Bentley Bear

In searching for a playmate for Giorgio Armani one day, my daughter's miniature schnauzer, Georgi for short, we wound up at our local animal rescue shelter. It was a thousand degrees outside, with a heat index of a thousand and ten. Hot, is a gross understatement. I was walking past the large dog crates outside, that lined the long driveway, leading to the main entrance. These crates housed one-two large dogs. Every dog, in all those kennels, were hopping, bopping, barking, and popping up and down, like popcorn in a microwave, and I thought to myself, it's way too hot out here for these guys, if they sat still long enough, they would surely pop like corn.

There was only one dog, out of about eight in those crates, that was proving my popcorn theory, had holes in it. He was a large, gorgeous black dog, that I thought, in all my dog breed connoisseur-ness, that he was a "Giant Schnauzer", whom I thought would be an excellent playmate for Giorgi; my daughter could have one miniature and one giant schnauzer, but my daughter didn't see it that way!

The name on the crate above him said "Finnegan", so I was having a conversation with Finnegan, which was clearly one-sided, because he lay there, just as chill as he could be, in that thousand-degree heat, not barking, jumping, or even panting. He had one front paw tucked under his chest (that my husband would later, nickname him "tucker paw") and every time I said his name, he looked at me like "who are you and why the hell do you keep calling me Finnegan? Look lady, if you really want to help me, go find my person, so they can take me home, because I'm about to lose my cool, on this noisy fool they have in this cage with me!" I understood every look he was giving me, so I went inside to enquire about his story.

I was told that he had been found, abandoned in a park, and that he'd been there a week already, and no one had come to claim him yet. I asked where the name Finnegan came from, they said they named him, which explained a lot. I ended up making multiple trips back down to his crate, to continue our one-sided conversation, then I decided, against my husband's demands, that I would take him home. After completing all the adoption forms and jumping through their red hoops, the lady said, "spin the wheel and whatever dollar amount it lands on, that's what his adoption fee will be". I was thrilled, because this was the closest, I was ever going to get to Wheel of Fortune! The adoption prices ranged from free, to one hundred and fifty dollars. So, I spit polished my hands, so-to-speak, then gave it all the strength I had, and it landed on seventy-five dollars. He was cute and a bargain, now all I needed to do was make my husband understand.

The lady gathered Finnegans stuff and he came walking out with his little stuffed bear in his mouth, wagging his (later named "Captain Feather sword") tail; all of this excitement, was absent from our previous conversations.

We walked to my car and as soon as I opened the door, he jumped up into the driver's seat, then looked at me like "Well, why are you just standing there, let's go!"

I said, "but you're sitting in my seat". He looked at me like "pick another seat". I could see this conversation wasn't going to get us home, so I pushed him over to the passenger seat, where he appeared equally as happy. I decided to call my husband, who was at work, and asked him if he would like to meet the newly inducted, member of our family. I believe I heard crickets, lots and lots of crickets, before he finally forced out a low grumbled "sure". So, Finnegan and I headed to the fire station.

Finnegan spotted my husband and went barreling up to him, as if they were old buddies; like he was Finnegan's true owner. My husband met him with equal fondness, which I was surprised, not surprised! I need to preface this by saying, that prior to Finnegan, my husband growled "THAT'S NOT A REAL DOG!", every time I pointed out any kind of a "doodle" dog to him. They bonded at the fire station for a bit, then we went home. Both of my sons were thrilled to death about this new pooch. We all settled in for the night and waited for my husband to come home the next morning (firemen work 24-hour shifts). When he walked in, he was again, greeted greatly by Finnegan.

While waiting for an appointment with our Veterinarian, the first thing we needed to do, was to get rid of that name, because there was absolutely nothing about him, that looked even remotely Finnegan-ish. My sons were at a loss for names, so I had my son google and print out "male dog names"; he said "now what?" I said, "read through the list until you find one that fits him". There was nothing in the "A's", but when he got to the "B's", he said, "Bentley" and Finnegan snapped his head around quickly, looking at my son, as if that were his name. I said call him that again, this time Bentley stood up and walked over to my son. I said, "Bentley, it is!"

Bentley, became the absolute love of our lives. Our vet told us he was a black "Goldendoodle" and the look on my husband's face was priceless, because he was now inseparable, with this thing he used to refer to as "not a real dog". We found Bentley a sister named Lexus (yes, there is a car theme here).

Bentley discovered that he loved having beer and shrimp with my husband, he was very protective of our sons, he learned to speak for cheese, and loved traveling and hiking in the Colorado mountains.

Bentley was also very argumentative, a personality trait he kept VERY well hidden from me on that one thousand degreed heat day, at the shelter. He always had to have the last word, which is why I almost suspect that his original owner, accidentally on purpose, left him at that park that day. Even if I scolded him and told him to go to his room, he would get halfway down the hall, turn his head around slowly, looked at me, then grobble his last few words at me, then turn his head back around slowly, and continue his journey to his room, which was my laundry room.

Bentley provided us with eleven years of doodle bliss, and we have since adopted four more doodles after him. We are now a permanent part of the "DOODLES ARE REAL DOGS" family!

RELA '25