A tribute to Ben from his Foster Dad

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We have been so touched by this heartfelt tribute to Gentle Ben, from his Foster Dad, Martin:

Dear Gentledog Ben.
I’m so sorry that I had to take you to the Vets for the last time,
I had hoped that they could make you better,
Heal your broken body,
Bring back our dog who liked to play with his toys,
Hypnotise me for treats,
Go for a gentle walk in the park,
But I carried you in, and you never came out.

I feel guilty I could not do more.
Concerned that the drugs we gave you were to much for your old, frail body.
My heart hurts at the thought that we could have kept you longer.
Made you comfortable,
Helped you to the toilet,
Fed you by hand.
You might have felt better in a few days.
We could have had longer.

I keep waiting for you to lie against my leg.
I miss the tap on my knee from a paw reminding me you’re there, and hungry for a treat
I see your toys. I don’t have the heart to put them away.
Your collar sits where we left it on our return home yesterday.
Belle’s missing the occasional bump off you as you wander by.
I’m missing the tell tale noises of you shuffling around in the kitchen hunting for treasure from the meal cooked earlier.
There’s no battle between two dogs to get to the door first anymore.
You usually won, but Belle was winning the race more and more of late.

Dear Mum and Dad.
I couldn’t go on any longer.
I tried the last few days to regain the strength in my limbs, but this morning I couldn’t even lift my feet.
You brought me some water and helped me drink it. I was parched but couldn’t make it to the bowl
You saw how my back paws scraped and how one foot bled because I banged it on the cold stones.
You helped me to go to the toilet. I know it’s not a glamorous job but I couldn’t do it on my own. I kept losing balance and falling over.
You held me steady so that I kept my dignity.
Mum even held a bowl under me when needed a wee but I couldn’t lift my body.

I tried to laugh when you both lifted me in the blanket to take me to the Vet
You looked so clumsy.
It wasn’t very comfortable for me. But better than walking.
Dad drove the car really slowly to the vets so I didn’t get bumped in the car.
Woe-betide anyone who had honked their horn at the ‘Sunday Driver’ this cold Thursday morning.
You know I hate to be lifted, I even bit you once when you tried to…not a nasty bite, just a slight moment of impatience to remind you to be careful.
But I was grateful on this day that you were firm with me.
You carried my weight so that my last few yards were less stressful. I didn’t bite you this time.

I’m sorry you were so upset when you, mum and the Vet decided what must be done.
If I could speak I would have agreed.
This old body had had enough.
I enjoyed that small handful of biscuits.
The needle didn’t hurt a bit…I’m used to needles. I’ve had lots over the last few years.
I’m glad you held my head in your hands while I drifted away.
I promise it didn’t hurt. I didn’t cry, grunt, or yelp. It just felt like going to sleep.
And I’m glad that you, mum and the kind vet and nurses were the last things I saw.
It would be a beautiful thing were it not so sad.

Euthenasia is a really cold word.
Being put to sleep doesn’t make sense, because I’m not going to wake up.
Being put down is nonsense, because I’m already lied down.
I haven’t been ‘destroyed’. I’m not a used car or piece of machinery.
I like the English translation of Euthenasia better. ‘The Gentle Death’ or ‘The Good Death’.
You were always gentle with me in life. And you helped make my passing gentle to.
And in one small corner of Lancashire on this cold, icy morning,
Man was dog’s best friend.

A sincere thank-you to Martin and Vanessa, and all of our wonderful foster carers, who invest so much time and love, and selflessly dedicate themselves to caring for our precious oldies.

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