If Only Dogs Could Read…

My dear, sweet boy, whoever said ‘a girl’s best friend were diamonds’ clearly never had a friend like you.  My companion and champion, my caretaker and confidant.

Your time is near now and I know it’s not fair.  Not to you, not to me, not to our family, but nevertheless it is out of our control.  I feel we are all being cheated.  There are so many things I wish I knew you understood, so many “human” emotions I wish I knew you could feel from me.  Conversations that are one sided, save for your wagging tail and slobbery kisses.

I am writing to you now, because if you could read, which I know you cannot, there are things I want you to hear.  My feelings, clouded by pain, would be lost after you are gone and there are things I need to say.

You were always the one.  I have known you from the second you entered this world.  Born with a hernia, later to be called your “Bentley Bump” I knew you were the one for me… I loved you because of your imperfections, which to me made you perfect.

In your short 7 years with us, you have cared for me as much as I have cared for you.  You stayed by my bedside when I was sick, you would lay your head in my lap when I cried.  You felt all of my emotions and even if you didn’t understand them, you reacted as if you did.  When I was happy you would try to climb and lie on me.  I don’t think you even realize how big you are my friend, but as the years passed, I could barely breathe under the weight of you… but I never moved.  I would never move from you because you never moved from me.

Together, as the original family of 4, you and Gemini, traversed the Americas with us to our new home.  You walked the steep roads in Mexico and the lands of Guatemala.  You sat, happily tied to a pole, while Abasi and I sang “God Bless America” while being harassed by the Nicaraguan police.  You, my sweet, horse sized friend, are awesome.

I need you to know that I am so sorry for your loss of your mama.  She was older and had a good life, and I guess just like it is yours now, it was her time then as well.  I know it was confusing for you to have her one day and gone the next.  You waited at the gate for her for weeks, expecting for her to come back.  She’s waiting for you now and when you are ready, we will leave you with her.

I feel like now, in the final days or weeks that we have left, like I have failed you in some way.  Maybe I should have walked you more, or told you I loved you more.  Thrown the ball a couple more times or taken you to the beach more often.  Despite my shortcomings you have always greeted me with excitement and love.  Your endless friendship and constant love is evident.  I feel stuck trying to prove my own love for you… I pray you feel it.

If you wanted to keep fighting, I would hand feed you every day for the rest of my life if I had too, but I know that is not in your cards.  Though your personality still shines through, your frail body is preparing.  I can tell by the way you walk beside me and not in front of me anymore, that you are slowing down.  Don’t worry my friend, I will walk beside you until the very last moment.  I will silently cry into your fur and hold you so that you feel surrounded when you go.  I will love you way past your exit from this world.

I love you Bentley, my BoBo.  I love you more than I expected to be able to love an animal if I’m being honest.  I know it is your time and though I wish I could be selfish, I want you to go when you are ready.  Until then, I will hold you, love you and walk with you everyday.  I will stay with you until Gemini greets you on the other side.  You are my companion and my champion, my caretaker and my confidant until the very end my friend.

If only you could read…

All Dogs Go to Heaven: Facing the Elephant in the Room

39 days it took to face the elephant in the room.

39 days ago (which was 2 days ago when I initially started writing this post, umm HELLO LIFE!)  we had to let our 12 year old German Shepherd go to her final rest.  And with only her son Bentley left behind the big bag of dog food began to stare at me from all angles of the room… every time I walked by.

I guess everyone has their way of dealing with losing their beloved pets.  Everyone deals differently.  For me, the entire week of letting Gemini go was devastating.  The 2 days prior, while she was at the vet and having tests done, knowing we were leading to an unfortunate decision were just as hard as making the decision to let her go.  Being there in Gemini’s final moments, her head resting in my hands, choking on tears… there are just some things you won’t ever forget.  The next morning, Abasi and I quietly looked for a place to bury her along the coast, high enough from any water and along the path we use for our runs.  Together and without speaking, we dug a hole, placed her in gently and gave her a toy of Kennedy’s and 2 coconuts to hopefully grow a tree from.  We filled in the sand, placed flowers on her grave and said a prayer.  And really, that was that.  We cried and we hugged.  And that pretty much happened the rest of the week… crying and hugging, crying and hugging.

She always loved the beach… rest easy girl ❤

 

Honestly, the memories we have with her, the pictures, the now empty dog collar hanging from our rearview mirror, and the other Shepherds running around town were nothing compared to seeing this seemingly bottomless bag of food.  I was praying to buy another bag.  For years, we bitched and moaned about how much food the dogs ate and joked that they better find jobs to help pitch in.  It felt like every single week I was running last minute to the store to grab the huge bag of food to feed our horse sized (slight exaggeration) dogs that would be gone in the blink of an eye.  But now, the hardest part of dealing with letting Gemini go was having to walk past a bag of food every day that seemed to have no where to go.

Of course Bentley was eating…  Bentley eats everything.  But still for 39 days I felt like I was holding my breath until I had to buy more.  The first bag since Gemini.  The first bag without Gemini.

And as simple as that, I feel like a weight has been lifted from me.  It may seem small and insignificant but it’s as if a page has turned and now we can continue writing the rest of our story… always with Gemini in our prelude.  I don’t have any other beautiful or transcendent words to say about this.  It was just a bag of smelly dog food… but I feel better.

And so, I just want to end by reiterating something I wrote the day we buried her, which I feel she deserves to have re-said:

“Yesterday we had to say goodbye to a huge part of our hearts and our family. Gemini was a beautiful dog and from day one of bringing Kennedy home, she hovered near her, watching her. When Kennedy got older she would nudge Kennedy away from places or areas she shouldn’t be crawling or walking to. We know she isn’t in pain anymore, and I suppose love is enduring a pain yourself so that she can be free of it. Thank you Gemini for being an amazing little puppy that allowed Abasi to understand the first true feelings of tenderness for caring for another life. Thank you for so effortlessly loving me when I came into the picture. Thank you for giving us Bentley who is the silliest dog in the world and looks like a horse. I promise to take extra good care of him now when he will need you most. Thank you for taking this adventure with us to Costa Rica, you walked the lands of many countries, more than a lot of other dogs. And thank you for always seeming to have a protective spirit around Kennedy. I know you will still “shepherd” her and all of us in the right direction. Dogs aren’t just dogs, they are family, and we will love and miss you for the rest of our time. Sleep easy. RIP Gemini.”