Man's Best Friend.

"Animals are such agreeable friends. They ask no questions, they pass no criticism."

- George Eliot 

Baby G.

Ging.

Tootsie.

Fart.

My Pup.

Gingie-poo.

G-dog.

Pookie.

It was 1998. I was six, and my family brought home a fat, golden ball of energy. Gingersnap Blossom (yes, I picked her middle name. Remember my age.) Abramovitz was home. Born March 3rd, at six weeks old when we brought her home, she was tiny- just the perfect size for a little girl to hug tight (when she would sit still).

Early memories of my precious dog included:

 Ging leaping up to grab a sandwich from Erin's hand, mid bite. 

Mom tackling Ginger and screaming at her cause she was seriously possessed by the devil as a puppy. 

Ginger eating anything and everything (6 chocolate covered doughnuts, a piece of bread covered in hot sauce, grass... whatever), and only ever getting sick (on my bed of course) after eating Pumpkin Pie. Dad learned his lesson after that. 

Racing out of our house to attack Otis, the annoying dog next door. 

Romping in the snow. 

Long walks around the neighborhood.

Playing catch with her favorite football.

Watching her watch TV and getting so excited for every animal commercial.

Running around the house as she tripped you. And yes. It was an actual trip. She was one smart cookie.

Waking up and seeing her smile first thing in the morning.

Moving to AR she aged about 12 years. She was the best car rider we had in the family, but all the changes did a number on her. I've never seen a dog go whiter, faster from all the stress.

Hours spent petting her, using her as a pillow, watching movies, her licking my tears away, giving me kisses (my mom hated her licking), giving her scraps from the table when mom and dad weren't paying attention, opening christmas gifts with her always in the middle of everything, making food and constantly tripping over her since the middle of the kitchen floor was her favorite place to be, hearing the jingle of her dog tags as she would walk upstairs and knowing her little face would soon be nudging me awake. All these I hold on to. Even though Ging was just a dog, she really was, is, a member of our family. I don't have a single memory growing up where Ginger wasn't around somewhere. 15 years with one dog is a long time. Even though I have scars from her puppy-biting days, I'm glad I have those. I will always remember the precious golden who stole my heart and who taught me that dogs really are man's best friend. 

It's 2013. I am 21 years old, and my old, white, beautiful puppy is gone forever. Three months ago I promised Ginger I'd come home and give her a hug at the end of study abroad, but that won't happen. Even though she's just a dog, and some might wonder why I even care, she was my dog, and a member of my family. I already dread walking into my house and not being greeted by her cute face. Here's to you G. I love you forever.