My sweet prince. My baby Bentley. I am absolutely shattered.
Even if you know it’s going to happen. You can’t prepare for when it actually does. And Tuesday afternoon was not the when or the how we were expecting.
In my head, he was going to be here. Just a few more months. Just to meet his baby sister. And if we’re lucky just a few months after that. Then he could leave us. “You just have to make it until June,” I’d think. Please.
I was already so sad knowing he wouldn’t have much time with her. But I thought he would have some time, even if fleeting.
But that’s selfish. And that’s not what’s happened.
——
Bentley has always been a trooper. From his first mast cell tumor cancer experience 5 years ago with the absolutely dreadful wound recovery process, to his dilated cardiomyopathy, to his more recent double surgery in a one-year span due to soft tissue sarcoma growths.
He has always bounced back. Always.
And boy, has he always been a good boy. Six cross-country road trips, so many states’ soil those perfect paws have touched.
Sure, he’s got very specific greeting instructions, but once you followed the rules he loved you. He brought toys to contractors’ feet in our new home. He wins your heart over because his 'hard-to-get' attitude makes you feel you've done the same to him. And you did. Those that met him, that knew him, he loved you. He remembered you even after several years across country, he wiggled his butt like no time has passed.
He was the sweetest boy. My cuddle buddy (though I being the one to spoon him and rarely him to cuddle on me, he never pushed away). My favorite was when I would pet his little face. Hands on both sides of his snout scratching under his chin and our foreheads pressed together. And when he’d press his head harder my heart would melt a little more.
Or when we’d come home from being out and he’d greet us at the door — but not close enough where we can pet him. Just to scan that we were both there. Then he’d immediately run to grab a toy or a sock and run back over to us wiggling that booty anxiously awaiting his well-deserved pets.
Or when we’d come home and he would be laying on the chaise, waiting for us to greet him. Our master. Don’t lift a paw buddy. I’d always crouch down, kneel at the foot of the chaise, elbows on the couch, hands under his head, where his tail would thump and I’d scratch his chin and give him forehead or nose kisses.
The best boy.
——
Over the past few months he’s had a few weird episodes where he has seemed out of it. Standing and staring. We’ve waited and watched and he would come out of it and the next day return to his puppy self. Ready to play. At full alert.
Over the past weekend, that lethargic energy seemed to persist. Slow to eat (but would eat come dinner time). And slow to play. But on Monday, he was chipper, playful, and alert. Our sweet baby Bentley had returned, as he always seemed to do.
Tuesday morning he was a little slow but we didn’t necessarily think much of it. In the afternoon, I moved to the living room to work where he was laying in his bed. As he does. He has a bed in nearly every room. He owns this house. He needs to be comfortable.
At a certain point, he moved to sit up quickly and I noticed his seated posture looked weird so I tried to pull out my camera as quickly as possible to record. He very shortly melted as he fell back. His head rolled a little. He didn’t seem “out of it” in his eyes but that movement. That movement. Alarming.
I yelled for Evan to come down. Bentley laid in a semi-normal position but you could tell he was getting “sleepy.” I decided we should take him to the ER while he’s actively having this episode so we could know what it was and how to treat it.
How to treat it.
I was confident, that like every other time he’s unwell, he would pull through and that when it’s "the time" we’ll be able to plan for it. To choose the date. To plan the last day’s bucket list. The beach, the fast food cheeseburger. All his favorite things and all the things he never got the chance to try.
So, with this naive confidence, I brought my work computer and Evan brought his. But it wasn’t long. He was seen immediately and within 15 minutes the doctor somberly greeted us in our room.
Baby boy was internally bleeding from a tumor likely due to another type of cancer, possibly a tumor of the blood vessels.
Internal bleeding was all I needed to hear. Tears. I knew this was it. But I still had hope.
Can we take him home and do the euthanasia tomorrow? Can we give him one last good day? Can we do all the things I mentally planned to do for him when his time finally came?
This wouldn’t be the case. It was time to arrange for saying goodbye there and then.
——
When they finally brought him into the "comfort room," my heart shattered a million more times.
Magdalena, his first-ever tech at this veterinary office for his heart condition, happened to be working and was the one who brought him to us. He loved her. And she loved him. Throughout his two short years but dozens of visits of being seen at this office, she was such a great constant for him.
When there for his surgery consult one time, I remember being in the waiting room and hearing commotion down the hall. He had spotted her and ran over to her for scratches. It always made my heart soar when he had these experiences at a vet office. A place that usually causes him so much stress.
Seeing her, with tears in her eyes, knowing all we’ve been through with Bentley just crushed me. But I was so glad of all people to bring him to us it was her. Someone he knew. Someone who cared for him as much as we did.
She gave us time and told us to ring a button when we’re ready for the doctor.
It was so tough because he seemed so alert! Were we making the right decision? Does it really need to be today? Right now? Here?
But it did. And we knew it. We wanted more time but he was hurting.
And so it was time. And it was the saddest.
I will spare you the unnecessary description of that part.
Evan and I left the room through their door that leads straight to outside, and through all of this, we finally stopped and hugged for the first time. We had an Ariana Grande / Cynthia Erivo style finger hold in the waiting room and a short hand hold at another point. But we had both essentially been managing on our own.
The hugs are the saddest for me. It’s when we finally accept what’s going on. It’s when we let ourselves feel grounded by another person. But, for me, that human touch is always when I break down the most. My body releases. The emotional dam breaks.
I push it off as long as possible.
And so we separated and walked to the car. Time to go home. Without B.
——
The tears dried up until we pulled to the house and I saw the storm door. The storm door.
The storm door I bought this fall so that we could open our front door and so that way Bentley could look out at the neighborhood even in the colder months. He loved his window seats in all our past apartments. This was my gift for him I was so excited about. The storm door. For my dog.
This isn’t going to be easy.
Walking through the house. All the toys. All the beds. We haven’t been living here long and already have so many memories.
The tears dried up finally after some Impractical Jokers to disconnect and I thought, "Ok maybe I’ll handle this well and not be persistently emotional about this. He was 13 after all."
But then Wednesday morning came.
——
This morning sucks. Waking up in the middle of the night and seeing his bed and toys didn’t phase me too much but when I properly woke up to go to the bathroom the sight of his bed unwound me.
So that is what we will be navigating today and the next few days. The toys. The beds. The memories that’ll trigger from having the front door open. The memories that’ll trigger from looking at the chaise, his favorite spot in the house. The dog food that will need to be donated. The heart meds that just got refilled yesterday that will arrive in the mail any day now.
And navigating the feeling of neglect and guilt. The past couple months we have been so focused on house and baby. Sure, we have been doting on him. But have we been playing with him as much as he deserves? Going for walks as much as he should? Did Bentley feel as loved or did he notice the distraction? I can only hope the times I crawled on the floor with him and our walks and plays, albeit fewer, were enough and he knew how loved he still was.
——
I know a lot of people won’t get it. That this whole reflection is dramatic.
"It’s just a dog."
And I know a lot of people will get it.
The people who know how human-like dogs can become with their little personalities, with their idiosyncrasies, their eyes! — Bentley had the most emotive eyes!—, with how they make you feel, and with how you know you can make them feel by treating them with love.
And Bentley really was my baby. I was a baby when I got him. 22 years old. A single mom, I would call myself. "I can’t go out this weekend, I’ve got to take care of Bentley."
I’m so lucky he was with me for 13 years and with Evan for 12. I’m so fortunate to be the one who got to take care of that sweet boy all these years. That I was the one that got to have him in my life. And I can’t wait to tell his baby sister all about him. The bestest boy.
Comments