It's Never Long Enough

My 12 year old dog named Benny is gone.

I adopted Benny when he was about seven years old. He was half golden retriever and half corgi. He had the beautiful red coat, the floppy ears and the fringed tale of a golden, along with a golden temperament. The rest of his body was that of a corgi, right down to the broad back and short legs.

Benny was an absolutely wonderful dog. He was my companion throughout the pandemic lockdown, and I’m not sure I would have made it through the isolation without him by my side.

The years passed, and we were comfortable in our life together. And then I had to face what every person who shares a life with a beloved dog or cat or horse or rabbit must eventually face. 

Our animals age so much more quickly than we do. Benny was very hard of hearing at the end of his life, which wasn't a problem. It just meant I had to speak very loudly so he could hear me. A couple of years ago he suddenly became a very picky eater. Benny was never terribly interested in food, unlike my other dog, who is a real chow hound.

Benny also began panting, a lot. Unless he was sleeping, he was panting. It was rather annoying sometimes, listening to his constant panting. But I'm sure it wasn't fun for him either. I took him to the veterinarian four different times. We did x-rays. We did blood work. We checked his urine. Nothing showed up that would explain his panting. but recently his panting became more pronounced.

Dogs pant for a number of reasons, including being hot, being nervous or being in pain. It’s hot outside, but it wasn’t hot during the winter, and the temperature inside my house right now is a very pleasant 71°F. I don’t think he was nervous, although he was obsessed with licking the carpet or rug. So maybe he had some anxiety, which leaves pain as the reason for his panting. There was no obvious reason for him to be in pain. I gave him prescription pain medication, which was not an easy feat because he hated to be medicated. It didn’t do any good. I gave him some canine ulcer medicine, in case his stomach was bothering him. I couldn’t tell that it made any difference.

I will never know the reason for his panting. But it was  killing me to not know what was going on with him. I would never want one of my dogs to remain in pain.

On his final day, Benny slept next to my foot as I sat in the living room. He’s always been nearby, but he doesn’t usually sleep so he’s touching me. This, of course, set my mind to racing. Is he hurting? Does he know he’s dying? And is he afraid? When we were in the back yard one evening, he did some exploring, but then he walked over and sat next to me as I sat on the edge of the stone fire pit.

Benny was named Bailey when I adopted him, but I had a dog with the same name and I didn't want to have two dogs with the same name. Each dog deserves his/her own, unique name. Benny was a perfect name for the new dog, and it was similar enough to Bailey that I hoped it wouldn't confuse him. He took to the new name right away.

Since then, he was called Benny, Ben, Boo, Benny Boo, Benjamin, Bud and Buddy. He was a quiet, gentle, kind and friendly dog. He never destroyed or tore up anything, aside from digging a few unwelcome holes in my yard. I could always trust him to have the run of the house when I was gone.

And now Benny is gone. He gave me several subtle signs that he was ready. Taken together, they gave me the answer for which I had been waiting. It wasn’t a smack on the side of the head answer, but I’ve had dogs for 50 years, and I know when they are trying to tell me something.

We made his last day special. I took him for a longer than usual, leisurely walk with all the time he wanted to sniff and mark. He had a little bit of breakfast, mostly ground beef. I let him into the back yard and he spent his time sticking his head into the bushes looking for lizards, something he always loved to do. As I drove him to the veterinary hospital for the very last time, I put the back windows halfway down, and he rode with his head out the window. He was happy. His passing was peaceful. I told him I will always love him, and I thanked him for being such a good boy.

As soon as I returned home, I really missed Benny. I miss all the little things I did to accommodate him. He used to sleep when I was in my recliner with the foot rest up, squirreled away under the raised foot rest. I find myself looking for him to make sure he’s OK. 

Now I switch between feeling numb and feeling as if something is squeezing my heart. I miss preparing his meals, which over the past few months have become more involved as he refused to eat his typical dog food. Benny weighed only 25 pounds when he died, having lost 5 pounds once he became such a picky eater. 

I am writing to keep from breaking down in never ending tears. Writing helps me clarify my thoughts and feelings, but I know this isn't the most coherent piece of writing I have done.

This day, which of course I knew was coming, came far too quickly. But then these days always come far too quickly. There’s never enough time. It’s always too soon. 

Making the decision to end the life of a beloved animal companion is the absolute worst thing anyone can do. When I adopt a dog, I don’t sign up to have to decide when is the right time to end that animal’s life. But giving my dogs a painless and humane death after a lifetime of companionship, regardless of how long that lifetime is, is the last act of love I can give my dogs. I am grateful that I can end their suffering when nothing else will.

Unfortunately, that decision isn’t clear cut in many cases. Sometimes it’s painfully obvious that it is time. I have had that happen with some of my dogs. But at other times, as in Benny’s case, the signs were very subtle, and I had to piece them together. But things became clear the evening before Benny died. Things became clear to me without my really thinking about them. All of a sudden, I just knew

Things were clear enough that I knew what I had to do. So yesterday morning very early, before 6 AM, when the weather was still cool, I took Benny for a longer than usual, leisurely walk. He had lots of time to sniff, to poop several times and to mark his territory. When we got home, he ate part of his breakfast. Then after I walked my other dog, I let them into the back yard. He enjoyed sticking his head and sometimes his whole body into some of the plants in the yard as he looked for lizards. As we drove to the vet clinic for the final time, I put the rear windows halfway down. I wish I could have gotten a picture of him with a smile on his face and his head hanging out the window.

Benny was a calm, sweet, kind dog. He liked other dogs and he liked people. He never tried to jump on anybody. He was easy to walk. In his younger days he enjoyed carrying a toy in his mouth in typical retriever fashion. One thing I will always remember is that how, when I raised my arms he would go running across the yard toward me. That kind of joy, that kind of love, is priceless.

I recently commented to friends that Benny had all the best traits of a golden retriever but in a smaller body. 

Rest well, my sweet boy, until we meet again.