Written by Marin Beck

I’ll never forget the very pixelated first photo of this wild-looking 1.5-year-old dog up for adoption from a little rescue outside of Guelph, Ontario. John (Bentley’s dad) and I had just rented a house in Kingston with a yard and were looking for a dog. I remember showing the picture to John, thinking to myself, “nah.” John immediately said, “Yes. I have a good feeling about this one."

We drove four hours to Guelph, Ontario, to just “meet” Bentley, but we were so hopeful that we had run out to the pet store the night before to get everything we needed. We got out of the car, and this tall, long, skinny, underfed dog came right over and leaned gently against my legs. And I just knew - he was ours. He had a really rough start to his life, neglected and abandoned by his first family, so we were determined to make the rest of it beautiful. I think we did that. 

From being terrified of car rides at the start to enthusiastically jumping in for the next hike or camping trip, Bentley was down for any adventure. He was content trekking 30km or curled up at my feet while I tore through a book on a lazy Sunday. He got me through my doctorate by being a constant, calm companion during long hours of writing and teaching (he loved trips to Queen’s campus for office hours, and my students adored him). He always made sure I took a break to go for a walk (or two). My favourite years were those grad school years, when I’d look at the stack of papers to grade or the chapter to write and say, “screw it, let’s go for a hike.” He always said yes. He truly was the best, most constant companion. 

I loved how he intimidated people with his intense, icy blue eyes and his big, boisterous bark. It is remarkable how he made a king-size bed feel small. His sassy, stubborn energy never ceased to irk and amuse us. A true velcro dog, he never let us out of his sight for very long. He would let you know he was displeased when you arrived home after a trip away with some loud, irate woofs - quickly followed by some happy whines and face kisses. 

He made the trek to and from Winnipeg for our wedding in 2017, gracing the day with a blue bow tie that matched his eyes and jumping on my dress with excitement. Later, when we moved to Winnipeg to put down some permanent roots, he didn’t much seem to care if we were living in Grandma’s basement, an apartment, or a house. He just wanted to be with us. We were a little unit, the three of us.

He consistently tried to kill us by being chronically underfoot in the kitchen - a remarkable feat for an 85-lb dog. He was goofy and funny - he made us laugh so hard with his quirks, especially when he’d “frolic” by happily throwing a toy, a blanket, or even his bed in the air. Nothing got us belly laughing quite like when he got that feral, unhinged look in his eyes and started zooming. 

He was steady and watchful, patiently waiting at the door or window until we were all accounted for. When our daughter Norah was born, he begrudgingly accepted her existence. He tolerated her with a dignified aloofness, often looking pained but stoic when she pulled his tail or touched his paws. But I think he secretly loved her, slowly accepting her as a little chaotic companion (he would never admit it, though). 

Hindsight is everything, but we think he may have known he didn’t have much time left. In the last month of his life, he liked to sit outside in the snow, quietly taking it all in. 

Shortly after we adopted Bentley, I commissioned a custom watercolour of his portrait, surrounded by delicate white flowers with blue centres that matched his eyes. When I thought of how to represent him in a tattoo after he passed, I kept thinking of those flowers - odd to pair with a big, black, fierce-looking dog, but somehow fitting given his spirit, his loyalty, and the too-short time we had.

The white anemone symbolizes loyalty and protection. They also represent the fragility of life and the life/death cycle - opening during the day and closing at night. 

Bentley loved to run - my camera roll is filled with silhouettes of him sprinting against brilliant orange, pink skies. John wanted that version of him to always be with us - Bentley running, full tilt, joyously free.

We will miss him dearly - our sweet, gentle boy. Rest easy, buddy