Sad day in our house...

Last week, September 25th to be precise, marked two years since the passing of our beloved Bernese Mountain Dog, Ozzie.

The day that it occurred, I was unable to go with Sheryl to the vet. 10 days previous, I had undergone surgery to replace my left hip. I was under doctor's orders not to move around. 45 staples saw to that.

A hospital bed was set up in our family room. My goodbyes were said as he placed his dinner plate sized front paws on me and rested his huge head on my chest. He seemed to know. Yet he handled things so much better than I did. No words, just a very deep affection - a bond that other animal owners and some parents will comprehend.

Sheryl along with the assistance of two good friends, Nancy and Val, managed to get our 140lb Ozzie into the back of Sheryl's car to take him to the vet - one last time.

I felt utterly helpless.

We knew for months this day would come. Since his diagnosis with Osteosarcoma, Oz had continued to be a part of our family for almost 10 months. We did all we could to make him as comfortable as possible. Pet insurance ran out almost 9 months previous. But, as any parent will tell you, it really does not matter. It’s not about the money. Cancer is an insidious, vicious disease and can be an expensive one, at that.

Our vet, Jeff Simmons, had spoken to us often and told us that when the day arrived, we would know. He was right. Oz never "complained". The obvious tumour was, at the end, very large and looked painful and uncomfortable. Yet our gentle giant would never show that he was in any way, distressed.

Sheryl and I could not really speak with one another for days after that. Neither of us knew what to say. We were all hurting. Our cats missed him. To this day, if I ever play a brief video we have of him, Rocky, our big red and white cat, starts running through the house, crying as he looks for his friend.

A few months after Ozzie's death, we were lucky enough to find Ben, our second Berner. Same breeder, different blood lines. A different dog in so many ways. Not better. Absolutely not worse. Different. Plain and simple.

Within the first days of Ben being introduced into our home, Sheryl sat down quietly with our new tri-coloured barrel of fur. She and Ben made an agreement. He would be with us for at least 11 years. She wanted double digits. Unusual in giant breeds, but not impossible. Sheryl sensed that Ben was special. He had something different within.

Now, when I occasionally play the Ozzie video, Ben will come running into my office and will sit, head cocked to one side. Waiting. He will not bark. Just looks around with those huge dark eyes, waiting for someone he never knew.