All about the dog.

Have you ever spent an entire day at home with your dog?  Welcome to my day.

I got up early to write in the quiet.  3:30 am early.  Our dog senses my emergence from the bedroom and her instincts kick in.  "Oh Mommy, you're up! Feed me! feed me!" I turn on the hall light and I show her the hand.  She lays back down on her bed.  Perhaps the fact that I'm three hours early for our morning ritual accounts for Ginger's obedience today.  Perhaps my almost ten year old pet knows me well enough to comply after one command.  Thanks girl!

After pounding on my keyboard and perusing the web for a couple hours, my girl rambles back down the stairs to check me out.  One look my way, a hopeful pause, and then Ginger quietly turns to slink back up the stairs.  Good dog.  Just a few more minutes alone please.

My boys appear and reappear as they walk through the family area and through their morning routines.  JT feeds the dog.  Jeff directs her to put her toys away (she can do it too).  I let her outside for her morning constitutional.  One, two, three, all taken care of.  On with my day.

Ginger naps nearby as I move about the house, doing whatever I'm doing. She attempts to distract me into the kitchen, to the treat counter.  Old dogs have no couth when it comes to manners.  We taught her from the get-go to stay out of the kitchen area, the food prep area squared off by an L-shaped island.  Today she saunters in and out of the square as she desires.  I bump into her frequently, since I don't expect my well mannered, professionally trained pooch to be behind me in the no-dog zone.  She needs only to take two or three steps in order for her slender body to fill my space, and her inquisitive nose to point toward the rawhides and milk bones.  The goodies stare at her from inside the glass jars.  She smells their goodness and the drool faucet turns on.  Get out of my kitchen!

She'll get her treats when she learns to stay out of the kitchen.  That won't be happening anytime soon. OK, lay down on your blanket and I'll bring you a biscuit.  I'm easy.  Ginger does what she's told, leaving a trail of saliva behind.  Crunch, inhale, tail wag...done.  Happy now?  Stay out of my kitchen!

We remember to close our bedroom doors during the day, even when we are home, otherwise Ginger will snuggle on our beds to nap.  She's so crotchety about getting down too.  We have to push her lean body off when she looks at us without a blink or wag when we yell "off!"   If you think about it, Ginger is the oldest creature living in our family now.  She's going to be 10 dog years and 70 human years in May.   Her vet check ups are for elder dogs and we feed her food for the mature dog.

She has always been healthy.  If you see her you'd say she is skinny.  Everyone does.  Everyone has for ten years running.  Everyone else must have fat dogs.  Our girl is made of muscle and high metabolism.  Our girl has the blood of sled dogs and hunters.  Our girl can run faster than any dog at the park, and then turn her head in time to catch the following frisbee in her teeth.  We let Ginger off leash when we hike in the woods.  We have proof that she cannot run faster than white tailed deer.  Thank God for small favors. 

Barking is one of Ginger's strongest attributes.  She's a 50 pound, tall, lean mutt with a German Shepard bark and a Siberian Husky whine. Our canine uses her voice to tell the mail carrier that she still lives here and will he please leave treats in the box?  Not anymore, girl, that guy retired.  She ratchets up her already intense bark when other dogs stroll by the house and when she hears the garage door raise.  Sometimes I swear she hears our vehicles before they turn the nearest corner, which allows her plenty of time to bow wow Hello through the walls and to beat her human to the door. If I was more organized, I'd have ear plugs in my pockets at all times.

Ginger began talking to us to get our attention about a year ago.  I had heard about the Husky speak and I wondered when it would appear in our daily dialogue.  We've figured out that when she wants to be let outside, she'll either stand at the slider with her head behind the curtain and wait to be noticed, or she will trot over to one of us and start whining and whooing.  Today she looked right at me and threw one shrill woof my way...translation: "Hey, you're ignoring me.  It's all about me, the dog!"  I barked back.

Please know that Ginger is the apple of my eye.  The butter on my bread.  The bees knees.  My first dog from puppy to pain in the ass.  I named her, I slept with her the first night, I learned and taught her obedience training, and I will mourn her when she dies.  Some people say that dog owners are crazy to love animals as if they were people.  Weird for treating a pet like a child.  Strange to feel attached to a four-legged friend.  Well, I've been called much worse when a dog was not a family member.  So this is a piece of...kibble.