Good Boy, Bentley. Good boy.

"Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened." ~ Anatole France

You know it's going to be a hard story to write when you tear up before typing the first word. Before the title even. The lump in my throat aches and the tears sting before I can begin. But through the sadness and the writer's block that it's brought, I can't help but feel so damn lucky to be typing this story out in the first place.

We lost our beloved boxer, Bentley, this past weekend. We knew it was coming for the most part. His health had declined rapidly towards the end. In the span of about a week, he went from being well enough to go on a run with Ben to barely being able to move. He stopped eating, his breathing got labored. We knew. But that didn't mean we gave up hope.

Ben and I first considered the idea of a "real dog" (as opposed to a pesky pair of Chihuahuas) when we were newlyweds. We had been married just over a year when we decided to take the leap to realdogdom. I looked through the classifieds online and found an ad for a boxer baby in Houston. We lived in Corpus Christi at the time courtesy of the US Navy, but my parents lived in Houston and my dad was kind enough to go check out the puppy for us. We eagerly awaited his report. The results? Well, Dad said the puppy was cute but wasn't as striped as he thought we wanted. We did want a brindle but this little guy, who the breeder had been calling Bentley, was too cute to pass up over a few missing stripes. We decided to take a roadtrip and see him for ourselves. You know, just for a look. Just to see of course. We were still going to think about it regardless of how cute he was we told eachother. Yeah, we drove home with him that night. Trust me, if you had seen him, you wouldn't have been able to pass him up either.

See?

The adjustment from newlyweds to newlyweds with a boxer was an easy one. We affectionately called Bentley our firstborn and spoiled him as such. He was truly our baby. Our sweet, hilarious, adorable, gassy baby. There wasn't a thing about him that we didn't love. But as quickly as our bliss had set in, it was interrupted. Bentley, despite having had all of his vaccinations on course, had parvo. The vet didn't know if he'd make it. We didn't care that the odds weren't in his favor... we wouldn't give up on him. And he didn't give up on us... he made it. Tragedy averted!

Post-parvo, his vet noticed a pronounced heart murmur that hadn't been heard prior. He said it may be something that caused problems down the line, but maybe not. We hoped for the best and moved on with life. The Navy moved us around the country and then to the other side of the world. And then Ben left us. The dreaded D word. DEPLOYMENT.

I can't really describe what a deployment is like to someone whose spouse doesn't do it. There is no way to accurately depict what it is like to be left on your own, 32 weeks pregnant, on the other side of the world. But I wasn't exactly alone. No, I had Bentley. And that meant everything. No matter what, I had another living, breathing being in the house. No, I wasn't alone.

Bentley and I passed the time with flying colors. We went on walks, we checked the mail, we went on more walks, we... okay, so yeah, our life was kind of boring. But it didn't matter because we were happy. And he didn't give me crazy looks when I did outlandish things like decide, at 38 weeks pregnant, to paint a nursery with 10 foot ceilings. He didn't judge when I wore pajamas all day. Or ate cereal for dinner for the eighth day in a row. What a good boy you are, I thought. If the baby and you don't get along, well, we'll have to find a good home for the baby.

Once our daughter, Caroline, came along, Bentley couldn't have been a better "big brother." Let me tell you a secret. When Caroline was born, and my husband rejoined his deployment and my mother in law left, I was devastated. I was certain that I wouldn't be able to raise a baby by myself. Especially because Caroline was not an easy baby! I even called my mom, in tears, because I felt so overwhelmed. (Me admitting defeat just about never happens.) I don't remember what she said (I was sleep deprived) but I managed to get off the phone and make it another day with Bentley by my side.

Bentley was always at my side. Literally, always. In the middle of the night, when Caroline was wailing, Bentley was with me. In the moments when exhaustion hit so hard that it hurt, Bentley was with me. He absolutely did not leave my side. Even when the hormones took over and I took my frustrations out on him by just being irritated that he was by my side, he stayed by my side. I may not have had my husband by my side, but I had a living, breathing being sharing those hard times with me. We could get through it I thought. I could get through it. And I did.

Time passed and Bentley, Caroline and I were a happy, functioning family unit.  Bentley was protective, loving and attentive to Caroline. She was always fascinated by him. And would you believe that she would only laugh when he did something entertaining? I could be hopping on one foot, singing, dancing, heck, shooting monkeys out of my fingers, and she wouldn't so much as smile. But if Bentley glanced at her a certain way, she erupted in giggles. It didn't come as much of a surprise when her first word was "Dog."

Ben returned, we happily embraced being a family of four and life went on. But not without one hitch -- Bentley was occasionally collapsing after physical activity. After having his heart examined by the best veterinarian in Guam, we were told that Bentley's heart wasn't doing stellar. But as long as he seemed happy and functional, life would go on. We were told to just be aware that his heart would likely limit his lifespan. No big deal we thought. I think we were convinced he'd live forever, bad prognosis or not.

Then came the hardest setbacks I had ever experienced. My appendix ruptured and my husband deployed to Iraq. GREAT! How am I going to take care of a toddler when I can barely walk I wondered. Luckily I had my sister and great friends who helped. But I also had my dog -- my living, breathing being -- who stayed at my side. He stayed at my side that whole deployment.

Although I avoided the news as best I could, I'd still occasionally catch glimpse of a report of a helicopter crash. My heart would skip a beat and I'd wonder if I'd be the next military wife to get a knock at my door. Inexplicably, whenever this sort of news made its way to me, Bentley was there for me. Reminding me that no matter what happened, he'd be there. Somehow, that was what got me through those bad moments. I was incredibly fortunate and my husband came home completely unscathed. Caroline, Bentley and I were thrilled!

Life went on, the Navy moved us back across the world, and I gave birth to our second child. Things were crazy again, sleep deprivation set in in full force and Bentley once again became the middle-of-the-night cohort in exhaustion. At one point in the newborn haze, Ben had to go out of town for a week, causing me to panic. Tears streamed down my face as I thought about trying to take care of two little ones on my own. My only comfort was knowing I'd have my furry companion by my side. Once again, Bentley was getting me through one of life's obstacles. While our families and friends always commented on how strong I was, I was literally getting by because of the companionship of my dog. I wasn't as strong as any of them gave me credit for. We survived that week just fine and I thought maybe I was stronger than I gave myself credit for.

Bentley started getting a lot of gray hair but still seemed perfectly healthy. Hey, he was dealing with me, so of course he had gray hair. The vet said that he was perfectly healthy, albeit a little older looking than normal. Listening to his heart, he reminded me that Bentley wouldn't have the lifespan of a typical boxer. I nodded with acknowledgment of course but still thought we had a good amount of time left with Bentley. I was wrong.

We had planned a family trip to Monterey for a week. Ben would be attending his MBA orientation while the kids, Bentley and I explored the sites and sounds of Monterey. At the start of our trip, we knew something was wrong with Bentley. He was having trouble walking very suddenly and his appetite wasn't normal. I took him to a veterinarian in the area who found a couple of significant infections in Bentley's body. She started him on a regimen of antibiotics and medicine to help with his stiff joints. In the following days, he almost returned to normal. Whew, dodged that bullet, we thought. And boy did we enjoy those few great days with him. He was back to his old self, following me around, laying at my feet, keeping me company. Toward the end of the week though, we started seeing a decline again. Something was wrong.

It was time to head home, so we loaded up the car with big plans to have Bentley see his regular veterinarian as soon as possible. But as we drove, with Bentley tucked in between the kids' carseats in the back, we could tell something was very wrong. His breathing was labored. Ben and I both knew without saying it -- Bentley was dying. Neither of us knew how to accept the news. We didn't know how to survive it. I mean, we knew we WOULD survive it, but how? He was our firstborn after all.

Once we got back to San Diego, we took Bentley to the animal ER. Chest Xrays confirmed what we expected. His heart was failing. But the veterinarian thought that with quick and proper treatment, she could reverse the heart failure. With a regimen of daily heart medication, he would likely be just fine for a while. Whew, bullet dodged... again! We said goodbye to Bentley in his oxygen tent and went home for the night. He looked happy, almost healthy even, and was breathing much easier. He could probably come home the next evening as long as he responded to the heart medications well. The veterinarian said she'd only call us if there was a problem. We felt so lucky as we drove home.

I was nursing Harrison in preparation for bedtime when the phone rang. It was the veterinarian. The news wasn't good. Although Bentley initially did better with the oxygen, he was starting to look worse. She ran more bloodwork and found that his RBC's and platelets were at extremely dangerous and none-life-sustaining numbers. The prognosis wasn't good. Likely, Bentley had leukemia or Evan's Syndrome. His stage of leukemia would not be treatable and treatment for Evan's Syndrome was bleak. A perfectly healthy dog's survival odds would be less than 20%. But with Bentley's heart failing, the odds just weren't there. He could not be saved. And with that, we had to go and say our goodbyes.

With both kids in tow, and tears abounding, we went back to the pet hospital. They brought Bentley in and we hugged and kissed him. We tried to memorize the way his fur felt under our fingertips even though we had felt it a million times before. We held him and watched with pain in our hearts as he continued to struggle to breath. It was time. We told Caroline that Bentley couldn't feel well here with us anymore. That the only way he could feel better was to go to Heaven and the medicine he was about to receive would help take him there. Ben held Bentley in his arms while Caroline and I petted him. I said the words that always seemed to bring him the most joy. "Bentley, you're a good boy. You're a really good boy. Good boy, Bentley. Good boy." And with that, he nestled his head back into Ben and his heart stopped. My living, breathing being was... gone. And so began a lingering, aching pain. Oh how I miss him!

Caroline's looked up at the stars the last few nights with joy. "I can see the stars, Mama, so Bentley can see us from Heaven!" Tonight I caught her looking out our living room window at the stars whispering to Bentley that she loves him. I love him too. I've whispered those same words. I miss him with all of my heart.

Bentley wasn't just a dog to me, to us. He was a constant friend, a sweet spirit. He was a comic and a companion. He was loving, loyal and kind. He was a firsthand witness to the new, giddy love that marriage brewed between Ben and I and the transition that love underwent to a comfortable love between maturing adults. He witnessed our family double in size and traveled the world. He watched us all grow up in one way or another. And though life goes on without him, we'll miss our boy forever. Through all of the sadness, I can't shake one thing -- how lucky I feel. So lucky to have had such a wonderful dog by my side through these years. So damn lucky.

He was more than just a living, breathing being. So much more.

Good boy, Bentley. Good boy.

Such an affectionate boy!

"Ridiculously good-looking" is what we loved to say to him.  He loved hearing it.

The inseparable pair, always doing everything together!

Always with me!

A girl and her dog!

My all-time favorite picture of the boys.

Bentley and I hunkering down during a typhoon drill.

His last picture during our Monterey road trip.  Such a good boy until the end!

"He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion."

                                        - Unknown