10 year old female beagle just diagnosed with Cushings - Ginger has passed

Sunday, March 7th at 2:40 p.m. we had to say goodbye to my baby girl, my best friend, my little heart beat at my feet.
16 years, 6 months, 7 days. I am beyond sad, beyond lost, beyond heartbroken. She was the best friend I ever had. My baby, my little girl... thank you one and all for all the help and encouragement through the years. I will be back later.. to share more.. I Just Can't Right Now.😭😭💔💔

Oh Colleen,

I’m so very sorry for your loss. Thank you so much, though, for coming back and letting us know. Ginger has now joined our other sweet angels on our special memorial thread of honor, and we will always remain here for you, as well.

If you’d like for us to add a photo link to her memorial line, it would be our privilege to do so. At any time, you can send a photo of your choice to us at k9cushings@gmail.com, and we’ll take it from there.


She’s now forever free from pain, but at such a cost to your own heart. Truly, we’ll always remain here by your side should you wish to return and tell us more — about anything. Your lives together, special memories, how you’re doing on any given day.

I’m sending many hugs to you from across the miles, and please know that sweet Ginger will always be remembered and honored here by her K9C family.

With Heartfelt Sympathy,
Lori

Our dear Colleen,

I, too, am so sorry to read your news. But like Lori, I’m so grateful you’ve returned to us and are allowing us to join you in honoring sweetie Ginger’s life and spirit. What a good, brave girl!!! When you feel up to it, please do come back again. We’ll always be here for you. And we’ll always treasure these years that you’ve shared Ginger with us. She will never be forgotten by her family here.

Sending you all my wishes for peace and comfort at this heartbreaking time,
Marianne

Dear Colleen,

My heart is deeply saddened by this news and know yours is absolutely shattered. You have been a superb mom and I have no doubt Ginger loves you every bit as much as you do her. And yes, I speak in present terms because this is a love that will never pass. It will endure for all eternity. When that moment came, Ginger crossed the great Divide carrying that love in her heart and she will continue to carry it with her always. Today Ginger is as she was before she became ill, full of energy and joy, strong and whole, running wild in the Rainbow Fields chasing butterflies and bunnies, playing with friends old and new, sharing time with all those who went before that knew and loved her. She will be watching over you now just as you have so diligently watched over her.

You and Ginger joined our family 7 years ago, a few months before my beloved Squirt had to leave this life. You thanked us but I thank you and Ginger. For being here thru all these years, sharing your journey with us, letting us come to know and love your precious girl. You and Ginger have been a steady and beautifully bright thread running thru the tapestry of this little family. Now our tears fall with yours. But I firmly believe that one day, when our jobs here on Earth are done, we will all be with our beloved babies again. When that day comes, we will never again be parted from each other.

I still cry almost every day missing my Sweet Bebe. But those tears are simply the outward sign of the love we still share, a way of honoring that everlasting love. Grieve as long as you need in any way that you need. There is only one rule to grieving - do no harm. As Lori said, if you need to talk we are here.

My deepest sympathy,
Leslie

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets into you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue,
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

by John O'Donohue
from Echoes of Memory

I'm so sorry for your loss, Colleen. We all understand how heartbreaken you are, and we feel deeply for you. Losing a beloved pet is one of the hardest things life throws at us.Lena would have been 20 this coming birthday on the 19th and even though I doubt she would have lived until then, I still feel cheated for the last five years of not having her with me.

It does get easier; you never stop missing them; you just get used to it. I find myself smiling more when I remember the little things I loved so much about her. Just the other day I went to pick up Sibbie and remembered how Lee used to turn around with her back to me which made it easier to pick her up. She did that since she was a puppy and I can't remember how she learned to do it. The memories will get easier as time goes on.

I believe as Leslie does, that we will see them again when our time comes...

I never thought anything could hurt so bad, so deep!

After my beloved Squirt had to leave, I would find myself suddenly screaming. It hurt so badly. The only thing that has hurt worse was when my adult daughter died. It was Squirt who kept me on this Earth when that happened. She was the only one who never left my side, who simply accepted that I was shattered into a million million pieces, that I was forever changed. She was the one who came to my side when I would fall to the floor or simply stopped being present. She was the one who kissed my tears away and always reached out to touch me. She was the only one who still needed me....and I was rapidly learning that I need to be needed. Without Squirt I would have joined my child, there is no question in my mind about that. When the day came that Squirt had to join Gia, all that vast empty agony came roaring back, doubled. And those sudden screams told it all. She and my daughter had shared a deep bond. Until her last day, I could ask Squirt, "where's Sissy?" and she would start looking for Gia. I believe Squirt felt Gia's continued presence more than I ever did; my pain kept me from that connection. With both my girls gone I was not sure I could go on. When Squirt left I felt I had lost that special link the three of us shared. So for weeks on end, maybe months...time ceased to have meaning, those screams would tear out of me because the pain was so physically, mentally, emotionally intense it is beyond describing. Squirt will have been gone seven years this coming May and Gia 15 years this coming Nov. Still, many days I find myself in tears with that indescribable pain only a hair's breadth away. It has gotten better, easier to bear, but I don't think it will ever stop. And in truth I don't really want it to. I'm afraid if the day comes that I no longer feel the anguish their loss brings that will be the day I have forgotten them and all they meant to my life, and Soul.

There is a quote that says something along the lines that grief and tears are simply love with no place to go. On one hand, I think that is right, especially in the beginning. But in time, as we learn how to carry our grief and join the walking wounded, we find places to put that love. We find another to love in a special way - not the same, never the same, but nonetheless special all on its own. We find ways to honor those we love and have lost by doing things that keep their spirits alive even it that is nothing more than sharing their stories with others who find themselves in similar situations. We find ways to maintain the relationship even though that relationship has changed. And, yes, we still cry and sometimes scream. But, in time, we learn that is alright. We learn that those are the times when that love has no place to go but out into the Universe.

Today I can see and hear and feel my girls presences around me. I know they are still with me just in a different form. I know they are doing all they can to keep me facing forward. There are days when it is all I can do to put one foot in front of the other and there are days when I can't even do that. But on those days I feel my girls beside me, simply being in the only way available to them for now. It brings me great comfort to know they are together again, just as they once were. And knowing that one day I will be with them again is the fuel that allows me to continue in this life.

You will find ways to walk through this dark valley and come out the other side, changed but present again. The Japanese have an art form called Kintsugi in which broken pottery is repaired using lacquer and gold to bond the pieces. They believe the gold makes the repaired piece even more beautiful than the original, and stronger, more resilient. I believe this is true of us as well. Our broken pieces will mend and even though those cracks will forever be evident those sharp edges can been seen as shining with a golden light. We have faced the worst and survived. More than survived. We have become stronger and more resilient because we did walk through that dark and fiery valley.

So you grieve. You scream, cry, throw things, cuss, stomp your feet, sleep for days on end...whatever you need. You will heal. And in the healing you will find one day that your broken, sharp edges are shining with light because you did grieve so deeply and survived. And through it all, you precious Ginger will be by your side, lending you her strength and promise.

You are not alone, Colleen. We do understand and we are here to hold your hand and share in your tears as long as needed.
Hugs,
Leslie

When Lena died, I went into total shock. I was so numb and all I did was cry. I know I went to work, but don't really remember much of those days. I could't wait to get home, even though I knew she would not be there waiting by the front door for me, and curl up on the couch with Gable and Cooper. Gable was the only one who understood...he loved Lee too and knew how hurt I was. My husband said that I was catatonic, all I know is I felt like I was in this balloon of despair. It was so quiet...I was used to hearing her sliding on the floor; snoring in her sleep; waking me up with her kisses. It was awful.

Then 10 days later my husband brought home a puppy. I was furious. I didn't want to replace my baby. I still needed to grieve...So Sibbie kept herself busy while me, Gable and Cooper watched her from the couch. She only knew me as this screaming, crying lunatic who fed her and cleaned up after her, but didn't have the capacity to let her into my heart.

It didn't take long for that to change...little by little it happened. She needed me and as it turned out, I needed her. She is not like Lee; she has her own personality; she's dependent and stubborn, not like Lee at all, but I love her for who she is. She'll never replace the dog of my heart, but she does have her own place in there. I love her and after five years, we have our own special relationship, different from the one I had with Lena, but still special.

There are many days when I still cry, scream and still don't understand why I lost the baby I loved so much. A memory can either set me off, or make me smile; a song on the radio can either make me cry or make me pretend that she is still in my arms as we used to dance around; a picture can either make me happy or make me scream.

I will never stop missing her...I have just gotten used to it. I love, and have loved, all of my furbabies, just in different ways.

She was the dog of my heart and soul...

Thank you, I did send 2 photos, please feel free to use either. I have so very many that are favorites.

Thank you all for the kind words an for sharing your stories. I am deeply sorry for your losses as well. I do find comfort in knowing others understand. I am so incredibly exhausted, physically and mentally. I feel such sadness, emptiness, regret and guilt. I know I cannot change things, I know no matter how much any of us do, we all wonder could we have done more, done things differently. The "what ifs" haunt us. Perhaps that is normal in grief. Ginger was always so tender, so clingy, she remained a baby her entire life. We allowed her to be and wouldn't change it for anything. Where we went, she went. There were maybe a handful of times in her life that she was not with one, if not both of us. It never seems enough..
I will share her story as I can.

Dear Colleen,

I just wanted to tell you that Ginger's memorial photo link is all finished now. Both of those are wonderful images of your precious girl. Know that we are thinking of you, and holding Ginger safely in all our hearts. Here is link to her pictures: https://www.k9cushings.com/forum/alb...achmentid=8650

Hugs, Lori

Thank you so very much!

You're quite welcome! (((HUGS))) ♥♥♥

How can an 18 pound, 13" 4 legged steal 100% of my heart!!

For me, I think it’s because the devotion of my pups is so pure and so unconditional. Every human relationship in my life — no matter how loving — has always been complicated. My relationship with my furbabies has always been so simple. It is pure love. They are the ones who have been beside me, always. For all the good times, and for all the bad. They are the ones who have comforted me in my grief in losing human family members. They are the ones who give me pure joy during good times and pure comfort during the hard times. When I lost my Cushpup, Barkis, I grieved harder for him than for any other person or thing in my life. There was no solace to be found because *he* was no longer here to help me as he had so many times during our lives together. I felt so alone, and so unbearably sad.

Colleen, I’m so deeply sorry for your loss of sweet Ginger. I am guessing there are no words that can help ease your pain right now. But please know that your family here is standing alongside you. We’ll do our very best to hold you up with our warmest wishes sent to you from across the miles. We truly understand how much Ginger has meant to you, and how much her life and spirit will always matter. We will always join you in honoring her, and she will remain in our loving memory forever.

Hugs, hugs, and more hugs -~
Marianne

Yes! You are correct! Unconditional love! 100%
That is the same with Ginger. She has been with us through all the good times and bad. She was right there for me when my dad passed away in July 2016. She laid on my bed with me while I cried my eyes out. We got her when she was 5 months old from our Amish friends in Jamesport, MO. She has only known us as mom and dad. She stayed a baby her whole life.. never got independent. I was not able to have children so Ginger was the closest thing to it for me. Someone that needed me, relied on me, some one who could fix everything that was wrong. Fed her, bathed her, held her, gave her her medication, cleaned her ears, did her nails. Some she didn't like, but afterwards felt better. The last almost 7 years she was with one of us, if not both. She went where we went. If she couldn't, then either we didn't, or just one of us would go. She slept with me every night her entire life.
Stealing covers or my warm spot.
She was a brave little girl, yet so dependent. She was smart, funny, happy..
She is in everything and will remain so.

I'm not quite sure how they steal every bit of your heart but they do. And what's even more amazing is that once they steal it all the heart becomes even bigger. It's a paradox, it's magic. There were other dogs before Squirt and I loved each of them fully and still miss them as well. But Squirt was my heart-n-soul dog, the first one and the strongest one, and I didn't know if I could survive losing her much less love another completely. But I have. Both survived and found my heart had grown enough that others made a space of their own there. Some also became heart-n-soul dogs leaving behind their own empty space while enlarging my heart. I don't know how they do it. Squirt was the one who taught me how to truly love, to give myself completely. I think a large part of it is what Marianne said - the relationships were so simple and uncomplicated. Just an exchange of trust and love, unconditional, uncomplicated. For so long I couldn't imagine a world without Squirt, it just wasn't a thought that ever entered my mind until her latter years and then when it would come, that thought was unfathomable. Some part of me really believed she would live as long as I did I think. A part of me just couldn't accept anything else. But we do survive. Broken, yes but like those Japanese vessels repaired with gold stronger for it. Maybe that's what makes the stolen heart larger.

What a precious, lucky little girl Ginger was to have lived and loved in your care! And I think that when our babies have suffered from health problems that require so much of our attention, the absence of all our routines when they leave us feels like a giant, silent black hole. No need to check the clock for medication dosing, no need to prepare the special meals, no need to monitor ears and eyes and legs and hips, and yes — even poop. I am very, very ashamed to admit that there were a few moments when the healthcare felt like a burden to me during the times when I was especially tired or worried. But mostly it felt like an awesome responsibility. And the day it ended, I was cast adrift and wished to have every single moment back again, no matter how tiring. I never dreamed how empty my day would feel when all those routines ended. And I would have given anything to have them back along with my baby.

What Leslie has written feels so wise and so true, though. My Barkis was my first baby (I have no human children, either). I didn’t know my heart could hurt so much when he died. But as broken as I felt when he left, my Peg and my Luna who came afterwards have filled my heart with such love, as well. Each has been such a gift. And that, I guess, is why it is so devastating whenever the time comes to bid them farewell from this world that we inhabit now. My dearest hope is that when the time comes, we shall truly be reunited once again and forever.

Marianne

So sorry for your loss. I was following your thread when I found this forum to learn about Ginger's journey with Cushings but also because I had beagles in my family my entire life until Jet (my current dog). We love beagles! I know there is nothing any of us can say to make you feel better, but I do send positive thoughts and wishes you can find some peace.
Hugs,
Jennifer

Thank you all.. I appreciate all of the support and hugs and good wishes. Yesterday we got to bring our little girl back home. It was so very hard, yet peaceful knowing she is back here. I did cry today. I came close, the loneliness some5is overwhelming.. doing our best to focus on the the positives and joy she brought every day.

When they come back home it's a bittersweet feeling for sure. I have a small, blue and gold wood and glass case that was my mom's that has become the shrine for my babies. Squirt was the first and it holds her ashes, harness, bling collar, the recipe for her home cooked diet, and all the cards friends sent. As time has passed other babies have joined her there. So many times I walk up to that case and simply touching it helps bring them closer again. You, too, will find ways that help you thru those tough days, that help bring the best memories forward, that help slow the flow of tears. Just remember, thru it all you precious Ginger is watching over you so tenderly.

Hugs,
Leslie

3 weeks today, and it hurts just as much! I just want to hold my little girl, tell her I love her, kiss her sweet face.
I know she knows I love her. I know she is freer than she has ever been. The emptiness is so hard. The longing for that unconditional love is overwhelming. I am grateful for the 16 years she so freely gave that. I still feel in my heart her giving it.. yet, I want to feel it with my hands. To touch it, to hold it.. to hold her...

I know what you're feeling.

Sometimes I close my eyes while I'm petting Sibbie and pretend she's Lena...I miss the sound of her snoring; the cute sound she would make when she wanted something, or just my attention; the way she would slide when walking after Cushing's weakened her legs; her terrible breath; and the way she always watched me. I remembered the other day when I had to take a trip that she couldn't come on and she climbed into my suitcase so I wouldn't go without her. I miss every little thing...still.

Yes!!! All of those things. I have a picture of Ginger sitting in my suitcase years ago! One of my favorite photos. I wish I had a way to share it with you.

There is a way to upload pictures. Marianne or Lori could tell you how. I would love to see it! I don't think I took a picture of Lee in the suitcase...I wish I had. When she was little there weren't cell phones, just film. I haven't found all of the pictures, or they didn't develop properly, and all the digital ones in her later years are now in three different computers and phone.

Thank you, I will surely try.

If you go to my photos, albums, there actually is the picture I qaa taking about! Let me know if you find it!

I found it, adorable! They are all beautiful pictures of a much loved girl.

Awwwwwwwwwww, all your pics of Ginger are so very sweet, Colleen! What a wonderful life you all shared together — no wonder you miss her so dearly and so deeply.

Marianne

Thank you both! She was my heart! So innocent, so sweet, so loving. I think because it happened so fast it makes is so hard to accept. She was fine the end of January when we took her for her yearly check up and shots. As fine as a dog her age with Addison's can be.
Then she started having issues emptying her bladder. Took a urine sample in, said slight infection. Got 14 days of antibiotics. Seemed to help just a little. Went another round of antibiotics.. not much change. Tried prescription dog food to break down crystals, she ate it the first couple days, then would not eat it at all.
She wasn't eating much anyways. She went from 30 pounds the end of January to 18 pounds by beginning of March. She would go out every couple hours to go potty and very little would come out. She would walk back and forth, back and forth going a little here and there. We took turns every other night so we could get some sleep.
Once in a while she would have a real good stream. I kept trying to sneak her prescription food in with other foods, but she smelled it I guess and wouldn't eat it. I would have 3 or 4 choices of foods I cooked just to get her to eat something. She would pick some things out, then get a drink and be done. She was drinking ok. Wanted to walk. The other thing we noticed was when it was sunny out, and especially if we had snow and sun she started getting spooked outside. Every once in a while while walking she would stop, cower back and snap at the air like something was close to her trying to get her. I thought maybe she had floaters like we get sometimes. She got where she wanted to go out, but was afraid to. It was sad because if she went out she would stand in porch and look at the field like," why can't I go down there? What is there that kerps trying to get me?" We always asked her if she wanted to go, told her mom and dad were right here. Sometimes she would go a lottle ways, other times she tucked her tsil and wanted back in. We always let her choose. We noticed to her back legs were getting weaker, not uncommon with Addison's, but she sometimes stumbled. We thought perhaps between her weakness and eyesight she was having a little trouble, but nothing serious. Once the sun went down she went out fine and wanted to walk so we let her go where she wanted. She seemed to enjoy it and do ok. She was still having bladder issues some, but she didn't seem to be in any pain, and she was fine in between times as far as we could tell. She always snuggled up in my bed at bedtime, waited for her night time treat and almost always ate it. She would get down get a drink and come snuggle under my blanket. But she was up and down all night needing out to potty. That Sunday morning, March 7th, she had like a seizure on our front porch about 7 a.m. it lasted almost 2 hours. She lost her urine, was kind of drooling at the mouth and breathing hard, her eyes fixed open. We got towels and her bkanket to keep her warm and we were crying telling her it was ok. We were there. Praying God let her go. Don't let her suffer.
Once she came out of it, I picked her up and carried her inside and put her in her bed. We laid beside her. She kept trying to get up, but was weak. She finally did get up and go get a drink. Looked at her food bowl.
I thought, maybe she was ok. So i fixed her some meatloaf that she loves, she ate a few bites and wanted out.
She was kind of whining a little. So we took her outside. She stood on the porch and walked a little but she ran into one of the posts. I helped her into the grass, told her mom's right here, and she got between my legs and kind of stayed. If I walked a little she whined a little, just a soft whine. When we headed back up to the porch, she stumbled more and ran into the planter. We then realized the seizure must have taken most, if not all of her sight.
We were so heartbroken for her, so sad, but also fearful of her having another worse seizure. We couldn't let her go through another. So we made the hardest decision of our lives.

Oh, Colleen, I sit here with tears streaming down my face. Thru your words I can feel what you did that day because I felt the same the day I realized Squirt had taken all she could, that it was time to let my Sweet Bebe be free. You know it's the right thing, you know this in a place so deep inside that you've never even been aware that place existed until the moment when that realization hits. And oh how it hurts. So badly that you think, "ok...this is the worst", but it's not. The worst is when you have to face that first minute, first second, without that precious presence in your world. And then it hurts so bad you're lost completely, you don't know what to do or if you can do. Times passes somehow but the pain doesn't stop; the agony grows beyond your wildest imaginings. Then one day a thought crosses your mind about your sweet baby and a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth and suddenly you realize that memory brought a sense of pleasure instead of immediate pain and more tears. In the times after, you find you are able to smile a bit more often at the memories you hold so close and then one night you close your eyes to sleep and it hits you - you didn't cry or scream all day. So you cry because you didn't. But those tears are different, in a way they are healing because you now know you will go on, you will survive. Oh, the pain isn't gone, it may never be gone, but you now know it's not going to take you with it. That day will come, I promise. You may still sob 7 years later but that day is in your future. Until then, grieve as you need, cry as you need, scream as you need. Just know you will heal enough to smile again.

Hugs,
Leslie

Thank you for your words... I know it will come..

So many doubts, regrets..
Did I miss something? Did I do all I could?
All these years I could help her, take care of her, fix things..
...but not this last one... ����������

Same here...five years later. I still wonder, go over it all, wish I had known more. I loved Lee more than anything, and I wasn't with her when she died...that still kills me. I don't think any answers will change the way I feel. I did everything I could with what I knew then...that's all we can do. They know how much we love them.

I am so sorry for your loss. I know folks on her really understand the loss, grief, sadness. That helps so much to connect with others who get it.
Yes, they know how much we love them, that is a comfort.
I think no matter what the circumstances, we will always wonder, regret... I think that is just human nature.
Tomorrow it will be 4 weeks.. I am still in denial at times.
The missing them is probably the hardest. Just wanting to hold them, kiss them, pet them, stroke their ears. Tell them mom loves you so much. Tell them what a good girl you are... to feel her snuggle against me at night..
It is just an echoing emptiness.

Last week I was driving down the road on my way to the grocery store when a little yellow dog with wild hair ran across the road up ahead of me. In a matter of a millisecond I thought "Squirt!", "What is she doing out here?", "How did she get out?!" "Did I leave the door open and the gate open?!" "She looks so dirty!" "How long has she been running around?" "She's gone......she's gone.....she's gone...." and I had to pull over in a parking lot to sob for a while. My heart so wanted to believe it was her that I ran thru all those thoughts before it hit me that she's gone. And she's been gone almost 7 years. I also "saw" my adult daughter last week and those same sort of thoughts ran thru my mind before realizing once again that she's also gone and has been since 2006. Some things are just too dear to let go and too painful to hold onto. I will never let go of them and it's too painful to accept that they are gone.

But I know those "sightings" wouldn't impact me as they did if the love I hold wasn't a strong as it is, as it always will be. I also know that I will see my girls again one day and that until I can they are together as they once were, taking care of each other, enjoying each other again. If I couldn't believe these things I don't think I could face one more minute, not one.

Your sweet Ginger is there watching you and loving you just as my girls are watching and loving me. So for now we have to carry on in spite of the pain we carry. But we do so knowing this is not forever, knowing we will be with them again one day.

Hugs,
Leslie

I so agree. I have to hold on to that hope of a warm reunion or I could not go on either. I have yet to make it through a day without crying.

You went through so much in your little life baby. You battled first Cushing's disease, then Addison's disease, slowly loosing your eyesight, over all weakness in your back legs from the Addison's. Changing medication, diets... you were so strong, so brave, so trusting... You fought so hard and momma's so proud to have shared your life... You taught me so much...miss you always. ❤❤����������

Isn’t it amazing and so humbling to witness the bravery of our furbabies in the face of their illnesses? Ginger was such a good, brave girl. And I have been moved to tears by the bravery of my dogs, too, as they have soldiered on through illness and pain. Unlike us humans, no complaints and no asking for pity. Until the moment they leave us, they confront each day on its own terms — doing their best and trying their hardest. What a lesson for us two-leggeds, if only we could embrace it for ourselves.

My sweet Lab Luna is now nearly 13, with stiff and undoubtedly painful legs. We lovingly call her the “wide-tracker” now because of her waddling gait on our short daily walks. We know her legs and hips have to be hurting her, but she still jumps for joy *every* morning in anticipation of our leisurely jaunts up-and-down our street. She pretty much collapses for the day after we return. But by the next morning, she can hardly wait to head out again. There’s nothing that pleases us more than seeing her paddling and pumping her legs while she’s sacked out on the couch — surely, in her dreams, once again she’s running as fast as the wind. And when the day comes that she leaves us, that’s the only thing that can bring us any comfort at all. The hope and belief that her spirit will be totally whole and healthy and pain-free once again and forever. That is my hope for my doggies and for Ginger, as well. They are such brave souls, and always will be. No complaints, only love. Our precious angels.

Marianne

That is my hope and and belief as well. Ginger taught us so very much about love, patience, not judging..
The very heart of her is much better, much bigger than anyone I ever knew.