In Memory of Bess

This was written back in September. I decided I'm ready to share it now.

Bessie Jane Shep-n-Ruff
July 7, 2000 – September 18, 2006

Our beloved Bess died a few days ago and we are bereft beyond words. She was the light of our lives, the shining spirit that woke us each morning and guarded us each night. We miss her so very much that there is nothing I can say that will make you understand how bad this hurts. We feel shell-shocked and empty for our sweet, loving girl is gone.

Our baby was barely 6 years old, a beautiful chocolate lab who should have been in the prime of her life, a loving, giving, kind hearted girl who always gave more than she got.

She was only 5½ when her vet said that dreaded word, the word every dog owner prays they will never hear…….cancer. We couldn’t believe it. How could this beautiful, strong, healthy young dog have lymphoma? Why her? Why our girl? There so many dogs in the world that are unloved, unwanted…..why this girl, who we loved with all our heart, a girl who was needed and wanted and adored.

There is no answer to that unanswerable question…..we are not to know why, it just is. Our beloved Bessie had cancer. We saw the best oncologists, we spent money like water and in the end, it meant nothing. We still lost our girl.

And now she is gone and we wander the house and every room holds memories. We go outside on the patio and to the pool and we see her everywhere. Her dish still sits in the kitchen floor, her toy box is still in the corner of the family room with her favorite bear sticking out of one corner. Our big bed seems empty without her large brown body lounging in the center. I scarcely know how to take a shower when there is no brown nose shoving open the shower door and stepping in to join me.

I always knew what an intimate, involved part of our lives she was, however, I don’t think I fully realized how much she was a part of me until now, when she is gone. It seems that everything I do reminds me of her. I sit at my computer and look down at my left side and see an empty floor instead of her sweet brown body. I go into the kitchen to cook and realize when I drop something on the floor, there is not an “automatic cleaner” ready and waiting to take care of the mess. I no longer need to make sure all foods are pushed back from the edge of the counter in case the “counter cleaner” decides to take inventory. I can actually go to the bathroom alone now and too late realize that I don’t want to. I can open the door leading into the garage and not get tripped as Bess races out hoping for a ride in the car or a long walk. Everywhere I turn, there she is…….memories of her truly breaking my heart with every step I take.

And the pool, that is the worst of all for the memories that come flooding back. Bess loved to swim almost as much as she loved to eat. She was a true Lab….eating and swimming were the joys of her life.

She didn’t play in the pool like a “traditional” Lab does, where you throw the toy and your Lab goes to fetch it. She made up her own games and taught us how to play them. She would stand on the steps of the pool and take her log and let it loose in the water. She would nudge it with her nose and watch it like a hawk as it slowly floated away from her. Then, when it was a few feet away from her, her muscles tensed and her eyes narrowed, and she would suddenly sail through the air and “pounce” on her “prey”. Once capturing her log, she would return to the steps and do it again, over and over and over. Any Lab parent knows how their dog will play the same game endlessly when they find something they enjoy. Bess was no exception. What made her so interesting, is that she made up her own games. We didn’t teach her to play “pounce” or how to play another of her favorite games, “catchy-catchy”. She taught us.

Catchy-catchy involved her giving us the log and then, as she clearly instructed us, we weren’t supposed to throw it until she was in place. She would wade out on her hind legs until she was standing in the center of the pool. Then like the best center fielder the Dodgers have, she would lower her head, stare intently at us and let us know she was ready to catch. It was our job, of course, to throw the toy high into the air and have it fall into the correct area so our furry center fielder could make the catch. She never missed, assuming, of course, that us fallible humans made a good throw.

Now, I can scarcely look at the beautiful turquoise water without a huge lump in my throat, for dearest Bessie is no longer there, playfully splashing and enjoying the water. Her pool was her playground and, in the worst heat of summer, she “allowed” us to join her. She would swim alongside us, back and forth, as we all enjoyed the cool water.

I wouldn’t want you to think that our sweet girl was just an empty headed “play girl” for she was so very much more. She was smart beyond any dog I’ve ever had. She was a certified Companion Dog and she finished first in her obedience classes in both Novice and Advanced. She was also a true beauty and she has blue ribbons from her showings in conformation fun matches. She could sail over a jump, take a swim, enjoy a treat or cuddle in your arms all with equal joy. Bessie truly enjoyed her life.

She was the kindest dog I’ve ever known. This may seem an unusual adjective to describe a dog, but I can think of no other that fits so well. When Bess was 2 years old, we decided to add to our fur family and we brought home Lucy, an 8 week old bundle of brown fur. Bess instantly took the baby under her wing, loved her, played with her, slept with her, shared her toys and taught her the joys and dangers of the swimming pool. She was not jealous, her big heart full of love just expanded to make room for another. They became inseparable. Bess and Lucy could not sleep without touching each other, they shared everything, they were, in fact, if not in reality, mother and daughter. They were best friends and lifetime companions. We are not alone in our grief, for dear Lucy suffers as well. Her very best friend in the world is gone and she does not understand why Bess does not come home.

There’s not much else to say. Our baby is gone, our hearts are broken and I’m not sure how I’ll get through tomorrow. However, I will continue to sing Bessie’s song that she loved so dearly, “Little Brown Dog, I Love You” and I will hold sweet Lucy close and hug her tight. Somehow, we’ll get by.