It's just a dog.

[JayPowHound]

We put our 12 year old Samoyed Bentley down on Monday. He had been going downhill for the past week, stoped eating, and the vet couldn't pinpoint why. He lived a great life, and it was his time. We are absolutely heartbroken. I will never be able to write as elegantly as my wife, so thought I would share her beautiful tribute here...

On July 2, 2006, Russell and I picked up the most beautiful and gentle white puppy, and he graced our lives for 12 years to the day. Yesterday, on July 2, 2018, we let him go.

It seems strange to say I learned from a dog, especially a dog who was clearly not the brightest bulb, even by canine standards. But though Bentley was not wise in his understanding, there was a sort of wisdom in his absolute goodness, and I'm humbled to have shared a life with a creature of such grace.

Bentley saw the world through lovestruck eyes. He never encountered a being he didn't want to befriend. His conquests included a playful pot-bellied pig who liked to play chase, and a large, mangy sheep who would run to meet Bentley at her fence so they could nuzzle and lick each other between the rails. He was less successful with a baby llama, whom he frightened, and with a cement elephant statue, who never returned his advances, but his failures were not for lack of effort or optimism.

Bentley was incapable of anger or aggression. His breeder warned us that due to centuries of specialized breeding, Samoyeds sometimes don't understand or recognize aggression. And indeed, I had to watch him closely and protect him around other dogs. A Rottweiler is snarling and snapping at him, ears back and tail rigid? Great! It's a snarling and snapping game! Bentley would confidently bounce towards the growling creature, barking, smiling, and wagging his tail, and I'd have to restrain him so he wasn't hurt. He got retained in the puppy class at his doggie daycare because, as the owner apologetically explained, "even though he's so big, he just seems to fit in better with the puppies. Is that OK?" Of course it was OK. It was more than OK. What a delight and a privilege it was to love and care for this purely peaceful, forever puppyish, creature.

Bentley was infinitely tolerant. Though he had a good 45 pounds on any of our other pets, he would stand back meekly if any of them wanted to eat his food, placidly waiting for his turn. May went through a phase of trying to pull off his nose (another time we had to protect him!), and of holding onto his tongue, which he would patiently, calmly allow. For about a year May used him as a step-stool to get onto the couch, and to get off she'd slide onto him and then bounce off onto the floor. He just eyed her happily, with his characteristic grin.

Bentley was a natural caregiver, even when he was a baby himself. We brought Clementine, Oliver, and Chucho home in turn when he was still a puppy, and he tended to each tenderly, seeming to intuit their needs. Little Oliver was ill and weighed less than a pound, and Bentley anxiously licked the tiny creature, cleaning him all over, and then watched him intently as Oliver slept. Bentley waiting patiently outside of fearful Chucho's crate, even as Chucho growled at him, till the moment when Chucho was ready to meet. When May came home from the hospital, Bentley barely slept for the first few days. Instead he ran around the house, continually monitoring the different places she might be in turn: the couch! the bassinet! the bouncy seat! Back to the couch! Unfortunately, you can't explain object permanence to a not-so-bright dog, so we couldn't figure out how to convince him that if she was in one spot, she was not in any other. He eventually smartened up, and would lie in place in front of her, head on his paws, staring at her sleeping figure. He was equally assiduous in caring for the boys when they came home, and I often remembered how Samoyeds had been bred for centuries to stay in the home with children as their parents left to hunt.

Despite his absolute gentleness, Bentley was not a pushover. He knew what he wanted, and he would assert himself stubbornly, happily, lovingly. During his first year I did many solo drives between Vermont and Boston. I'd put Bentley in the back seat, and put the "dog-proof" barrier up. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, with a grin and a wagging tail, Bentley would push against the barrier. There were never sudden movements, never impatience, just a careful, studied, steady movement towards his goal. As I realized he was making progress, maybe 40 minutes into the process, I'd start frantically holding him back with one elbow as a drove, but he'd just keep up the gentle but steady pressure. There were many times I pulled over at a rest stop with Bentley, triumphant, in the front seat on my lap, and had to replace him in the back seat. At least once I stopped on the side of the road after he tried a new tactic, and managed to wedge his pelvis sideways between the passenger seat and the door. Reinstalled in the back, Bentley would pant and smile at me guilelessly, tail wagging, then start again that calm and relentless movement forward.

We often use the word "warrior" or "fighter" to describe someone who's survived many illnesses, but I can't apply a word to Bentley that is so counter to his nature. Still, in his 12 years, Bentley gracefully endured more medical care than most humans will in their lifetimes. His only faults were follies, never malice: his love of escaping from the yard for "adventures," sometimes cheerfully jumping into other people's cars, or walking into their houses to play; and of course, his incorrigible, devastating, and deadly drive to eat socks. Each successive surgery was harder, and the last was nearly fatal. We knew we could never subject our sweet boy to any more.

We lost our dog yesterday, a dog we dearly love, and dearly needed. But I feel the world also lost something it needs. The news is so often dominated by meanness and selfishness, by barriers and borders, and suspicion of others. Bentley represented an alternative way to live: to love unquestioningly and unselfishly, to return aggression with kindness, to persist without frustration or meanness, to care tenderly for all who are vulnerable or suffering.

We love you and miss you, Bentley Boy. We were infinitely blessed by your gentle soul, and we will strive to honor you by learning from your model. Rest in peace, sweet boy.

[Mazderati]

RIP

[Cono Este]

Beautiful dog RIP. You’ll hook up with him again one day.


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[mall walker]

RIP

[mall walker]

Maybe everybody knows about this place? I just heard of it.

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/p...and-of-strays/

https://barkpost.com/good/land-of-the-strays-paradise/

heck yeah

[ACH]

RIP Bentley. That was a moving tribute, thank you for sharing. Condolences to you and your family and all that Bentley touched in one way or another.

[savemeasammy]

That was a great read, JPH. You and your family were lucky to have such a great dog [emoji106].

[Supermoon]

RIP Bentley. May all the cement elephants in heaven return your friendship.

[Gepeto]

Looks like Bentley was a little heaven right here on earth

Peace until you catch up with him

[Harry]

Daisy passed away last night in her sleep. Another stroke.

[ACH]

Daisy passed away last night in her sleep. Another stroke.

Harry, I am so sorry.

[Mazderati]

RIP, Daisy.

[PNWbrit]

My condolences Harry.

[Supermoon]

RIP Daisy. I'm so sorry Harry.

[CascadeLuke]

Sorry to hear Harry. My condolences
RIP

[Norseman]

Sorry, Harry.

[Djongo Unchained]

Awwww, Harry, I am so sad for you. Just crushed that I did not get one more moment with her.

How lucky was I to get a few hours with her.

Very, very sad here.

[2bjenny]

So sorry Harry.

[Sirshredalot]

Daisy passed away last night in her sleep. Another stroke.

My condolences, dude.

[Gepeto]

Harry, it would be wonderful if I could come up with something that would make a difference right now. Something to soften the blow, dull the ache or make your loss easier.

Losing a kindred spirit is an inevitably. Furkids seem especially hard to me... because they are here for a short period of time and yet the bond and trust is of such a high caliber.

I'm happy that she made her exit in such a passive way - godspeed

Daisy was lucky to have you

peace my friend

[lifelinksplit]

Sorry harry.

I really hate seeing this and the cancer thread bumped..

[My Pet Powder Goat]

Sorry for your loss, Harry. Thinking of you, man.

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[Harry]

Thanks for everyone's support. Seems strange not starting my day by taking Daisy out for a walk.

[liv2ski]

Thanks for everyone's support. Seems strange not starting my day by taking Daisy out for a walk.

If you have the inclination, there are likely dogs at the pound that would love you to volunteer to walk them. That and fostering dogs is what I plan to do when my two best friends leave me.
Gepeto said it well. I am very sorry for your loss Harry.

[skiJ]

" Really Important Stuff my dog has taught me "
( Cynthia Copeland )

in a cute little book...

" Love is an action word.

Dogs don't just feel love,
they show it consistently and with enthusiasm.
They try to lift us up when we are down, and
they celebrate with us when we rejoice.
They treat old friends with kindness and
they approach new friends with optimism and enthusiasm.

Dogs never withhold affection, nor do they suddenly decide we are not worthy of their love.
Loyal to the end,
they love us unconditionally, with deep and everlasting devotion. "


I hope you have known such a dog...


… see you on the hill (!)


my Thanks to tgr for hosting this community... tj

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