Rec
š
When we took Ginny to her final vet appointment on Saturday, it was pouring rain. The city and surrounding areas were expecting 2.5" and the heaviest hours were in the late afternoon. But when we left the vet's, the rain had stopped and the sun was starting to set. Everything looked so lush and had this golden hour light cast over it.
Shortly after we pulled into the driveway and got out of the car, Wes and I went for a walk. I took him down a path Ginny and I used to walk during quarantine. During the walk, I said how Ginny looked like a puppy when she was put to rest and how āGinny always looked like a puppy. She was so innocent.ā And then I realized it was the first time I spoke of Ginny in the past tense and that hurt and made me want to stop talking.
And then we kept walking and there was this part that was just a steep incline and I felt so light headed doing it, and the visuals were getting progressively more lush and gold and it felt like Ginny was walking with us and I said that out loud. And we passed this house where a Ginny-sized dog barked at us from behind the fence, and I was like, that dog is barking at Ginny.
I bet there was a rainbow to be found if only we'd looked up.
Shortly after we pulled into the driveway and got out of the car, Wes and I went for a walk. I took him down a path Ginny and I used to walk during quarantine. During the walk, I said how Ginny looked like a puppy when she was put to rest and how āGinny always looked like a puppy. She was so innocent.ā And then I realized it was the first time I spoke of Ginny in the past tense and that hurt and made me want to stop talking.
And then we kept walking and there was this part that was just a steep incline and I felt so light headed doing it, and the visuals were getting progressively more lush and gold and it felt like Ginny was walking with us and I said that out loud. And we passed this house where a Ginny-sized dog barked at us from behind the fence, and I was like, that dog is barking at Ginny.
I bet there was a rainbow to be found if only we'd looked up.
Mar 26, 2024
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Rec
šA few days ago, my dad woke up with the words "Ginny's not coming back inside."Ā
Ginny is my dog, a nearly 15 year old Yellow Lab-German Shepard mutt that I rescued in 2013 at the age of 4. She's been a patient, loving and calm companion to me throughout my 20ās, and has overtime won the hearts of my Pakistani parents, both of whom were deeply terrified of large dogs until Ginny joined our family.
What do you mean Ginny's not coming back inside? I asked.
"She's not coming back inside. I think she likes it out there. I have to leave for work, can you let her back inside?"
I nod yes and roll over. I hear my dad descend the stairs, leave the house, start his car and back out of the driveway before I get up myself. I scroll my phone aimlessly for a couple of minutes and decide to check on Ginny.
I go to the back door. Usually when sheās ready, she meets us there, ready to re-enter the indoors. When I don't see her there, I immediately get worried - maybe she escaped from the yard.Ā
It happened once before when someone forgot to close the gate. We found her a few hours later, having a solo picnic in the next-door neighbor's garbage. All the desperate cries she must have heard and ignored in pursuit of scraps; the frantic phone call to the police and nearby animal shelters. We drove around and walked in zig-zags all through our neighborhood only to discover she didnāt stray far at all.
I open the door, now more alert and panicked than seconds ago, but quickly spot her across the backyard. Laying down.Ā
I freeze until I see her chest rise and fall. She's sleeping.
This was a few days ago.Ā
Almost every time we let Ginny out now, we have to cajole her back inside because she loves being outside, alone, with nature. I donāt indulge her too much, I know isolation is a sign of discomfort and pain in dogs, but I think of my grandmother, my dadās mom, who spent her final days napping in our yard, back when we lived in the suburbs of Toronto. My siblings and I would watch her, baffled, as she placed a sheet on the lawn, lay down and rested there for hours. Didnāt she want to be in the cool air conditioning, maybe watch some tv? Do something a little moreā¦ interesting? Wasnāt being outside deeply underwhelming? We never asked her these questions so Iām not sure what in particular she liked about the experience. If could guess, it made her feel connected to the earth, it gave her a sense of peace and comfort, she enjoyed the silence and simplicity of it.
Yesterday, it was raining. I let Ginny out, thinking to myself, surely sheāll come back inside - itās pouring rain, for godās sakes - only to go out searching for her 10 minutes later to find her soaked, laying on the ground. I choked up at the sight. I brought her inside and dried her up.
Later in the day, Ginny had her vet appointment. They weighed her. Unsurprisingly, she was 10 pounds short of her usual weight. Unsurprisingly, she was diagnosed with arthritis and dementia. They took bloodwork and warned there could be more. We wouldnāt have the results for a few days. They gave me some medicine to help her with pain management and appetite stimulants to help her regain some weight.
Today, itās cloudy but the rain wonāt start for a few more hours. My mom suggested we bring a towel out to make Ginny more comfortable. I also gave Ginny my cashmere sweater as a blanket, placing it on top of her laying body. I thought she might like it, but it's hard to tell what she likes anymore.
As I write this, sheās been out there for an hour now. It's time for her to come back inside, eat her breakfast and take her medicine.
Ginny is my dog, a nearly 15 year old Yellow Lab-German Shepard mutt that I rescued in 2013 at the age of 4. She's been a patient, loving and calm companion to me throughout my 20ās, and has overtime won the hearts of my Pakistani parents, both of whom were deeply terrified of large dogs until Ginny joined our family.
What do you mean Ginny's not coming back inside? I asked.
"She's not coming back inside. I think she likes it out there. I have to leave for work, can you let her back inside?"
I nod yes and roll over. I hear my dad descend the stairs, leave the house, start his car and back out of the driveway before I get up myself. I scroll my phone aimlessly for a couple of minutes and decide to check on Ginny.
I go to the back door. Usually when sheās ready, she meets us there, ready to re-enter the indoors. When I don't see her there, I immediately get worried - maybe she escaped from the yard.Ā
It happened once before when someone forgot to close the gate. We found her a few hours later, having a solo picnic in the next-door neighbor's garbage. All the desperate cries she must have heard and ignored in pursuit of scraps; the frantic phone call to the police and nearby animal shelters. We drove around and walked in zig-zags all through our neighborhood only to discover she didnāt stray far at all.
I open the door, now more alert and panicked than seconds ago, but quickly spot her across the backyard. Laying down.Ā
I freeze until I see her chest rise and fall. She's sleeping.
This was a few days ago.Ā
Almost every time we let Ginny out now, we have to cajole her back inside because she loves being outside, alone, with nature. I donāt indulge her too much, I know isolation is a sign of discomfort and pain in dogs, but I think of my grandmother, my dadās mom, who spent her final days napping in our yard, back when we lived in the suburbs of Toronto. My siblings and I would watch her, baffled, as she placed a sheet on the lawn, lay down and rested there for hours. Didnāt she want to be in the cool air conditioning, maybe watch some tv? Do something a little moreā¦ interesting? Wasnāt being outside deeply underwhelming? We never asked her these questions so Iām not sure what in particular she liked about the experience. If could guess, it made her feel connected to the earth, it gave her a sense of peace and comfort, she enjoyed the silence and simplicity of it.
Yesterday, it was raining. I let Ginny out, thinking to myself, surely sheāll come back inside - itās pouring rain, for godās sakes - only to go out searching for her 10 minutes later to find her soaked, laying on the ground. I choked up at the sight. I brought her inside and dried her up.
Later in the day, Ginny had her vet appointment. They weighed her. Unsurprisingly, she was 10 pounds short of her usual weight. Unsurprisingly, she was diagnosed with arthritis and dementia. They took bloodwork and warned there could be more. We wouldnāt have the results for a few days. They gave me some medicine to help her with pain management and appetite stimulants to help her regain some weight.
Today, itās cloudy but the rain wonāt start for a few more hours. My mom suggested we bring a towel out to make Ginny more comfortable. I also gave Ginny my cashmere sweater as a blanket, placing it on top of her laying body. I thought she might like it, but it's hard to tell what she likes anymore.
As I write this, sheās been out there for an hour now. It's time for her to come back inside, eat her breakfast and take her medicine.
Rec
Around early December, I looked out at the sunset, and I noticed that the sky was pink. Not just a hint of pink, like there normally is, but the sky was almost unnaturally pink. I've always been a "sunset fanatic," taking pictures of the sky at any and every chance I get, so I thought these pictures would be no different from the rest.
As I was editing these photos, I was reminded of a friend. He passed in late 2021, at just 15 years old. He meant the world to me, and his passing shook me to my core. Every time we talked, he would always share his love for the sky, more specifically, sunsets. Since he lived in AZ, he was always seeing colorful sunsets, and he shared them with me every time he saw one. One night in October, we were talking about the sky, and I had told him that I had never seen a pink sky like that here in IL, and that I wish I lived closer to him, so we could experience the beautiful sunsets together. He agreed, but we both knew that moving was unlikely, so he sent me a picture of the sunset, and he told me, "whenever you see a pink sky, think of me, okay?" He had never been super fond of the color pink, but he said that he loved seeing it in the sky.
About a month after this conversation, I found out that my friend took his own life. I was devastated. I refused to believe it. I would call him, hoping to relive one of our conversations again, knowing that he wouldn't pick up. I sent him pictures of the sky, knowing he'd never see them. I did everything in my power to pretend he was still here, knowing he wasn't coming back.
Fast forward 3 years, to this exact moment. I had been thinking about my friend earlier that week, and being reminded of him in super subtle ways. I wondered if there was going to be one of those "if you're here, give me a sign" type of moments. Lo and behold, I looked outside to see my first ever pink sunset. He must've known that I was thinking of him, and decided to show me that he was thinking about me too.
As I was editing these photos, I was reminded of a friend. He passed in late 2021, at just 15 years old. He meant the world to me, and his passing shook me to my core. Every time we talked, he would always share his love for the sky, more specifically, sunsets. Since he lived in AZ, he was always seeing colorful sunsets, and he shared them with me every time he saw one. One night in October, we were talking about the sky, and I had told him that I had never seen a pink sky like that here in IL, and that I wish I lived closer to him, so we could experience the beautiful sunsets together. He agreed, but we both knew that moving was unlikely, so he sent me a picture of the sunset, and he told me, "whenever you see a pink sky, think of me, okay?" He had never been super fond of the color pink, but he said that he loved seeing it in the sky.
About a month after this conversation, I found out that my friend took his own life. I was devastated. I refused to believe it. I would call him, hoping to relive one of our conversations again, knowing that he wouldn't pick up. I sent him pictures of the sky, knowing he'd never see them. I did everything in my power to pretend he was still here, knowing he wasn't coming back.
Fast forward 3 years, to this exact moment. I had been thinking about my friend earlier that week, and being reminded of him in super subtle ways. I wondered if there was going to be one of those "if you're here, give me a sign" type of moments. Lo and behold, I looked outside to see my first ever pink sunset. He must've known that I was thinking of him, and decided to show me that he was thinking about me too.
Jun 30, 2025
Rec
My dog Mina passed away on Saturday. Understandably, I am unwell.
She was mine before she was ours. I met her when she lived at the dog shelter I worked at. She was so badly behaved, but she was also the sweetest cuddle bug once you got past it. Sheās the only dog that I would weep at the prospect of her not being in my life. Iām now grappling with that, 10 years later.
Mina was the sweetest dog, but she was not easy. Anyone with a leash/barrier reactive dog will know what I mean. She also had bad knees and at one point needed surgery, meaning I carried her 50lbs up and down three flights of stairs multiple times a day. Despite all of it, she lived a very full life. We went on a lot of adventures. She made so many human, dog, and cat friends. She helped many dogs become acclimated to living in a home. She helped me foster a baby kitten. She loved and protected my kids.
There are people weāve notified because they love me, then there are people weāve notified because they love both of us. I love thinking of all those people. Itās been comforting to me that they all say a similar thing- that I love and cared for her better than most people could or would.
Iāve realized that when someone I love dies, I always worry that they didnāt know how much I loved them. With Mina, I have no doubt that she knew. For the past 10 years I structured my life with her best interest in mind, and I would do it all again and again. She was and always will be my soul dog š
She was mine before she was ours. I met her when she lived at the dog shelter I worked at. She was so badly behaved, but she was also the sweetest cuddle bug once you got past it. Sheās the only dog that I would weep at the prospect of her not being in my life. Iām now grappling with that, 10 years later.
Mina was the sweetest dog, but she was not easy. Anyone with a leash/barrier reactive dog will know what I mean. She also had bad knees and at one point needed surgery, meaning I carried her 50lbs up and down three flights of stairs multiple times a day. Despite all of it, she lived a very full life. We went on a lot of adventures. She made so many human, dog, and cat friends. She helped many dogs become acclimated to living in a home. She helped me foster a baby kitten. She loved and protected my kids.
There are people weāve notified because they love me, then there are people weāve notified because they love both of us. I love thinking of all those people. Itās been comforting to me that they all say a similar thing- that I love and cared for her better than most people could or would.
Iāve realized that when someone I love dies, I always worry that they didnāt know how much I loved them. With Mina, I have no doubt that she knew. For the past 10 years I structured my life with her best interest in mind, and I would do it all again and again. She was and always will be my soul dog š
Nov 25, 2024
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āHighly recommend starting every new project with a good cry. Let it out.
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šA few days ago, my dad woke up with the words "Ginny's not coming back inside."Ā
Ginny is my dog, a nearly 15 year old Yellow Lab-German Shepard mutt that I rescued in 2013 at the age of 4. She's been a patient, loving and calm companion to me throughout my 20ās, and has overtime won the hearts of my Pakistani parents, both of whom were deeply terrified of large dogs until Ginny joined our family.
What do you mean Ginny's not coming back inside? I asked.
"She's not coming back inside. I think she likes it out there. I have to leave for work, can you let her back inside?"
I nod yes and roll over. I hear my dad descend the stairs, leave the house, start his car and back out of the driveway before I get up myself. I scroll my phone aimlessly for a couple of minutes and decide to check on Ginny.
I go to the back door. Usually when sheās ready, she meets us there, ready to re-enter the indoors. When I don't see her there, I immediately get worried - maybe she escaped from the yard.Ā
It happened once before when someone forgot to close the gate. We found her a few hours later, having a solo picnic in the next-door neighbor's garbage. All the desperate cries she must have heard and ignored in pursuit of scraps; the frantic phone call to the police and nearby animal shelters. We drove around and walked in zig-zags all through our neighborhood only to discover she didnāt stray far at all.
I open the door, now more alert and panicked than seconds ago, but quickly spot her across the backyard. Laying down.Ā
I freeze until I see her chest rise and fall. She's sleeping.
This was a few days ago.Ā
Almost every time we let Ginny out now, we have to cajole her back inside because she loves being outside, alone, with nature. I donāt indulge her too much, I know isolation is a sign of discomfort and pain in dogs, but I think of my grandmother, my dadās mom, who spent her final days napping in our yard, back when we lived in the suburbs of Toronto. My siblings and I would watch her, baffled, as she placed a sheet on the lawn, lay down and rested there for hours. Didnāt she want to be in the cool air conditioning, maybe watch some tv? Do something a little moreā¦ interesting? Wasnāt being outside deeply underwhelming? We never asked her these questions so Iām not sure what in particular she liked about the experience. If could guess, it made her feel connected to the earth, it gave her a sense of peace and comfort, she enjoyed the silence and simplicity of it.
Yesterday, it was raining. I let Ginny out, thinking to myself, surely sheāll come back inside - itās pouring rain, for godās sakes - only to go out searching for her 10 minutes later to find her soaked, laying on the ground. I choked up at the sight. I brought her inside and dried her up.
Later in the day, Ginny had her vet appointment. They weighed her. Unsurprisingly, she was 10 pounds short of her usual weight. Unsurprisingly, she was diagnosed with arthritis and dementia. They took bloodwork and warned there could be more. We wouldnāt have the results for a few days. They gave me some medicine to help her with pain management and appetite stimulants to help her regain some weight.
Today, itās cloudy but the rain wonāt start for a few more hours. My mom suggested we bring a towel out to make Ginny more comfortable. I also gave Ginny my cashmere sweater as a blanket, placing it on top of her laying body. I thought she might like it, but it's hard to tell what she likes anymore.
As I write this, sheās been out there for an hour now. It's time for her to come back inside, eat her breakfast and take her medicine.
Ginny is my dog, a nearly 15 year old Yellow Lab-German Shepard mutt that I rescued in 2013 at the age of 4. She's been a patient, loving and calm companion to me throughout my 20ās, and has overtime won the hearts of my Pakistani parents, both of whom were deeply terrified of large dogs until Ginny joined our family.
What do you mean Ginny's not coming back inside? I asked.
"She's not coming back inside. I think she likes it out there. I have to leave for work, can you let her back inside?"
I nod yes and roll over. I hear my dad descend the stairs, leave the house, start his car and back out of the driveway before I get up myself. I scroll my phone aimlessly for a couple of minutes and decide to check on Ginny.
I go to the back door. Usually when sheās ready, she meets us there, ready to re-enter the indoors. When I don't see her there, I immediately get worried - maybe she escaped from the yard.Ā
It happened once before when someone forgot to close the gate. We found her a few hours later, having a solo picnic in the next-door neighbor's garbage. All the desperate cries she must have heard and ignored in pursuit of scraps; the frantic phone call to the police and nearby animal shelters. We drove around and walked in zig-zags all through our neighborhood only to discover she didnāt stray far at all.
I open the door, now more alert and panicked than seconds ago, but quickly spot her across the backyard. Laying down.Ā
I freeze until I see her chest rise and fall. She's sleeping.
This was a few days ago.Ā
Almost every time we let Ginny out now, we have to cajole her back inside because she loves being outside, alone, with nature. I donāt indulge her too much, I know isolation is a sign of discomfort and pain in dogs, but I think of my grandmother, my dadās mom, who spent her final days napping in our yard, back when we lived in the suburbs of Toronto. My siblings and I would watch her, baffled, as she placed a sheet on the lawn, lay down and rested there for hours. Didnāt she want to be in the cool air conditioning, maybe watch some tv? Do something a little moreā¦ interesting? Wasnāt being outside deeply underwhelming? We never asked her these questions so Iām not sure what in particular she liked about the experience. If could guess, it made her feel connected to the earth, it gave her a sense of peace and comfort, she enjoyed the silence and simplicity of it.
Yesterday, it was raining. I let Ginny out, thinking to myself, surely sheāll come back inside - itās pouring rain, for godās sakes - only to go out searching for her 10 minutes later to find her soaked, laying on the ground. I choked up at the sight. I brought her inside and dried her up.
Later in the day, Ginny had her vet appointment. They weighed her. Unsurprisingly, she was 10 pounds short of her usual weight. Unsurprisingly, she was diagnosed with arthritis and dementia. They took bloodwork and warned there could be more. We wouldnāt have the results for a few days. They gave me some medicine to help her with pain management and appetite stimulants to help her regain some weight.
Today, itās cloudy but the rain wonāt start for a few more hours. My mom suggested we bring a towel out to make Ginny more comfortable. I also gave Ginny my cashmere sweater as a blanket, placing it on top of her laying body. I thought she might like it, but it's hard to tell what she likes anymore.
As I write this, sheās been out there for an hour now. It's time for her to come back inside, eat her breakfast and take her medicine.
Rec
āI eagerly participate in conversations only to misspeak. My little sister shared a photo of her new tattoo and the first words out of my mouth were "it's great that it's so small, easy to remove if you ever change your mind."