The Bentley eclipse

There will be a solar eclipse this summer—but not in Georgia. Yet it was only nine years ago that the Great Eclipse of August 12, 2017, gave rise to wonderful memories across the state.

While Middle Georgia didn’t get a total eclipse, it was still pretty cool, I’m told—but I wasn’t home for the big event. Alden, Grant, and I drove to Blairsville, where we watched the total eclipse at a friend’s home. I saw the serpents all over the ground, the corona, and that eerie horizon light show. As cool as we thought it was, Alden’s dog, Bentley, thought it was out of this world.

When we arrived home, on Bentley’s circular carpet by the door—where he was trained to sit whenever it opened—there sat the strangest pile of items you could imagine.

Bentley had gone through the house and collected pine cones, toys, knickknacks, food items, books off the shelf, binoculars—even a potted plant. Just a host of things. He piled them neatly on his carpet and was very proud of his accomplishment when we got home.

He never did that before or after the eclipse—but Bentley hasn’t experienced another solar eclipse.

Bentley is an Australian shepherd in theory, but smaller, faster, and funnier than most. He’s the smartest dog I’ve ever been around. He thinks he’s human—other than his habit of chasing (and catching) squirrels. He’s still faster than greased lightning, even at 10 years old. He can grab a rotisserie chicken off the counter and be in the backyard before you can turn around. Right, Lauren?

He can snatch a baby quail out of the air, run around the backyard, and deposit the chick on the deck—traumatized but without a scratch. Bentley can steal a loaf of bread and then eat a slice a day, right in front of you, just to remind you what he did. He once pulled a potted plant out of its pot and left the plant sitting on the back porch. We looked everywhere for the flower pot. A few days later, the neighbors were over and I told the story. Bentley perked up his ears, so I asked him where the pot was. He darted off the porch and came back with it. We were all in hysterics.

But strangely enough, his favorite snack is bumble bees. Alden has lectured him on the importance of bumble bees in our ecosystems, but every Spring, as soon as she let’s her guard down, he’s leaping 6 feet in the air snapping clueless bees out of the air.

Recently, the cat who was once his nemesis, Yoshi, went missing. Yoshi had missed his kidney medication and was in danger. My daughter and her now-husband couldn’t find him anywhere. Alden asked Bentley, “Where’s Yoshi?” Bentley darted off the porch and ran to the grill. Yoshi had crawled under the grill cover and was prepared to die there. Yoshi is still with us today, thanks to Bentley.

But my favorite Bentley story took place in 2018. I came home and Bentley wanted to go for a ride. We climbed into my MGB, and off we went. At the intersection of Highway 96 and Lake Joy, we caught a red light. Bentley slowly turned his head to the left, then to the right, then straight ahead again. The kids in the cars beside me were laughing at the crazy dog—as was I. Bentley, though, was as cool as James Bond.

Every kid needs a dog. Only Alden got a Bentley.

Kelly Burke was born in Knoxville, where he spent his younger years, followed by high school years in Atlanta, where he graduated from Georgia Tech and Mercer Law School. He has been in private practice, a magistrate judge, and an elected district attorney. He writes about the law, politics, music, and Ireland. He and his wife enjoy gardening, playing with their Lagotto Ramanolo named George Harrison, and spending time with their grandchildren. To see this column or Kelly’s archives, visit www.kellyrburke.com. You can email Kelly at dakellyburke@gmail.com.