A Dog Died Today

Today, my dog, Ginger, died. Or rather she fell asleep in my mother and I's arms and will never wake. And now she lives on in memories that I know will never be repeated.

About three months ago, Ginger was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. She was given one year, may be two live. However, her condition rapidly declined. I had come home many times over the past few months thinking that each time would be the last time I'd see her. So when my mom emailed me this morning and said, "I'll have to put Ginger to sleep tonight," I thought I was ready. Now, I know you can never truly be ready for something like that.

My last memory of Ginger is my mom and I holding her at the vet along with two attendants. She stared at me unaware of her imminent fate. I stared deeply and affectionately into her round, brown eyes, until at last, her eyes glossed over with death and mine with tears.