October 20, 2017

White Dog and the rest of the White Dog Army surrounded the bed as Steve laid Benson's body on the golden colored sheet that was his shroud. They stood at attention as Benson's collar was ceremoniously removed and placed in my hands. Then Benson was wrapped for his last car ride...to the pet crematorium.

Steve's hardest moment was preparing breakfast minus one bowl which stayed on the counter, empty. Mine was the holding of Ben's collar; our pups wear their collars all of the time with id tags. For this not the be on his neck drove home the pain that they were no longer needed.

I carried him in my lap to the cemetery office pressed against me. It wasn't him. It was the shell. But the finality was harsh.

Oddly, they asked if we wanted to wait and they could cast his pawprint as we had requested (instead of picking it up in a few days). I wanted to scream "NO! I want to get away from this place and its soft gentleness. I want to curl up and let the pain pound and the tears flow." But we waited; Benson's paw looked smaller than it felt in my hand.

The White Dogs took turns keeping watch over me and trying to remember how Benson did all the little comforting things he did. Their love and devotion touched me deeply. I did not know how to say "I need to hurt for a while, please just understand and let me be. It is no reflection on you whom I love so much."

No subq fluids were needed tonight. Nor was there our ritual of an aloe vera massage. No rewards for the entire WDA for supervising Benson's therapy. The night seems wrong.

Finding the new normal is going to take time, I know. And being accidentally reminded of the little things...like healthier days when Nilla and Benson used to basketball leap for their supper bowls...will cause tears to roll.

My comfort is knowing that My Very Special Boy is not in pain or suffering.