One minute I’m tending to my begonias -- the next I’m headed straight for the bottom of my pool. In my flannel shirt, denim pants and work boots, I sink like an anchor.
I can barely breathe, but through a watery lens I see Ginger pacing back and forth across the cement. A bark and a splash and she’s underwater too.
She grabs the back of my shirt in her teeth and drags me to the surface. Head above water, I sputter my thanks.
I’m alive this Christmas only because of Ginger.