aka Forced Action • April 6, 1997–April 7, 2004


Dear Bentley,

If there could only be one regal dog, it would be you. Your grace, beauty and gentle manner far exceded every expectation. Your shiny black coat was so soft and silky.

I remember the day Karen adopted you. Your first home had not worked out, but you seemed to know that this would be your forever home. You walked in the house as if to say “that’s my spot on the couch, where is everbody else going to sit?” We took you out on the acre, you ran the parameter and we all knew you were home.

I think the thing Karen misses the most is how you would lift your head and rub the bottom of your chin on her her belly. You were so affectionate and loving. It really was not fair that the cancer struck you at such a young age.

I used to love how you would wait at the back door, your nose to the bottom, ready to race to the back fence. Any of the other dogs up for the challenge knew that you’d be tough to beat. We’d open the door and pause for a few minutes and watch the race. The speed, the beauty… what a package you had put together.

Your two buddies that kept company with you missed you terribly. Somehow we all knew that the whole you left could never again be filled.

Run fast our gentle boy. We love you very much.

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