Then one day, I opened an e-mail message from a fellow dog lover and setter owner. The message indicated that a female setter had been pulled off the streets in Piqua, OH, and this girl needed a place to stay for four days, until she could be transported to another foster home. A picture was attached.
As soon as I saw Ginger’s photo, I wanted to help her. A series of calls were exchanged, and this darling girl arrived at my house later that same day. Before I saw Ginger in person, I was warned that “she wasn’t going to win any beauty contests.” Poor Ginger was terribly engorged and actively lactating, she had a sizable skin tag dangling from her right hindquarter, her ears were infected and caked with grime, the hair on her back was so thin her skin showed through, and she desperately needed a bath. However, I can honestly say that while I saw these aspects of Ginger, they didn’t really “register” with me. What I saw instead was a very sweet, exhausted, affectionate girl who needed some loving care and a safe place to rest. It swelled my heart to be able to offer that to her.
It’s difficult to describe the rewards of helping a dog in need—maybe because it’s such a reciprocal relationship. Ginger changed my life for the better as much as I might have hoped to do the same for her. She opened up my heart and my world. She helped me realize that I have a lot to give and that it was possible to make time and room in my life for her and others.
Ginger also helped me reevaluate my views about getting a new dog. Before I met Ginger, I thought I definitely wanted a dog no older than 2 years with a completely clean bill of health. And, oh, the thrill of naming a new dog! I would lie awake at night considering names for a dog we didn’t even have and wouldn’t acquire until our Sophie was gone. Then this angel arrived. “Ginger” was the name she showed up with at my house, doctors estimated her age to be about 8 years, and she had developed mammary cancer as a result of being overbred in a puppy mill. I soon found that none of the items on my “checklist” mattered or could keep me from loving this girl—I accepted her as she was, and she was absolutely perfect in her way.
When the time came for Ginger to move on to her next foster home, I couldn’t bear to part with her. And so my fostering story turned into an adoption story . . .
. . . and they lived happily ever after.
