Recently, a pet cloning company in Marin County decided to hold a contest, and award someone the prize of having their pet cloned, normally a $100,000 proposition. There was a certain amount of controversy brewing around the company, having to do with not only the stratospheric cost of cloning a pet, but the vast number of animals in shelters who are euthanized if they can't find an adoptive home. I decided to enter the contest, since I have a wonderful pet with a great story to tell, and pledged that if I won, I would adopt a dog from a rescue group to serve as the cloned dog's companion. Here is the story:

“I can’t save your dog.” The words of the vet hung over us like a dark cloud. Our beloved yellow lab, Ginger, had been brought in to examine a growth on her cheek which turned out to be a malignant bone cancer. “She has maybe four months to live. Eight with surgery or chemotherapy.”

We considered whether it was worthwhile to prolong her life with such invasive treatments, and decided that a few extra months wouldn’t be worth the suffering it would cause. Meanwhile, I had begun my recovery from a brain tumor one year earlier, with a regimen which had involved nutritional supplements and Chi Gung, an ancient Chinese self-healing practice involving movement and meditation. I had faced a similar prognosis, and was slowly returning to health, and thought, “Why not put Ginger on the same program, and see what happens?”

We started adding a couple of supplements to her food, and when I did my daily practice, Ginger sat at my feet, absorbing the Chi energy I was gathering. Four months passed, and as my recovery continued, we noticed that the growth on Ginger’s cheek was shrinking. More months passed, and we both continued to improve…I was able to resume driving after a year of being seizure-free, and Ginger’s growth disappeared. We resumed our weekly runs near the Loch Lomond Marina, where Ginger loved to alternate between running the trail among the high weeds and plunging into the Bay after a tennis ball.

Nearly five years later, Ginger is still very much alive, although slowed somewhat by arthritis and the fact that she is now 14 years old. Looking back, she has given so much to our family over the years it’s difficult to imagine life without her. She came to us when our two boys were 6 and 7, and the three of them basically grew up together. From the beginning, her expressiveness has inspired comments from friends and strangers alike, all of whom have marveled at the human-like quality of her facial gestures. Her unfailingly cheerful greeting to all who have come to our door has resulted in uncounted treats willingly offered by express delivery drivers who have come to know her. We did have concerns that should a thief approach in the dead of night, she would treat him with the same affection she freely gave everyone else, but fortunately, we have never had to find out.

Having faced life-threatening conditions and survived against the odds has bonded Ginger and I in a wonderful way, and as she nears the end of her life, I find myself wanting to make the time we have left last as long as possible. Yet I am grateful that she has lived a full and rich life, and that after she is gone, her spirit will live on in our fond memories. Should she be chosen for cloning, we would be thankful for the opportunity for her spirit to live on in a more tangible way.