Hey Ginger! Like this!”, and began to emulate drinking water from a dish. Ginger ran up to him with a puppy smile, licked his face, and the two of them sat there, my dad on his knees pretending and she by his side drinking water from her bowl.
We did everything wrong with Ginger. Bought her without extensive planning, from a pet store, at a time in the year and the week that meant massive adjustments to our schedule to accommodate her but despite all this she was still my perfect puppy. I could not have imagined a better choice.
The weeks following Ginger’s arrival were some of the hardest I went through. I had read about how new puppies would be sad. I read about housebreaking a dog. I read about having to feed it and walk it. However, doing all these things were so much more tolling than any of the books described. For the first two weeks of Ginger’s time with us I slept on our kitchen floor with a pillow and a blanket next to her cage while she cried and cried. On one particularly difficult night my mom came downstairs to give me a reprieve. She took Ginger out of her kennel, wrapped her up in an old green towel, and rocked her to sleep in our old family rocking chair singing the same Irish nursery song that she had sung to me as a baby. I think at this moment I began to really appreciate all my parents had done for me. I looked at my mother holding this crying puppy like a baby, rocking her, and singing nursery songs and realized how selfless and devoted my mother was. Not to the puppy, but to me. Here she was, up in the middle of the night, rocking my puppy and disregarding her own need for sleep so that I could get mine.
I remembered this moment and when we had to give a speech about something important to us the following year in school I brought Ginger in. As eloquently as my 8th grader brain could put it, I tried to explain that my dog was more than a dog. She was a symbol that reminded me that no matter how much I felt that my parents hated me, or didn’t understand me, or argued with me, that they loved me. That Ginger was proof that my parents were always going to love me because having a dog was never important to them but it was important to me and because of that it became their world as well.
Over the years Ginger became both a source of comfort and problems in our family. My soccer career took off more than anyone could have foreseen and weekend tournaments in the next town turned into weekend tournaments on the other side of the country. Much of my high school years were spent leaving school on a Friday, racing out to meet my mom in the car, and heading to the airport to set off to one tournament or another. My dad was often left with Ginger for the weekend and would often remind me that he did not want this dog and I was not keeping up my end of the bargain.
In addition to my unforeseen absences through high school Ginger proved to be anything but the classic golden retriever. Unlike the famous breed temperament, Ginger was an often grumpy and sometimes mean dog. We called her stubborn. Over the years she racked up a small list of people she had bitten or other dogs she had gone after. Looking back I feel that I could have done more to prevent this but at the time I didn’t realize the importance of some of the early training. As she got older it became more of us adjusting to her behavior instead of trying to retrain an old dog. While she caused us some anxiety when we had company over we had learned to read Ginger and could knew what we could get away with and what would cause Ginger to show us a less than friendly side. However, my dad always had a hard time accepting that we were allowing this dog to essentially boss us around. He would insist on doing things his way and she would insist on her way and this often led to a struggle and the inevitable, “I’m getting rid of this dog, you don’t take care of her, she doesn’t listen, etc etc”. I would beg and cry and plead for him not to and promise to make it better and then sit and plead with Ginger to just let him win sometimes. Often in tears, I would sit down and Ginger knew to sit by me and always let me know that it was going to be ok. Eventually my dad and Ginger came to a mutual understanding and lived together but never without the occasional growl from Ginger or negative comment about her presence from my dad. However, if you looked really hard you could often see my dad leaning over petting her and saying, “I love you little rascal.” Though he will deny this emotion if asked.
When I graduated from high school and left for college my dad had hoped he’d be packing Ginger up with me but this was not a possibility living in a dorm. This transition in my life also marked a transition for Ginger and my parents. Ginger became their dog. My freshman year in college was also my sister’s Senior year in high school and as with most girls this was anything but a smooth ride. My dad and my sister had always had a somewhat strenuous relationship but the added component of adolescence and a world my dad couldn’t relate to I believe left him feeling very alienated. Whether he admits it or not I believe he found comfort in Ginger during these times. He had a companion to talk to that wouldn’t talk back to him, tell him that they hated him, or slam a door in his face. Aside from the occasional growl, my dad could talk to Ginger and have a captive non-judgmental audience.
Even during college Ginger saw me through some of the harder times. I would often head home when I was stressed or having a hard time and look forward to walking in the door and the unconditional love that ginger would pour over me as she wagged her tail so hard she could barely run over to great me. She was a constant and reliable source of acceptance in my life. An anchor that I could rely on regardless of where I was. I could always return home and from “Ginger’s Hallway” would come a happy growl and a banging tail from a smiling loving dog who was always happy to see me.
When I made the decision to not return to Iowa State after my sophomore year and instead go to Iowa I cried the entire six hour drive from Ames to Chicago thinking of all the friends I’d be leaving behind. I walked in the door and sat down on the landing to the upstairs and threw my arms around Ginger and cried. I remember that after a few seconds I looked up and saw this goofy smile and panting tongue looking back at me and was immediately comforted. As if to say, “It’s ok, I’m still your friend, I’m still here, I will always love you.” I knew that I’d be fine, new friends would come, and if all else failed I could drive home and see Ginger.
Ginger was not just my friend though. Ginger held all the Wersyn family secrets and tears. I had seen her comforting my sister through break ups, my mom through headaches, my dad through hard days at work. Ginger was a rock. She was the go-to when you had no one to go to. She didn’t judge and she didn’t ask anything of us. She would sit there and listen as if she understood every word out of your mouth and when you would finish talking she’d wag her tail and nudge your hand as if to say, “It’s ok.” And then it was.
A few years ago I started getting calls from my mom about Ginger. She was getting old and sick and wasn’t the pup she used to be. About a year ago I got a call that it might be Ginger’s time. At first thought I was very sad but then remembered how old Ginger was and started to come to terms with this idea however Ginger had other plans. Her time with us was not over, she still had things she needed to do. The following months in the Wersyn household were some of the hardest in our history and as if Ginger knew that she would be needed she put her own comfort on hold to be there.
Not long after Ginger’s miraculous recovery from what appeared to be the end, my sister ended her relationship with her fiancé and moved in with my parents. I was not able to come home very much when my sister was going through this because of school but I found comfort knowing that Ginger was there to give hugs and kisses to Steph during this time. I know Ginger’s ability to move was extremely limited at this point but she had an uncanny ability to sense when people need comfort and she would hobble over to you on the couch, put her head down on your hand, and look at you as if to say, “I’m here, talk to me.”
A few months after this my mom had a pretty severe back injury. She had to stop working and was mostly confined to not just the house but to a bed for most of the day. I know that on more than one occasion my mom would tell me that Ginger helped her because she would look at Ginger and her pain and it would give her the motivation to get up and be active too. She would call me and tell me that she and Ginger had hobbled down to the stop sign at the end of the street and back. “Two old ladies out for their walk.” She would say. Ginger helped my mom get through not only the pain but the emotional toll of her injury by acting as a companion and role model to give her hope when she felt pretty hopeless.
Through all of this though we kept thinking that we were on borrowed time with Ginger and at times we would see her regress back to the pain and inability to move that had prompted the original phone call from my mom letting me know Ginger’s time was near. However, Ginger would bounce back, pick up her little deflated soccer ball and want to fetch it. At first she was around for weeks, then months, and then an entire year after we thought she was due for her time. All the time Ginger continued to be our little pillar of strength and comfort. It started to feel like Ginger was a miracle dog that would always be there for us when we needed that hug, a companion, or a friendly ear.
Last night I got a call from my mom. Ginger was again struggling this time worse than before. She was not eating even the most tempting foods like eggs and cheese (her favorites). She wasn’t able to walk very well. My mom told me though that she had come to greet them with her soccer ball that evening. As if her last big hug and all the love and comfort she could muster she gave them her last smile before sitting down for the night and not being able to get up. I had prepared myself last night. I knew then that I could not hope for another year from Ginger and that it would be only selfish to ask for more time. Now it was our time to help comfort Ginger. For all the hugs and kisses and tears that she was there through it was our turn to be there for her and give her hugs and kisses and wipe her tears.
I cried last night thinking of her devotion to us and her unwavering willingness to listen to anything, to bring you her toys and bones and sit in friendship as she would play with them. For all of Ginger’s quirks she was the most loving dog that I have ever known. Even now, since I have moved away and acquired my own two puppies they don’t provide the same unwavering friendship and loyalty that Ginger did. Ginger has carried so many of our problems and tears with loyal silence and unconditional love over the years. As much as I tried to prepare myself for the inevitable I came to understand this morning that you cannot prepare yourself for losing your best friend. Your rock. The symbolic embodiment of what it means to love. You can only hope to gather the strength to be selfless and give to her the peace and love that she has given you. Losing Ginger is more than losing my dog, it signifies a new time in my life where my childhood is over and my adult life is here. She was a bond that still held me to the home and life I had growing up there. The last remaining relic of being a kid with a dog. Some people don’t really understand how special that is, but any kid that has a dog that their parents vowed they would never get understands the true miracle that is.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you in the end Ginger and that for all the hugs and tears of mine you suffered through that I could not hold your paw and whisper, “I love you Gingy” in your ear and give you that one last hug so that I knew you realized your importance in our lives. I hope you know how much I love you and how much you have meant in my life. You will always be a part of me and that even though I couldn’t be there for you this morning when you drifted off to sleep and let go of all the pain, I was there with you in your heart and praying so that you wouldn’t be alone in your time of need. I hope you are happy running around somewhere and have all the cheese your heart can desire.
I love you Ginger. Thank you for everything! R.I.P. 7/3/2012
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