As usual, Ben worked it out for the best. There was no question of the right thing to do. My horror with him has always been a long battle, more suffering on his part, Ben slipping away little by little until I was left alone to make the final decision.
However, the bleeding had reached a crisis level (he needed his spleen removed), but he wouldn't survive a surgery to put that right. There's no treatment for this type of cancer at his age. You can get maybe 30 days extra, but they are not a happy 30 days - liver disease is horrible and we didn't know where else it had gone.
We got the kids together and took Maggie along too. I brought a Frisbee and my camera, too. They brought Ben to us and let us go outside and play Frisbee. I took a bunch of pictures. It was bitterly ironic that Ben wasn't feeling that bad, but when I think of it now I'm glad. He did get tired really fast.
I stayed behind with Maggie. Maggie kept trying to tell me something was wrong with Ben. But once the euth drug went in, Maggie came and snuggled me instead. That really helped. For some reason I kept thinking of how he smelled and I was afraid I'd forget his smell - I kept focusing on that the whole time, even when they left us alone.
There were times when Ben was sick that I thought I'd never survive it if he didn't. But Ben's a wise soul and made sure his passing didn't do any harm to those he left behind.
Ben was my first purebred Border Collie.
We adopted Ben from one of the country's oldest BC rescue organizations. He'd been turned in by his breeder along with most of the rest of his litter. His breeder was one of those borderline BYB that have always hung on the edges of the BC world - in those days people like him had easy access to some of the best breeding stock available.
So Ben had terrific names in his pedigree, right after the first generation, but one of the first things Ben taught me was that big names aren't the most important thing in a pedigree.
His litter was turned in because the breeder had health problems and just couldn't care for his dogs anymore. Ben and his littermates had not seen people other than whoever came and put down food and water, from the time he was born until he was five months old. I don't think they got much food and water, either - his rescuer had Ben and his littermates on cat food for a month trying to fatten him up and he was still thin.
All of them were near-feral. Two of them had health problems that I know now were worse versions of what troubled Ben most of his life - poor immunity and allergies, weak thyroid and a cascade of difficulties from that. Ben and one other were the only ones ready to adopt since they were healthy.
Ben's littermate sister was very, very, very enthusiastic though also skittish. She was small, just what I was hoping for. But the rescuer kept steering me towards Ben for two reasons. First, of all the pups he was the only one interested in the sheep and she knew we were getting sheep in the future. And second, she felt we couldn't handle a pup like Ben's sister.
I was 
really[/i] dubious. Ben wasn't what I pictured. His sister was. Ben was hand shy, flightly, withdrawn, and seemed very quiet. This huge, ugly pup. But Myra brought us inside and showed me his pedigree (whatever), told me what he'd done on sheep (clueless), and then said, "Wait here." We heard a lot of thumping and clattering around as she dragged Ben from under the porch (!), and then she led/dragged him in on a leash.
Wow, I so[/i] didn't want that dog now. Ben was classically marked then, too, of course, but beyond that he hardly looked like a Border Collie. He was right at that hideous gangly stage and with his long body and legs that stage was even worse. At the moment he was all body and no legs. He had no coat to speak of - I had dreamed of a luxurious coat with the full mane and glorious tail, and Ben - I could hardly tell whether he was a smooth or rough coat. He was filthy from the dirt under the porch where apparently he stayed most of the time he was loose. He was stubbornly facing the door.
Myra handed me the leash and then said, "I gotta go get something." I sat there with Ben for a second and he acted like he was there for evil designs, but he was taking it stoically. I scratched his chest. He didn't do anything for a moment, but then the next he melted all over me - and then I did the same all over him. That was it. Don't ask me why, but we recognized each other at that second.
The journey we started then isn't over by any means. The things Ben brought to my life will be with me always, I feel sure. The first thing he taught me was how to connect with a dog that has no connection to people. It took two months to get him comfortable with us, another four months to get him comfortable with strangers, but then almost a year after we adopted him he'd become the "Walmart Greeter." (This was back when Walmart Greeters actually were insanely friendly.)
At a year old we discovered our child prodigy on sheep had some major holes in his genetic makeup, but still he'd be my first trial dog. In spite of his shortcomings, no dog I had, worked with me as well as Ben and he remained my right hand dog (with brief breaks) until early this year - through ten years of raising sheep.
Because of him, you'll never be able to convince me that a dog doesn't have a soul, and can't really love. Ben never did anything except[/i] for love. He was lousy at almost everything but persistence, patience, and loyalty.
Ben led me through worlds of medicine and holistic care that every animal I own will benefit from, I hope. His legacy will go on in them - that's my promise to Ben.
Here we are today at the vet.
[IMG]http://i36.tinypic.com/1z20kg2.jpg[/IMG]
I've always thought of this as "our song." Calling me there and back again[/i] makes me think of sheep herding commands, and the fact is that our road together has been an arduous one, though always with the hope of better days. I'll have to wait awhile for those better days with Ben now, though.
In Dreams (Howard Shore)
When the cold of winter comes
Starless night will cover day
In the veiling of the sun
We will walk in bitter rain
But in dreams
I can hear your name
And in dreams
We will meet again
When the seas and mountains fall
And we come, to end of days
In the dark I hear a call
Calling me there,
I will go there
And back again
More pictures:
Ben missed his calling as a supermodel, I think. Here's some recent pictures - just a month ago - incredible how alive he always looked, even today it was hard to let such a vibrant personality go. He wasn't mine to keep, though.
[img]http://i34.tinypic.com/2jdjtok.jpg[/img]
[img]http://i37.tinypic.com/21eazv4.jpg[/img]
[img]http://i36.tinypic.com/rk27ud.jpg[/img]
[img]http://i34.tinypic.com/k35dsw.jpg[/img]
[img]http://i34.tinypic.com/1zb8av9.jpg[/img]
[img]http://i37.tinypic.com/b6dk3t.jpg[/img]
[img]http://i33.tinypic.com/9pxh7k.jpg[/img]
What are YOU looking at?
[img]http://i38.tinypic.com/5oxezp.jpg[/img]
Whassup?
[img]http://i33.tinypic.com/20iz59l.jpg[/img]
Thank you for everything, Ben.
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