I’ve had dogs for almost my entire life. Ginger is my thirteenth, and her brother and sister, our male and female, lab mix, litter mates are my 11th and 12th. They’re somewhere around seven years old now, but with some good care and luck, they’ll live into old age and die of natural causes like the rest of my dogs. For this alone, I am tremendously thankful. I’ve never had one get hit by a car or die of some terrible disease. Each has led a full and complete life until they were ready to go, and go on their terms.
Ginger didn’t spend her younger years with us here, at Lonesome Dove. Before my wife, Genie, started her job with an engineering company in San Antonio, she had partnered with a close friend doing estate, corporate, and private taxes. It was here that Genie first met Ginger. Because they worked long hours during tax season, Genie would often spend the night at Marci’s, her best friend and partner, in Austin to make for a more productive week. It’s a little over an hour’s drive but I did not want her driving the 70 miles, getting started already late into the night, so anytime she worked late was all the more time spent with Ginger.
The story has it that for the next two years, Genie and Ginger became exceptionally close, bordering on inseparable. I would sometimes hear stories about this special little dog. After Genie moved on and she was no longer seeing Ginger regularly, the next four or five years rolled by quickly until one day when she Genie got a call from Marci, who was beside herself in tears from trying to re-home Ginger. At this point, Ginger was already twelve but she was still spry, athletic, and quite healthy . Putting her down wasn’t a part of the conversation. Within just two days, Marci would be dropping Ginger off for the rest of her very fortunate life!
When Marci adopted Ginger, she went on to give her a great life for her first twelve years, but she had gotten two younger, larger dogs that had inexplicably begun to harass Ginger and no longer wanted her around. It went on like this until it became obvious that it was only a matter of time before Ginger got hurt and Marci couldn’t be available 24/7 to see that things didn’t get out of hand. Aside from typical declaration of dominance and territory between dogs, once that’s established, usually within a day, or two, the dominant dogs don’t tend to continue ostracizing what has just become an omega. Low dog on the totem pole. Wolves will if that omega is deemed as no longer able to pull its own weight. The wild has its own rules and they can seem extreme to us.
Any way you look at it, for a twelve year old dog this would be a terribly sobering and very threatening new reality. I never met the other two dogs and was coming into the situation too late to do anything about it other than to open Lonesome Dove up to this little dog and give her a good, safe home in which to spend her last few years. Had we lived nearer to Marci, I may have been able to correct the situation so that Ginger would be able to remain with her. It’s hard to say, but I believe the whole thing worked out for the best for all parties.
In earlier discussions between Genie and Marci, a month or two before I knew of the situation, Genie knew I was going to be a “Hard Sell” because I was quite happy with things as they were and was enjoying the break from having had four dogs for the three years prior. Genie knew as well as I did that it had been no mean feat and, because of the drastic age differences and very specific dynamic. At maybe ten and eleven years old, respectively, Kelpy and Sage had never had to share us and had us all to themselves. Now, with no rehearsal, it was happening and I hated every moment of doing this to them. While we were opening the door for Ginger to have a better life, I was potentially committing an act of treason with my own dogs. The thought did not go easy on me and it would take a couple of months for the dust to settle. Talk about feeling the effects of the”Pushmi-pullyu” syndrome and being seriously conflicted over such an important change to our household and super-tight pack structure that had developed over a long period of time, and it would be unfolding right in front of me every day from then on. As I said, and I can’t emphasize this complication enough, we had just gotten used to the idea that it was going to be just Josie and Jett now, and our lives could again take on a sense of normalcy. This would be a “forever” change that couldn’t be undone. We knew this going in, but it didn’t help matters very much. Life was supposed to be slowing back down to a sustainable pace, just like it had been when it was just Genie, me, Kelpy and Sage for so many years. But Genie’s heart was immediately drawn to Marci’s circumstances and her own love of Ginger. And I couldn’t live with the idea that Ginger may just have to be put down and decided that whatever happened next, it was not going to involve euthanasia.
I had found the sibling lab-mixes which we later named Josie and Jett. They were somewhere around nine months old on the Sunday that I first encountered them. I was out hiking with Kelpy and Sage in the State Park, just down the road from where we live. Genie had taken a lower trail by herself and we agreed to meet at the truck in a couple of hours. Fifteen minutes later and I was talking to two very nice ladies about their two obviously (at least to me) special dogs. As far as my criteria for great dogs was concerned, these dogs appeared to meet or exceed every one of them. I would find out that very afternoon just why the dogs and I had “crossed paths” with these two beautiful dogs and their wonderful volunteer handlers.
I’m not sure what compelled me to open my mouth and inquire about the two dogs. We were perfectly happy with our current dog situation.
The two young dogs had recently and finally (after weeks of trying) been caught by the county dog catcher and dropped off at the city shelter just two weeks earlier. We followed the two volunteer “Dog Walkers” the county shelter where we could speak with the manager about adopting the two littermate labs. The two women turned out to be lovely, middle-aged, compassionate people who were out working for the “Greater Good”. They were about to head out with two more dogs, so we said our thank yous and goodbyes when she introduced us to the manager. It is always refreshing to meet people who are out doing good in the world. There aren’t enough of them.
This was one of the days they had reserved for the two lab siblings. We were going one way around the long loop, and they, the other. I told them that my dogs were friendly and under control. We let the four dogs play for a few minutes when I asked if we could switch out our dogs and allow me to walk with the siblings. I really had no intention of adopting, but it was almost like something was guiding me. I leashed the two dogs and they fell right into line and we walked the rest of the way down (a couple of miles) without incident and over to my truck and awaiting wife. In that moment, right then and there, I blurted out, “Are these two dogs available for adoption?”. The look on Genie’s face was one of shock at what I’d just asked. We’d literally just walked up to the truck where she was waiting. She was not at all pleased with what I had just done without at least first consulting her. Who could blame her?! I certainly couldn’t and knew that I was about to get “a talking to”. We broke away from the group to speak privately. Genie finally acquiesced to my insistence that we could handle it, but she definitely had some reservations. I knew I needed to honor her doubts, but I showed a lot of confidence that this was something we could do for these two dogs, if we stuck together on it. I believed that this was something that was preordained and fateful. Who was I to turn my back on it?! I reasoned “One of the keys to training a dog is to first figure out the “Rules of the House” and if there are to be changes made. Once you’ve agreed over how you’re going to go about this, the most important thing is to catch “bad behavior” before the dog has the chance to repeat it”. Sounds easy, right. It is not and requires a lot of diligence in watching the dog carefully and catching him or her “in the act” while voicing a firm, clear command like “NO”. If it’s going to mean peeing or pooping, it is imperative that you catch them right at the beginning but just after they’re started, grab them, correct them, and quickly take them outside where it becomes important to praise them for “going” outside. But we had just inherited two dogs, not just one and, if you’ve ever had more dogs than just one, you know that getting the second dog is nonlinear in terms of the amount of work it takes to bring them up right. I listened to myself and couldn’t believe that these words had just escaped my lips. She already knew all of this. “Look, honey, there’s nothing to it?”, forgetting that we’d spent years training four dogs together.
I asked for two weeks to see what we could do. If after the two weeks, Genie still thought it was too much, I would take them back to the shelter and explain our situation. It wasn’t that they wouldn’t take them back that was the biggest problem in returning them, but when we were there the first time, the manager told us of the likelihood that they would have to be separated in order to home them. They’d been together since birth for nine months, I just couldn’t allow that to happen. It turned out that, particularly after seeing for herself the potential promise these two dogs held within them, neither could Genie. When the two weeks were up, we vowed to never let these two dogs be separated and we never spoke about returning them again.
By the end of that Sunday afternoon, we were home letting the four dogs sort themselves out. Dogs get right to the heart of a matter. Things looked promising, though Genie remained reluctant and she would stay that way for a couple of weeks. After about ten days had passed, she broke into tears a couple of times out of pure frustration and what was probably exhaustion from working with me on the two dogs. At times, she believed it was an exercise in futility. But, slowly but surely, there was more and more order until it finally outweighed the chaos. From then on, Genie committed herself 100% to making the arrangement work and has never spoken a word otherwise.
You can see why it was me who was first to be reluctant over adopting this tiny little dog who, while twelve years old already, was surprisingly fit from her many walks with Marci, her previous owner, and very puppy-like in her temperament. But I was maxed-out from working with the other four dogs before Kelpy and Sage passed. When finally told about the whole thing, it had reached critical mass and there was a bit of pressure to make my decision quickly and I think I simply asked for the night to sleep on it. By now, I had met the dog during a one-day “test run” and could feel my heart slipping towards taking-on this little ten pound dog with the heart of a giant!
Prior to Ginger, I simply never had a need for a miniature dog. I didn’t see the attraction. What could they possibly contribute to our “Big Dog” oriented family? But she immediately revealed the right mix of aggression and intelligence and didn’t allow the bigger dogs to push her around. She’d handle it herself and I would only step in if it looked like she might get hurt. Soon, she was running all over the property with them and playing tag or wrestling (gently). They didn’t “give” her an inch (but you could see that they were going easy on her and taking her size and age into consideration) she just “took it”. This is how things went for Ginger throughout her time spent here. A wonderful blend of doing things to keep both her spirit and body in good working order. The three dogs got very close with one another and we had our “Pack” mentality going again.
That was an extremely hectic period and not one I’d wish to go through again. But now, it would be down to just me, Genie, Ginger, and Josie and Jett, who were older now and much more manageable. We settled in for a period of three, or so, years and things with the dogs were easy-going. A few scrapes here and there, but they would mostly line up and make runs at the coyotes and wild dogs that inhabit this chunk of Central Texas. When they caught one, there would be hell to play. We held on to Ginger while the “Big Boys” were going at it. I would break it up before any of them, including the marauding trespassers, got seriously injured. Mostly just lost fur, but the coyotes come around close at night to taunt the dogs from the safety of the other side of the fence, and the dogs don’t tend to forget it when they have a shot at revenge. We’d have to keep an eye on Ginger. There was one instance where we were doing laps with the dogs on our nature trail that runs the perimeter of our property (about a half-mile loop), where an extremely bold coyote attempted to hide behind a copse of trees and brush, wait for us to walk by, and grab Ginger from behind. Genie had seen the coyote at the last second before he got to cover and I asked her to simply let Josie and Jett go and let them take care of the problem coyote. They chased him off the property but he had too much of a head start for them to catch him…this time. Since the offense was so great and the coyote so bold, I didn’t like knowing that he was still out there, potentially awaiting another chance. I happen to like having coyotes around and would never shoot one just for the heck of it (like so many country people do), but, if I had another chance at this one, I’m well prepared to shoot him or her on sight and would do so so we wouldn’t have to worry about him coming out of nowhere to grab Ginger. The coyotes around us are probably ten pounds over-size from interbreeding with feral dogs. This same thing is happening throughout the country, enough that many coyotes today don’t look like the coyotes of prior decades.
We used to comment regularly on how pleased we both were to be able to provide for Ginger the kind of “Golden Years” she more than deserved to have. She really did have it made here. A big dog kennel to run around in and be safe from the many rattlesnakes that call our property home. I snake-proofed their 36′ x 80′ kennel. They’ve got a dog door to come in when they need some air conditioning and plenty of shelter and water. It doesn’t end there. They each have their own old couch segment to sleep on. Never cold in winter!
To the best Genie and Marci can figure, Ginger was fifteen when she passed (a few days before this writing) which is pretty long for a miniature-sized dog. She was so much fun to watch. To see her bounding through grass taller than she was, or keeping up all day with the much bigger and more powerful dogs, would quickly put a smile on my face. So much tenacity, temerity, and heart all in just one little ten pound package of fur. She won me over to an extent I hadn’t been prepared for and I fell in love with her the moment I first saw her chase a big dog off the property. Of course, it helps when you’ve got ample backup, which she has with a 75 pound female and 100+ pound male lab mix with oversized head, shoulders, and teeth!
I was told early on in the discussion that Ginger had become too much for Marci to handle with her two bigger, younger dogs and she could find no one who was interested in taking her on. I think we all knew that this was the only viable option where Ginger was being given the keys to the kind of life she deserved.
We went from our cozy little two dog situation (remember, we had just done a two year stint with four – a crazy, busy time!) We never got to enjoy the benefits of being back to a “perfect” two dog household. But, when looking back, I wouldn’t have had it any other way! Remember, this is coming from a guy who previously loved all breeds but who had a basis and a predilection for choosing medium-sized, athletically built dogs. Because of my lifestyle, I wouldn’t have been able to provide a small dog with the kind of life they deserved. But, it wasn’t long before I saw how much joyous energy she had brought with her. But there was one problem and that was that Jett must have thought we’d gotten Ginger as his very own play toy. He’s the one dog I’ve had that will actually play with a dog toy instead of shredding it up first chance they get. They were playing roughly enough that I would have intercede because, even with his best intentions, he was so much bigger and stronger that he could easily hurt Ginger unintentionally. But she handled it herself and she went at Jett like a little gremlin. She had no intention of “fighting” him, only to defend what she considered to be her “personal space”. After those first few weeks, all three dogs were doing things together as a pack (a family unit), but, during our many walks on our trail, Ginger began to head off on her own, seeking her very own “Experience”. But, even this presented no real “diversion” and she’d soon be joining the rest of us, it never ceased to amaze me to see a small dog, well on in years, not only keep up with the others but to be out front, in the lead as if she were in charge of the expedition.
To Our “Little One”, we wish you safe travels on your journey to wherever it is that you’re going. Just close your eyes and think of us, and we will always be right there, beside you. You will never be scared or alone…ever!
A few random pics of her pals!
I read a long time ago (which means that it’s probably been disproven by now) that small dogs don’t know that they’re small. This seemed to be the case with Ginger. I’m fascinated by dogs and wolves and the various ways they interact to maintain a strong and healthy pack. It has always seemed to me that this is true, that Ginger didn’t know that she was small and almost always at a disadvantage. Because there are so many potential dangers on our property (coyotes, feral dogs, and venomous snakes like the western diamondback rattlesnake and the copperhead), we keep a pretty tight rein on allowing Ginger to roam and seldom allow her a distance any greater than thirty-feet. In the fourteen years we’ve been here, I’ve had numerous close calls and do not afford the dogs free rein of the property. Both Kelpy and Josie have been bitten and I can tell you that it is something you do not want to happen to your dog, or dogs. If it’s a large diamondback that’s already agitated, your dog is likely to receive a full-on envenomation. This is, without question, a large enough volume of venom to kill a mid-sized dog within twenty -four hours. But it’s what happens during those hours that no one is prepared to see. Both of our dogs survived. Josie’s bite turned out to be only one small fang wound on her lip and was inconsequential. But we came very close to losing our Australian Kelpie, Kelpy, (pictured below ) who spent three days receiving vial after vial of anti-venom, horse plasma, and constant airway attention by an angel. She survived the encounter. The snake did not. It’s not difficult for me to imagine just how quickly we’d have lost Ginger to the same or similar bite.
Just Chillin’ Between Activities! Sage Could Achieve Zen-like Peace in Her Spirit…that is, Unless Kelpy Decided to Crash the Party and Impose Herself on the Moment!
Though this is an “Ode to Ginger”, it Wouldn’t Have Been the Same if I Didn’t Include the Dogs that She Shared her life with…and What a Life She Had!
As I mentioned in the beginning of this story, that, until Ginger came into my life, I never thought much about little dogs one way or the other, aside from the fact that I didn’t want one! They were cute, and I get that, but I didn’t see what redeeming quality they offer, serving a function other than being petted, cajoled, and loved on. It’s not fair to the other dogs! (That’s my human mind at work. Jo and Jett had plenty of uses for her.) And so it was that Ginger found her own way to climb into my heart! In the beginning, I was thinking that I would have to learn to love this little dog and now the end has come (just four days ago) and I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. I particularly loved that her warm, baseball-sized head for perfectly in the hollow of my hand. I would gently rub her entire head while it was buried deep in my hand. She especially liked to have her closed eyes rubbed with just a tiny bit of pressure. She’d make these little snoring sounds which were barely audible and, upon hearing those noises, I could hear my heart starting to sing!
I had a 180 degree turnaround on how I feel about little dogs and it was Ginger who showed me the light. None of us are the same as we look at places where Ginger usually is at different times of the day and are still in disbelief that she’s not there. Josie and Jett have been unusually quiet and having been moping around the house if not just lying down somewhere. They genuinely seem to be mourning more than other dogs I’ve had when a pack member passes. They’ll forget and move on much faster than we will, but it’s been interesting to see how the loss of Ginger has impacted them. I see a certain sadness in them, or a reluctance to want to do anything… even if it’s on one of their many happy walks and doings on the trail. I find myself wanting to reach out to them with some kind of an explanation, but it seems that they don’t need one. If they could speak, I think we’d hear something like a pragmatic “Life goes on so we might as well get back to it!”.
-The End
