by Kenzy England

Created on: August 14, 2008   Last Updated: September 14, 2008

We inherited Ginger and her sister, Inkee, nine years ago when they were two years old. My husband and I had been talking about getting a Chihuahua, so when I walked through the door one night after work and was greeted by little yaps, I couldn't believe it!

"Well, hello there sweetheart!" I was being growled at by Inkee, but that didn't matter.

I then realized there were two of them! "Oh my goodness! Another one!" I was really excited. Hiding behind her sister, Ginger peeked around to greet me. My husband told me that he had to take both of them. The last time they tried to give them away it was to seperate homes. Ginger almost died and the original owners took both of them back. From then on, one never went anywhere without the other one. They loved to go if we went. If we went out of town, they went with us. I'm sure they were thinking, "This sure is a long trip to the store." But they would get settled in, Inkee in the back window, Ginger in the front seat in my lap.

A year ago this October, Ginger started having coughing fits. At first, we didn't think anything of it. It wasn't uncommon for either one of them to cough up furballs as if they were cats. We soon realized that something was seriously wrong with her. After taking her to the vet, we were given the news that she was in Congestive Heart Failure. The prognosis wasn't in her favor. We had to try, though. She was given Lasix, more for comfort than anything else. I prayed harder than I ever had that by some miracle, she would pull out of it.

After a month, she wasn't getting any better. The hacking only got worse. I was angry that the Lasix wasn't working for her. Deep down, I knew what was happening, but it wasn't something I was prepared to accept. When my husband talked to me about it, I just couldn't hear it. I didn't want to admit that we were losing Ginger. She wasn't just a dog or a pet, she was our child.

The day Ginger died, she couldn't even lay down. The fluid in and around her lungs had made this once simple task unbearable. I wrestled back and forth with my own conscious: What is the right thing to do? I knew in my own heart that I was being selfish. I called my husband home from work, and in the most gut-wrenching but loving act, told him I had decided that we should have her put to sleep. I had a hold of her, I told her that I loved her, would miss her, and then gave her a tender kiss on her head. I was dying inside. I couldn't stand it when I lifted her into my husbands arms one last time.

When he returned home with Ginger, she looked so peaceful. We buried her in our yard, under a big pecan tree. Our grief was so much that we couldn't stop crying for a week. In the years that we've been married, I've seen my husband cry just one other time. For us, it was like losing one of our children.

A week after our precious Ginger died, a couple we know gave us another Chihuahua to keep Ginger's sister company. At the time we didn't know it, but she was expecting puppies. To our surprise, she gave birth a month later to four of the cutest fur-babies ever.

We think of Ginger every day. My daughters' assigned her a song when it came out, "Soak Up the Sun" by Sheryl Crow. She loved to lay in the yard on a sunny day and take in the rays. The other day, as my girls' and I drove home, this song came on the radio. My eyes were stinging, I was trying so hard to contain my emotions. I made the mistake of looking over at my 18 year old daughter who had already lost it. My tears came fast and furious. We were sitting in the car, blazing down the highway, bawling our eyes out. I thought I would have to pull the car over. At the end of the song, all I could say was, "That was for you, Gin-Gin."

Learn more about this author, Kenzy England.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.