The first Ginger we had was a Cocker Spaniel. I have never found them to be initially warm towards strangers, but with family she was very loving. The district we then lived in was quite territorial as were the people. Heck, when I was nine I went three blocks from home into a lane--what would now be called an alley way--to smoke a cigarette with a few friends. The news got home before I did and I don't want to go into gory details of a talking to in no uncertain terms involving a long time in jail, worms taking me to the river, and possibly my ancestors looking on me in shock fast approaching horror that would probably bring on their deaths if they weren't already dead. So Mrs Grundy made the call that was at once spreading gossip and being the first to report my misdemeanor which was a felony in her translation of actual events. (Ginger had nothing to do with that, by the way.)

She knew the neighbours and she was always reserved but polite. For a few she wagged what was left of her tail and went over for a pet or two. I think it was Mr Clark who would scratch her belly for her and I think she was on great terms with him because of that. She was very gentle with my younger sister and welcoming when my mom got home from work. My grandmother liked dogs but preferred they be outside dogs that wouldn't shed in her domain. We were all poor, but the whole district kept their apartments, buildings and grounds clean, free from litter or clutter, and times were tough, especially on women who had to care for all that. My grandmom washed my grandfather's and her clothes by hand using a scrub board and the bathtub, Sunlight soap (in bars) and one helluva lotta sweat. She did let Ginger in her place, but that was the only dog I recall ever being there except for Queenie. And she'd lay down beside where my grandmother was doing laundry and commiserate as best she could.

We'd had her for maybe three years when one morning I was first awake and going to the toilet which was off the kitchen and there the poor old girl was under the table with a pool of blood beside her mouth. I spent over ten months breaking every single window in that man's house just around the corner. I practised lots with a slingshot--as did most kids back then--and I was quite good with one. I do not know to this day why he poisoned her. They moved out and rented the place they were in shortly thereafter, not something I attribute to cause and effect, although if it was that it wouldn't bother me one bit.

The relationship humans have with dogs is thousands of years old. Dogs once served as protectors, as companions for people who were/are alone for one reason or other. They have saved humans untold toil and helped in our development as a society by the expedient of being herders and watchers. I fear that today we are doing our canine friends a great disservice by NOT spaying them. The times of dogs being central to parts of our working lives is almost done and we've begun to treat the best animal friend we've ever had as a cute thing to keep around but easy to get rid of when they become an inconvenience. That seems to exemplify to me the way our world has become as humans search for riches and destroy things in the process. Loyalty is available to the highest bidder, and dogs have no money.

Anyway, I've rambled on enough for tonight.

Woof!