My aunt brought you home as a tiny, just weaned puppy (your mother was a purebreed basset and your father was a beagle mix). I was only 4 years old and had never had a dog before. I was originally scared of you. My aunt got married and moved away and you ended up becoming her parent's dog (my grandparents).

Every summer I came to stay at the farm, you and I were inseparable companions. People used to say, if you see Ginger, you know "her girl" has got to be around somewhere.

You were the greatest groundhog hunter we ever knew. If I showed you a groundhog hole, you would dig at it all day if you had to and by sunset you would return home proudly carrying your trophy in your mouth. You would be caked in dirt and my mama wouldn't let you in the house!

You had a white tip on your tail and in the summer when you were looking for groundhog holes in the hay fields, I could hardly tell your wagging tail from the little white butterflies fluttering all around.

But, when the first day of my summer vacation started and I was dropped off at the farm, I would scan the fields for your wagging white-tipped tail and then in a high-pitched voice call for you; "GINNNNNNGERRRRRRRRR! Here Gingie!" The wagging would suddenly stop and you would run as fast as your legs could carry you and when we were reunited, you would whine and cry and lick my face and tinkle. You had the softest head and ears I had ever felt in my life and I would rub my face all over yours. The next day I would be covered in poison ivy as a result. That was how I spent my summers, totally covered in poison from greeting you each day. No regrets!

One day, you were old and slow and hard of hearing and were sleeping in the shade under papa's truck in the orchard. He started the truck and accidentally ran over you.

You know, I don't think he ever forgave himself for it.

One thing I do know for sure, my summer's were never the same without you.