Paula and Ginger, aka Bee
“Hey Paula, what are you doing this afternoon?” It was Wendy, my small animal vet calling to ask me to come over for a beer. “I have something to show you,” she said. It was a hot day in the summer of 2002, and relaxing with Wendy over a cold beer sounded perfect.
How was I to know an innocent beer on a hot afternoon would lead to 17 years of love? Chatting about not much, we walked into her screened porch and made ourselves comfy. A tiny beige form was curled up in the corner.
Bee had been part of a hoarding situation in which a kind-hearted woman had tried to save way too many dogs. She’d been cited by the local authorities and was in danger of having all her dogs seized and sent to the county shelter. Sadly, for a very long time, counties found it cheaper to dispatch such dogs with a bullet, tossing them in a front-end loader, and tipping them into ditches.
Bee was on track to be a forgotten pup, on of many destined to disappear without a thought. Fate had another plan for this pup, and as I rode home with her, I felt sure I could find her a loving home.
Living on a farm is a life always on the move. I had a pack of dogs: Leo, a Bichon Frise; Abbie, a yellow Labrador Retriever; Finnigan, a black and white terrier mix; and Zoe, a solid white Akita. To this crazy mix, I added this wee girl named Ginger. Starting early in the morning, off we went, feeding, doing pasture checks, mucking stalls, cleaning up, and walking – endless walking – all with the pack.
Between barns, I would call the name of every dog, and they would all come running…except Ginger. She refused to acknowledge her name. Everyone who met Ginger thought she was cute, but there was always a “but.” No one was seriously interested in adopting this sweet girl, the pup that refused to be called Ginger. Life was full, busy and gratifying. And Ginger fit in well.
Whether it’s putting up hay, like in the photo above, or any other farm chore, the dogs are always around to help out.
One day, a woman in the barn said she knew someone that would like “that little dog.” Without a thought, blink or concern, I whipped around and said, “What? My dog?!” And with that, I added another heart to my life. I was a foster failure.
On the farm, here’s Ginger aka Bee (left) and Paula with just a few of her pups (right).
So, how did Ginger become Bee?
One morning after she had joined the family forever, I was walking between barns and felt this little nip on the back of my calf. Looking down, I saw Ginger looking up at me. “Well,” I said, “that stung like a bee.” Thus, Ginger declared her name was Bee. The wee Bee went from four pounds to 30 and lived a long and happy life following me around the farm for more than 17 years. A DNA test revealed the adorable Bee to be a true mix of life – 12.5% Beagle, 12.5% Cocker Spaniel, 12.5% Springer Spaniel, 12.5% Llasa Opso, 12.5% Poodle, 12.5% Shetland Sheepdog and 25% mixed breed.
However, I happen to believe this is incorrect. Bee looked like a princess and wore a pink collar with multi-colored crowns, so it only took one glance for people to know she was royalty.
All images in this story are provided by the foster.
This story is part of a larger project The Highs & Lows of Fostering Animals where fosters share their stories in their own words.
