And, Benji

By Donald H. Harrison

 

SAN DIEGO — Benji, you’d run into our bedroom every morning when you heard one of us using an electric toothbrush.  You’d greet us with a happy tail wag, then go into the corridor to await our emergence.

And, Benji, you’d follow me to the couch in the den, where you knew I’d be giving you a morning treaT.

And, Benji, when we’d go to the breakfast table, you’d position yourself near one of us, waiting for a crumb, or maybe a snack…

And, Benji, if one of us gave you a snack, you’d move over to the other side of the table, as if to say, now its your turn…

And, Benji, people were amazed that you would happily eat anything, fish, meat, fruit, vegetables.  If it was good enough for us, you liked it too.

And, Benji, after breakfast, you’d go out the doggie door and run to the fence with its view to the sidewalk and street down below,

And, Benji, if anyone should walk on that sidewalk, you’d greet them happily (though they might think you were warning them away).  We knew what you were saying, “Come visit, come play!”

And, Benji, when we opened the gate to the pool area, you’d dash around the pool, because there were new vantage points to watch the street below,

And, Benji, when you returned to the house, you took up a position on the back of the couch, so you could look out the window at our cul-de-sac,

And, Benji, when our neighbors’ grandchildren played in the cul-de-sac, you’d greet them happily,

And, Benji, whenever someone came to our front door, you’d bark dutifully, but when the door opened you’d greet that person ecstatically, no matter who he or she was.

And, Benji, if the visitor came inside our house, you’d rush to bring him one of your toys, because you knew that humans liked to play fetch.

And, Benji, when Uncle John came to visit, you’d lie down on your back without being told so that he could put on your harness for a walk,

And, Benji when Mom and I were at work at our home offices, every so often you’d come in and check on us, allowing us to pet you a few times before you took up your perch

And, Benji, you were always upset by the mailman rattling our mailbox, but never at him.  If we should open the door when he came to our step, you’d greet him lovingly.

And, Benji, you trained James the pool man to bring you a treat each week

And, Benji, you had sleeping mats placed for your convenience all over the house – in the living room, the den, and in our bedroom,

And, Benji, you always knew when someone went to the refrigerator,

And, Benji, even when we said this food is not for you, you didn’t get upset; you knew there would always be a next time.

And, Benji, after dinner, when we’d watch television, Mom would pat the couch in the den, inviting you to sit with her, but you’d jump up on Dad’s reclining chair instead.  It was your little trick.

And, Benji, if Mom’s feet were cold, you’d obligingly jump up on the couch, and let her wriggle them under you,

And, Benji, other times you would fall asleep on the mat in front of the television set, until we would advise you to “Go Piddle.”

And, Benji, you’d jump up, run out the doggie door, take care of that errand, and rendezvous with us in the bedroom.

And, Benji, when you were younger, you’d jump up on our bed yourself, but when you got older, you had us assist you up.

And, Benji, you’d come up to the top of the bed, and wish us both a good night, and have your belly and the back of your ears scratched.

And, Benji, then you would go to the foot of the bed to sleep.

And, Benji, sometime in the night or early morning you would jump down from the bed and go to your mat,

And, Benji, a bit later in the morning you would leave us on your private errands,

And, Benji, you’d run into our bedroom every morning when you heard one of us using an electric toothbrush.  You’d greet us with a happy tail wag, then go into the corridor to await our emergence.

And Benji, we miss you so much!

*
Donald H. Harrison is editor emeritus of San Diego Jewish World.  Benji, who suffered from congestive heart failure, left this world on November 2, 2022.