Benji, September 2022
You snuggle your skinny body up to me, press your back into my belly. I can almost feel the bony ridges of your spine through the covers. It’s rare we cuddle this way, and this may be the last time.
Ever.
So, I wrap my arm around your once strong chest and hold your heart in my hand. It thumps under the rib cage, under your silky fur, under your skin and muscles, now soft with age.
You rest your head near mine, and on occasion you press it back into my face. I kiss the top of your hard, bony skull. We lie there and I feel your breath move in and out and notice you take some longer, deeper breaths. I naturally follow your rhythm and take a longer inhale, exhale.
You’ve always been my teacher.
“Breathe” you seem to be saying.
As we lie here, I remember why we called you Benji the Bullet. How you took off in the woods after deer one day in the middle of winter. How I was alone with you and Zara, how the landscape was bleached by snow, how my fingers were frozen, how I had no sense of direction. How I thought I’d lost you.
I remember the days of tug of war with the blue Kong toy. You and Erez on the living room floor, rolling and tossing, jumping, and you growling – all for effect. Both of you gripped the blue Kong tug of war toy for life. Fierce, strong, determined. You drew sweat and grit from Erez. And most of the time you won! You taught me to never give up.
I remember keep away in the living room, how Erez and I would station ourselves at either end, no furniture in between us, and we’d throw the ball back and forth, you’d run this way and that to catch it and then leap in the air, pirouette, and snatch the yellow ball out of the air like a crocodile snaps up its prey. You taught me to keep my eye on the ball.
I remember all your nose nudges to my elbow while I sat at my computer. You’d tell me, “Time to take a break. Let’s go play, let’s go for a walk,” and me always answering with “in just a minute. I have just one more thing to do.”
As you’ve aged, you’ve taught me to chill, to sit still, to watch life go by, look out the window, watch the leaves flutter, listen to the birds.
Yes, as I lie here, you teach me again to be present. Present to this last moment with you, arms wrapped around you, feeling your heartbeat, listening to you breathe, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against mine.
Present.
With this.
Here now.
