Ginny's Sunset

Ginny the Wonderful is gone.

As I wrote in the last update, on Nov. 19th, the veterinary oncologist stopped her chemotherapy and doubled her steroids, teaching me to inject those and all of her meds so that she would not vomit them. She was much better by evening. On Nov. 20, unfortunately, I went to work. Kathleen gave her several walks around the neighborhood, and she enjoyed herself greatly.

When I came home from work, she was so revived by the steroids, that, instead of waiting at her station at the top of the stairs, Ginny came down to me with her tail wagging. We rubbed the tops of our heads together near the floor in our old ritual greeting as I scratched behind her ears. Then as in old times, she dropped her butt to the floor in a loud 'thump' and rolled over for a tummy rub. Then I took her for a good walk in the dark, with me in my crazy neon jacket and her in her harness of flashing lights, and she ran free and joyfully around the neighborhood. We had our Ginny back.

But, like the green flash of the top of the setting sun as it just dips below clear tropical oceans, her recovery was beautiful, but vanishingly brief. At a little after 6 yesterday morning, she came, tail wagging, to K's side of the bed to see if she was interested in getting up that early. Since K was not, Ginny went back to her bed. Then, as B was getting ready to walk to the schoolbus stop, she came downstairs for a scratch on the head from him.




A little before 8, I was awakened suddenly by K's distraught cries: "She can't stand up! She can't stand up."

On the wooden floor of our bedroom, Ginny tried to get her legs under herself but could not. We tried to lift her onto her bed, but she struggled, clearly uncomfortable. "She's rolling her eyes," K cried. I looked, and Ginny's eyes were rolling back in her head then shooting back down, over and over. The medical term for this is vertical nystagmus. It must have been miserably uncomfortable and frightening, and it meant that a tumor near her ear had invaded her vestibular (balance) system. I quickly injected her with her steroids, and it helped, but she still could not stand. Meanwhile, K called a vet who makes housecalls to put pets to sleep in their own homes. She also called the veterinary oncologist who confirmed what we already knew: that this was the end. Then K went and got the B from school early while I cried on the floor with Ginny.

Two of Ginny's favorite humans, D, and H, briefly came by to bid farewell to the stricken girl. They had been walking companions for the two of us on many a weekend day, and Ginny wagged her tail as she always had when they appeared. They stroked her head as she lay on the floor looking back up at them. 

The vet who came to the house was wonderful. For the last time, Ginny attempted to stand, almost succeeding as she wagged her tail to greet the visitor. Then, as we all sat on the floor around Ginny, singing to her, petting her, and telling her we loved her, the vet first gave her a narcotic to calm her. Then, she gave her ketamine so she would feel joy in her last moments. Finally, she gave her the phenobarbital, and Ginny left us.

B and the vet carried Ginny to the car in her blanket. K and I drove her to the crematorium. We could not stand the thought of some stranger taking her from us.When summer comes, we will bury her ashes under the rhododendron bush by the back door of the family house on Cape Cod where she used to dig herself a bed to stay cool on hot days.




She only lived to be 7 years old, and she had us for only 5. But, for as long as any member of our family lives, She will zoom with joy, all four feet in the air; she will lie contented on sunny grass or dig holes in the cool shade; she will walk with me through woods and fields, exploring mysterious vistas or playing with friends; she will greet our neighbors as they get out of their cars; she will wag at all humans and love all children; she will be on our couch next to us, lying on her back in bliss as we rub her belly.

Ginny Forever