A tribute to Ben.
Posted: Tue Apr 28, 2009 7:32 pm
Ben.
Benjamin Franklin, my beloved poodle.
19 years. 19 years we have been together. From the instant I saw you in the pet store at Christmas and spent every penny I had, and borrowed more besides, to buy you, you have been my dog.
Bobbie Jean was always Mother's. Holly was always Jamey's, but you, my wonderful, silly Pookie, you were always mine.
19 years. God, it's so hard to imagine that you were with me so long. That's just shy of half of my life. I have cousins younger than you. From when I just got out of the military and lived in Virginia, through Texas, through Florida, through New Orleans, and then to West Virginia, you have been with me. You have been my pet, my companion, and my friend. You and me, we were family, in all the ways that being family mattered. We watched out for each other. We were always there to comfort each other. And no matter how bad things were, you were always there to scare me half to death with your shrill, loud bark to make me pay attention to you, which would lead to playing, which would make all my worries and cares melt away.
We made each other happy, and we loved each other.
I knew you were hurting. I knew that being blind made it hard for you to navigate the house. I knew the arthritis was so bad you had trouble walking, that your hernia made it hard to lay down comfortably. I knew I was close approaching making that painful decision to have you put to sleep. But no. You were a fighter. I know mom and Jamey thought it was past time, but they didn't know you like I did, baby. I knew I'd know when that time would come, and I knew that you weren't ready to go quite yet. Despite being blind and having trouble walking, you were still the silly puppy you were so many years ago. I knew that when the puppy faded and a tired old dog replaced him, you'd be ready. But you weren't ready quite yet.
I knew you weren't ready to go, but I could also see that your old age was catching up to you. I knew that you'd die here, in our house, when your old bones finally convinced the silly puppy inside to take a long, peaceful sleep.
I thought I was ready. Nearly a year now, you've been on the verge of it. But today, when I saw you laying in your little bed and you didn't raise your head when I called out to you in greeting as I hung my hat on the hatrack, I knew. And I realized that no matter how ready you think you are, you are never ready enough to say goodbye to someone who has shared so much of your life.
Today, my beloved, wonderful poodle, my pet and friend of 19 years, passed away. He died peacefully in his sleep from the looks of it, at home and where he belonged, where he deserved to be.
Goodbye, Ben. God, I'm going to miss you. I love you very much.
Sleep well. You earned it.
Benjamin Franklin, my beloved poodle.
19 years. 19 years we have been together. From the instant I saw you in the pet store at Christmas and spent every penny I had, and borrowed more besides, to buy you, you have been my dog.
Bobbie Jean was always Mother's. Holly was always Jamey's, but you, my wonderful, silly Pookie, you were always mine.
19 years. God, it's so hard to imagine that you were with me so long. That's just shy of half of my life. I have cousins younger than you. From when I just got out of the military and lived in Virginia, through Texas, through Florida, through New Orleans, and then to West Virginia, you have been with me. You have been my pet, my companion, and my friend. You and me, we were family, in all the ways that being family mattered. We watched out for each other. We were always there to comfort each other. And no matter how bad things were, you were always there to scare me half to death with your shrill, loud bark to make me pay attention to you, which would lead to playing, which would make all my worries and cares melt away.
We made each other happy, and we loved each other.
I knew you were hurting. I knew that being blind made it hard for you to navigate the house. I knew the arthritis was so bad you had trouble walking, that your hernia made it hard to lay down comfortably. I knew I was close approaching making that painful decision to have you put to sleep. But no. You were a fighter. I know mom and Jamey thought it was past time, but they didn't know you like I did, baby. I knew I'd know when that time would come, and I knew that you weren't ready to go quite yet. Despite being blind and having trouble walking, you were still the silly puppy you were so many years ago. I knew that when the puppy faded and a tired old dog replaced him, you'd be ready. But you weren't ready quite yet.
I knew you weren't ready to go, but I could also see that your old age was catching up to you. I knew that you'd die here, in our house, when your old bones finally convinced the silly puppy inside to take a long, peaceful sleep.
I thought I was ready. Nearly a year now, you've been on the verge of it. But today, when I saw you laying in your little bed and you didn't raise your head when I called out to you in greeting as I hung my hat on the hatrack, I knew. And I realized that no matter how ready you think you are, you are never ready enough to say goodbye to someone who has shared so much of your life.
Today, my beloved, wonderful poodle, my pet and friend of 19 years, passed away. He died peacefully in his sleep from the looks of it, at home and where he belonged, where he deserved to be.
Goodbye, Ben. God, I'm going to miss you. I love you very much.
Sleep well. You earned it.
