Between the time Tom left for school yesterday, and the time I got up, our Ben died. I came downstairs and found him. He left our life as quietly as he came into it. He hadn't any signs of illness. He just died. If you haven't read his story, it is here from four years ago this very month. Pictures of him have been on the blog a lot, even as a blog header a few times.
There really aren't words for this dog. All of our dogs were, and are, wonderful and special, but he was truly different. Ben appeared in March of a year that turned out to be the first in a string of tough years. He was a miracle boy who helped us through. He was so conscientious. So concerned. I couldn't shed a tiny tear without him knowing from rooms away. He'd be there, leaning against me, looking up at me with those deep brown eyes, just like this. There was an occasion when I was really upset that he and his 120+ pounds jumped right up on my lap. Ben had to take care of us. That was his job. He was the center, the grounding when all about us was trembling.
Thank God, our lives have settled. Maybe he felt he could go now. He lived more in the seven years he'd been here than most dogs do in double that time. He must have been tired. We were always so pleased when he would deeply sleep because it wasn't common. He was always on alert, with one eye open just in case he was needed. Now he can rest.
This is the last picture I have - keeping us company as we got our Christmas tree.