by Patti Lara
Farewell to Ben
October 7, 2000
I did not know, on that first day when he came to visit me, that he would become my best friend. I certainly wouldn’t have guessed that he would entwine his being into every fiber of my life so that his passing, years later, would rip me apart in such a painful manner. But he did become my best friend and constant companion. And this is a farewell to Ben, written in loving memory.
Who knows why perfectly normal and gentle beings end up homeless. The Rottweiler Rescue group of Austin, Texas, couldn’t answer that question when they first told me about Ben. All they knew was that a young, male Rottweiler had been picked up by the animal control authorities as he wandered aimlessly down the streets of a small, Texas town. Although very large and intimidating, he was gentle and worthy of rescue. He preferred women to men, was housebroken and cat friendly. But because of his breed and size, fewer of the few available adoptive homes were a likely candidate for Ben’s adoption. Would I consider a home visit?
Why not consider a home visit? My father had raised German Shepards during my childhood and I was accustomed to large dogs. Later, I developed an interest in Rottweilers but couldn’t acquire one of my own because of marital and housing issues. Finally, I had my own house with privacy-fenced yard and was single again. So Ben came over on a Saturday afternoon in the late summer of 1997.
When Ben first stepped out of the Volvo wagon that had pulled onto my driveway, I had to catch my breath. Here was a magnificent animal, fully grown, 130 pounds of Rottweiler. Indeed, Ben was intimidating. But he ambled around the car in my direction, caught my presence via sight-smell-sound and immediately gave me his most endearing Rottie smile. I knew then that he would be everything the breed promises.
Ben and I were introduced by the young crusader that heads the Rottweiler Rescue group in Austin. After introducing us and telling me the little she knew about Ben, she took Ben in the house and introduced him to my cats. He was a perfect gentleman with me and only mildly curious about Hoot, my Persian, and Gina-Gina, my Tortoise shell. Then the rescue lady left and Ben and I were on our own for the rest of that afternoon. What a memorable experience! A huge, dark Rottweiler, visiting with me and checking out the feline family members. Never will I forget how gentle, well mannered and friendly he was that first day among total strangers. Perhaps there is no such thing as love at first sight amongst humans, but I believe that I lost my heart to Ben that first day he was with me.
Of course, I adopted Ben. And I never, in all the years that followed, had a single reason to regret that decision. Ben became my constant companion. He went with me to the bank on Saturday mornings, where the tellers got to know him and handed him a milk bone with every transaction. He went with me to the gas station every week, accompanied me to the service station every 3 months for an oil change and befriended the dealership where we purchased a Volvo wagon for his comfort and convenience. He went with me to an open mall in north Austin, where he was invited into the several stores that I frequented. He would go with me to the bookstore and lie patiently at my feet while I browsed through the stacks in search of my reading material. He sat patiently in the fitting room at my tailor’s while I was measured for alterations to every pair of slacks I’ve ever bought. And he’d ride in the car and wait patiently while I ran other errands to places with narrower minds regarding canine visitors. But always, whenever he’d see me return, he’d flash his smile and wag his stub and let me know how exciting it was to see me again!
We would go for walks around the neighborhood, almost daily. The children got to know him and it wasn’t unusual to hear them squealing in delight and calling out to Ben. They never learned my name but they knew Ben and they knew where Ben lived. They knew that he would sit for them, shake hands with them, lie down and let them pet him, and a few knew that he could dance and twirl on command. At the local park other pet owners got used to Ben’s casual strut and friendly ways. Ben loved everything small: cats, dogs, children. He was patient, tolerant and content surrounded by little creatures, never imposing his size or will upon them. I would proudly accept the compliments that came his way from parents, store employees and pet owners every time we were in public.
But I guess what I recall with greatest amazement is how patient and adaptable he was with me when I had a cancer recurrence that required radiation therapy. The radiation put an end to our almost daily walks. My energy levels sank to unheard of lows and I felt fatigued by the short walk from my bedroom to the kitchen. Ben would lie by my side for hours on end, whether I lay in bed or on the futon in the den area. Intermittently, he would get up to check on me, softly laying his head on my stomach or occasionally swiping my face with his tongue. It was as if he knew I was not capable of more and he didn’t require anymore from me than I was capable of giving. Friends and family came in and out all day, bringing meals, doing my errands for me, checking on me. But Ben was my constant companion, laying next to the tub while I showered and sitting on the bathroom area rug while I dressed and prepared for each day’s treatment. Sometimes I think I drew energy from him, knowing I had to beat this demon because I had to be here to care for my once abandoned friend. Devotion, for Ben and I, was a two way street. We knew we were here to care for each other.
So our last Saturday together was a total surprise. We had done our morning errands and Ben had received his usual amount of praise, love and treats from those who were a part of our week end routine. Who could have told me that morning that, within a couple of hours, my best friend would collapse and be rushed to the emergency clinic. Although not in pain when we arrived, I was informed by the vet that Ben had a bleeding mass on his heart, that there was no treatment available to help him and that in minutes he would begin to experience pain. This was unacceptable to me. Throughout our years together Ben had trusted me to care for him, as he cared for me. Although the decision to avoid any pain, and to assist his departure from my life, was one of the hardest decisions I have ever been required to make, I knew that I could not fail him at this crucial moment. With his head in my lap and surrounded by people who loved him (three of my close friends had arrived to be with Ben and me), Ben slipped into his final slumber. And the pain which I prevented him from feeling has been with me ever since then.
My heart broke that rainy Saturday afternoon. But the love, companionship, protection and humor that Ben brought to my life will never be forgotten. My Rottweiler was not fierce, aggressive, mean or difficult. Ben was my gentle giant, loyal and loving to his last breath. In his memory, and as a tribute to all that he brought to my life, I will acquire another Rottie. Ben will never be replaced. But because he knew the true meaning of loving, I know he would not want for me to be alone and that his spirit will rejoice by seeing me in the company and care of another Rottie, until we meet again!
I love you, Ben!