I don't do pets. If it were not for the insistence of my son we would not even have the low maintenance tortoise, Crawler that we have. House pets gross me out- the smell, the fur...etc. But there was a time I was recently reminded of when I did love a dog. It seems almost inconceivable now. Ginger was our family mutt during my whole childhood. She was a small reddish dog, intelligent, loyal and loving. She stayed out back. Over the years she was , eventually a bit neglected, but when she was suddenly gone it was surprising how keenly I felt the loss. She just wasn't there anymore. I took for granted how she tailed us to the bus in the morning. Or how she would happily bound around us as we played in the backyard. You could talk to her and she acted like she knew exactly what you were saying.She was that constant source of love that everyone forgot about because it was there all the time, in the yard, big brown eyes, patient and wise with age. Ginger watched all of us grow up and forget about her. Then, one time when we had all left on a family trip, and we had left her in the care of a neighbor, she left and never returned. I wonder if she knew she was dying, or got hit by a car, or thought we had finally abandoned her...I don't know. Years have gone by and I rarely think of her. Then this summer, on the beach there was this sweet, friendly, "undisgusting" dog. I was amazed at how satisfying it felt to cuddle and stroke this dog...I thought of Ginger fondly. I wondered why we take unconditional love for granted. Why do we forget to give it back? I don't know. Now, to this day I can't abide the thought of ever owning a dog...is it partly because I know, deep down I can't give it what it wants from me? Maybe. I wonder, because, I didn't always detest dogs...so I ponder what made the change.
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