In March of 1999 we lost our son. I really don't believe anyone except those who have lost a child can know the depth of despair of that experience. For almost two months my wife and I walked around like zombies, just trying to get through the day. At night we would lie in bed and cry in each others arms. The early evenings were the hardest; we would turn on the TV for noise but I don't think either of us really paid attention to the programs.
Then, in August of that same year, my wife decided that we needed a dog. I have no idea why; she was never an avid dog lover. We scoured the ads in the paper, found a lady selling Chihuahua puppies and we went to visit. We selected a little brown haired Chi who is what they call a "fawn reindeer", five pounds of puppy, four pounds of which were long little legs. We brought her home and named her "Ginger".
Each night thereafter Ginger would prance around our living room, eyeing the both of us, and trying desperately to command our total attention. She would put on elaborate shows for our entertainment, grabbing at stuffed toys and growling and acting as if she were the most ferocious animal on the planet. If her audience was inattentive she would select a toy and have us hold it so that she could pull it in terrific mock anger. With me she began the "throw" game. Bringing me the stuffed toy she would beg me to throw it so that she could quickly run the length of the room to fetch and retrieve and return for another bout of throw and fetch. When totally exhausted our little Chi would climb into a convenient lap for a rest and a nap.
And it came to pass that a little Chi named Ginger rescued us. She brought laughter again to our lives when no measure of human communication could do so.
When Ginger was two we brought about an "arranged marriage" between her and a little Chi named Rocky. Ginger's happiness was complete. Every night the two "love-birds" played together and slept together and Rocky, the Stud Muffin, at eight months of age, produced a litter of six little Chi's who all went to good and loving homes.
My wife and I witnessed a true miracle; the love affair of Ginger and Rocky. Alas, it was not to last. In October of 09 Rocky crossed the Rainbow Bridge and left his Ginger alone. If you don't believe dogs can go through depression you didn't see our Ginger after the loss of her husband. No longer playful or happy, she would retreat to her bed early in the evening and it seemed she would never again be the playful and loving dog she once was.
Unable to see her suffer I went out and bought Ginger a "sister", a little girl Chi we named "Rosie". In the beginning the two dogs were remote and uninterested in each other. But as the days progressed little Rosie's playful puppiness was too hard to resist and Ginger began to play with her sister as if she, at twelve years old, were still a puppy herself.
Last June Ginger was diagnosed with mammary cancer. She underwent surgery and we were concerned that the prognosis would be bad. However, in a very short time, the two sisters began to romp and play and I credit "Rosie" for Ginger's recovery.
So you see, in all good relationships, Ginger rescued us, then we rescued her. And, until God decides our fates, we will continue the mutual rescues and we'll all be better for it.