Dear Bentley, The Eternal Promise

February 25, 2026

Dear Dom,

We lost Bentley yesterday. For years I’ve sat behind a screen watching countless scenes where actors receive bad news crumbling to the floor in agony. When I couldn’t comprehend the words on the front of the card, “We extend our heartfelt sympathy for the loss of your pet.”, turning it over and seeing the imprint of his nose set it into action. As if on cue, bursting into violent tears I crumbled to the floor. Putting my all into every choked up inhale, exhaling a lamenting wail, my body shook with hysteria as the shock consumed my soul. This was my scene.

I thought I had more time. Surrendering a pet at least meant that it takes a few days to assess them right? To run tests and see if there was a cure other than death? I knew this time was coming. No, that’s a lie. I thought this time had passed. But despite being right or wrong, for some reason I thought we had until Thursday.

But as I enter the first stage of grief, embarking on the laborious journey, slowly gathering up the pieces of my heart, I must explain we didn’t surrender him in sorrow or out of failure. We surrendered him in victory. For the past few weeks we saw an alarming spike in Bentley getting more aggressively territorial. When he was given a toy he would go in the backyard, standing guard not letting anyone come outside.

I know our friendship comes with updating each other on the things in our lives. But how could I tell you, without already knowing you would feign surprise? Just adding more black paint to the already dark, disoriented picture of Bentley, his past already illustrated.

The victory purely stems from it being our choice. We saw the increasing signs and figured it was time. I know people ( our neighbors) will say “ Good-riddance, y’all couldn’t control him anyway.” That thought pisses me off. The thought that we lost. The thought that we failed. They can think what they want. And they can say what they will. But I will forever and always love my dog.

And within the comfort of our home, either late at night or random times during the day, he would come up to me burying his back into my legs, twisting around wagging his tail ferociously, almost hitting his face. The hardest thing from now on is never getting another one of Bentley's hugs.

February 24, 2026

Hello Mrs. Walker,

I'm very sad to write this email, but I was hoping it would be possible to get an extension on both my outline and speech date. This week has been the worst because my family has tragically decided to surrender our family dog and put him down. With the news spoken to me last night from my mom, I was unable to add my final touches to the outline. We don't know yet the exact date that he will be put down, but we do know it will be this week, and I'm sorry but I can't give a speech with this emotional anticipation weighing down on me.

Would it be too much to have my speech date moved to Tuesday, March 3rd? If so I'm sorry to mess up the schedule, but it would be the biggest help. And I can try my best to deliver the outline by the end of today or Wednesday morning.

Thank you for your understanding.

February 27, 2026

Dear Dom,

Tonight was seriously hard at first. In fact, I think it might’ve been the worst for a few seconds. After church I sat in the car and a sudden feeling of not wanting to go home hit me. As if the sudden desire to turn to homelessness wasn't enough, the most intense appetency for someone else’s company burned within me. The usual addition of Grace’s presence wasn’t enough. Being in the car with my twin sister, my best friend wasn't enough, it's because of the grief we shared, the simultaneous sensation of depression that sat as a rock within our stomachs. I felt suffocated with nothing to take my mind off of the empty house we would pull up to.

I didn’t get to tell you, but within the same night Paul tore Bentley's kennel down. All his food was removed, his water and food bowls, even the gates we had at the doors were gone. Nothing’s left of him but the dirty spots on the floor where he used to lay.

But after stopping at Chipotle getting a quesadilla and some belated birthday quac, I ventured downstairs looking for a table. Walking to the kitchen I looked at where he would sit and beg for food from the corner of the living room, what my heart meant for an enduring whisper, my mouth proclaimed as an eternal promise “I love you Bentley”.

February 26, 2026

Dear Bentley,

I wish I could draw that adorable twinkle in your eyes

Or extend the paper to make room for your pouting lips

Why can’t I write anything?

Date of Birth or Your name?

You meant so much

Yet I can’t bring myself to cry any tears on the night of the third day

Maybe it’s because I cried yesterday morning

And Night

Maybe it’s because I woke up with Peace

But still held tears in my eyes

You were beautiful

You were flawed

You were my baby

You were the Tate’s beastly dog

The snarling and the barking

The lunging and the biting

You were you

And you were our beloved dog

I sit here with the house quite

No more scratching the doors

Or finding you in our closet hiding

I love you

You were everything

You were beautiful

You were our baby

Just to feel anything I think of that night

The night I heard the news

Just to feel anything I recall the emotions

The trembling with shock and sorrow

The gasping for air

The uncontrollable wails

I don’t feel anything

I want to cry

I want to vomit

I want to feel so bad that mom will yell at me to stop it

I know your safe

I know you’re happy

I hate the thoughts of your last breaths

I hate the pain you felt from the needle

I hate to think of you held down by straps

I hate hearing them say you were happy

I hate hearing them say you had no idea what was happening

I tried to get a piece of you back

To hold on to a memory

But whether I received it or not

You’ll always and forever be

Our Bentley

February 27th, 2026

Reedsy Prompts: Stranger than Fiction with Zack MccDonald

2. Tell a story through a diary/journal entries, transcriptions, and/or newspaper clippings

Dare I?