We had to say goodbye to our family dog the other day. Believe me, I don’t want to go through that again for a long time.
We adopted Ginger as a rescue dog around eight years ago. She was five at the time. She hadn’t been abused or abandoned—her owners were moving and for some reason simply didn’t want to take her with them. Their loss was our gain. She was a friendly Golden Retriever with a beautiful ginger colored coat that people complimented her on most every time we took her for a walk.
Ginger gave us eight years of love and loyalty that truly made her part of the family. She brought a calming influence to a house with two growing boys during their most formative years. The boys would easily get mad at their parents, but Ginger would dutifully follow them into their room and help overcome the latest injustice we had inflicted upon them.
Thirteen plus years is a good lifespan for a Golden. She was comfortable to the end. In her last couple of weeks she lost her mobility, so my wife got her a pad to lay on and we would carry (or drag) the pad with her on it into whatever room we were in—Cleopatra style. We’d compliment her like crazy every time we carried her outside and she pooped or pee’d (I think you have to have had an old dog or young kids to understand that mentality).
She died peacefully soon after my oldest son went back to college following his spring break. I think she had waited for him to come home so they could see each other one last time. Dogs are amazing.