Tribute to a special friend

My dog died today. Not a violent death by vehicle or anything nearly that horrifying. My Bennie just went limp in my arms as the vet injected a yellowy substance into his vein. 

He struggled a little as the fluid moved into his body, but only for a second.

As his weight transferred from his legs to my arms, I muttered involuntarily, “boy this is hard”. 

The vet offered a reassuring “You’re doing the right thing.”

But that didn’t make it easier. That wouldn’t bring my Bennie back. That wouldn’t make it all better when I went to bed and searched the silence for his gentle snores. It wouldn’t help when I felt so alone where usually there was a gentle body at my feet. No, the fact that we did the right thing wasn’t going to make it ache any less.

But Bennie had gotten old and feeble, his mind tacky as his senses, sight and hearing, had diminished to merely echoes and shadows. The seizures had taken over and his increasing confusion gripped at my heart, telling me what I had to do. He needed to go home with dignity, something nature was not going to allow.

And then before I could blink back the tears, it was over. My Bennie was gone. I stroked his head and told him he was a good boy, but it was too late, it was over too fast. I thought I’d have a moment while he relaxed into his forever sleep, when I could stroke him and tell him I’d miss him, but there was no time. 

My Bennie, my little white friend, licker of ankles and stealer of cat food had already gone home. 

And I was stoic until the end, my sobbing husband admonishing my tearless smile as we had waited for the vet. But at the very last, after husband had left for the sanctity of the lobby and I stood, the lifeless dog in my arms, I cried. Not for what I had done, but for what I had lost. My good little Bennie. 

We'll miss you, buddy.

Bennie

? - May 11, 2006