Ginger Recovered - And I Returned To My Hauntings

Ginger Recovered
And I Returned To My Hauntings

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about Ginger’s 18-month birthday and all the medical issues, which were not serious but that scared me. I took her to the vet about a mysterious limp. However, by the end of the day, it went away. We are back to what we call normal. I get up around 6:30am, and we go play Chuckit for a half hour. We return for breakfast. Then I work on the computer while Ginger is chewing on one of her prize bones, which number in the hundred littered all over my home. By noon, we are both ready for our cardiovascular exercise of walking around the lake, which takes an hour. I have lunch while Ginger has her pig ear treat. Then I go back to the computer, and Ginger searches for just the right bone upon which to crunch.

However, my relationship with Ginger, which I often refer to as Gingee Pooh, haunts me. I’m attempting to comprehend the reason for our closeness. My dances with death are a large part of it. My worrying about her quasi-dances adds to our closeness on my part. I get that my clock and Ginger’s clock are ticking. Therefore, I don’t waste our time.

While those real or feared dances impact our relationship, I am intrigued by her need to be close to me. When she knows that I am busy teaching or writing, she will come to my desk and put her head on my lap. She simply wishes to be reassured. After scratching her head for a couple minutes, she will move her body closer to my leg. Ginger loves the emotional rewards for the tactile time together.

So, a couple of days ago, I just asked Ginger whether she would enjoy going for a walk, so we could talk…man to dog. Off we went to the moors at the underdeveloped part of the lakefront. Ginger loves when I take off her leash, and she is able to run free, which she did for several minutes.

However, she knew that I wanted to talk. Ginger came back and sat down. I expressed my love and admiration of her.

Ginger replied, “Well, you take care of me, and I appreciate it. I know that you are still teaching and writing, but we spend a lot of time together. I do love my time with you.”

I mentioned looking into her eyes. It is the strangest feeling.

“I wonder why you look at me that way. You seem interested in it for some reason. I merely wrote it off as you were playing Rick in Casablanca when he said to Ilsa, ‘Here’s looking at you, kid.’ Do you remember the scene?”

I told Ginger that I think of myself as Bogie, but that is not what the reason for me staring into her eyes. I went on to explain to her that I see two things when I look into her eyes. One is the eyes of a gray wolf from whence dogs evolved. I told her that I see the eyes of a wild wolf. However, I also see the affectionate eyes of a dog that loves me.

“Dogs did evolve overtime from wolves. However, we were the first animal to become domesticated by humans. Actually, it probably happened twice in our shared history with people. Over 15,000 years ago in Europe, that was the first time. However, many researchers believe that dogs were also domesticated 12,500 years ago in Asia. You wrote about those two domestications of dogs.”

I agreed, but I don’t understand why dogs were the first to become domesticated.

Ginger’s retort was, “Well, I can’t say for sure. However, I know deep within me that I need something that I could not receive in the wild or what you call the moors. Apparently, humans have a similar need that isn’t met in their world. Therein lies the issue that bridged the gap between canines and humans.

“In addition, you have told me about what you call your dances with death. Apparently, they changed you. You have written about that you know that your clock is ticking. You seem to want to live life to the fullest. You and I meet each other’s needs. I still remain a dog, and you still are a human. Nonetheless, we can relate to each other. Canines were domesticated first and still remain today to be the one animal that relates to humans and needs affection. That amazes me.”

Ginger is correct and told her so.

Ginger responded, “Well, some animals are pets like cats and horses, but the dog/human relationship is much deeper. We started this discussion about your question. I have one. You know your family in Myanmar? Your three granddaughters have a pet Burmese python. You showed me a picture that Moh Moh sent you.”

“Apparently, it was taken before you first met your grandchildren four years ago. Nonetheless, their pet python must be 10 or 12 feet long. Ti Ti is petting the python, Snow seemed to be laughing about something, and Fatty is intrigued with the python. What is the python’s name?”

I merely told Ginger that I never asked, but, if Fatty named it, its name would be Bo Bo Gyi. That’s the name Fatty calls me.

Ginger then added, “‘Here’s looking at you, kid.’ I think that it is time to go home. Besides, it is getting hot out here in the moors.”

I agreed and reconnected her leash to her collar.

As we started our walk back to the house, Ginger stopped, looked up, and said, “It’s just you and me, kid.”