Ginger was about 17 years old. And she wasn't just a family friend. Ginger was a hard working cowdog. When milking time came, she would joyously gather the gentle Jersey cattle, and herd them to the barn.
Ginger announced company, and if it was a friend, she was there to be acknowledged by them.
Even after an accident years ago resulted in a wonky leg, she may have slowed, but she never gave up. Driving in their driveway, she usually came to greet you from the barnyard, rather than the house.
Farewell Ginger. You were what a farmdog should be.
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