Benji....

Is it the right thing to do?
The right time?
How do we ever know?
And who am I to say?

What I do know is that you wander the yard and walk in circles, paw at the dry earth for no reason. I do know that your hind legs fail you often, as though they’re a collapsing accordion and you don’t know if they will hold you up.

I do know that you sit at the top of the stairs in the morning, your bum on the landing with your two front paws on the stair below for minutes at a time. I imagine you wondering if you can make it down the long narrow chute to get to breakfast. One more time. You ponder and pant, your breath heaves as I call to you in my chirpy, encouraging way. “Come on Benji, you can do it.” But it often takes three, sometimes four minutes for you to make the move.

What I do know is that our walks are short, and it takes ten to fifteen minutes to get around just one block, your back stiff and tight. And I do know that you shadow me most days, anxious and panting, and I’m never quite sure what you need or want. Most days you sleep, your body sprawled out in its long, black sinewy way. You no longer hear me when I enter the room, or call you from the kitchen.

I do know that getting in the car is harder now, even with the doggie step Erez made you last year. The car is not much of an option any more to go on any adventures. Though we did make it to the river recently for you to dip your paws and lap up a drink. Perhaps one last time.

You’re an old man now…your time is coming. I feel it. But I can’t help but remember….so many things.

Remember when you were the fastest dog in the park? When you ran like the road runner, your legs scrambled under you so fast that we could barely see them moving. Your only focus was the ball. The ball. The BALL! I remember thinking “that’s going to hurt later in life!”

Remember when I lost you in the woods when you were just a puppy? When you took off after a deer. It was winter, snow piled high, and we were in Riverside State Park, me, alone with Zara. I asked her to track you down. But you were the tracking dog. She was the party dog. But at last, you appeared, panting, out of the blue like you’d had the adventure of your life.

Remember when you learned to swim? How scared you were? How we bought you the life vest and finally we threw you off the deck at Jewel Lake and once you figured out you weren’t going to drown (especially with the vest on) you took to the water like a duck. You swam as hard and fast for the ball in the water as you ran for it on the ground!

Remember all the tug of war with Erez? How you two wrestled on the dining room floor for the red tug of war toy made by KONG. You were so tough you gave Erez a good workout every time.

Remember the endless winter nights of keep away with the ball in our dining room. Zara perched on the couch, waiting her turn, you running back and forth between me and Erez to catch the ball. Sometimes you’d shoot up into the air like a geyser and snatch it out of the air before it reached either of us.

And then there were the heating vents you were terrified of. The cat, Jupi, who scared you to practically shake in your skin. I remember how you’d look away to say, “please, leave me alone, I won’t hurt you.” And yet you could have killed him with one snap.

I could go on my precious one. You’ve been my teacher, my friend, my snuggle buddy, my joy for 13 good solid years. I will miss you beyond measure…

And yet it feels like time.
I see it.
Erez sees it.
You’re tired.
You can rest my love.
You’ve lived a great life!

Benji the Bullet

He walks up the 3 stairs to my bed with pause, not sure if his back legs will cooperate, each step carefully considered one paw at a time. His front leg moves up to the step above, he hesitates as his back leg dangles for a split second before he finds the muscle control to pull the leg up high enough to place the foot on the next step.

Once he arrives on the soft red blanket, surrounded by pillows, he slowly turns in a circle and lays himself down. I can almost hear the creak of his vertebrae as he does this.

He is twelve, this dog we used to call Benji the Bullet, so fast as he whizzed through the park single-mindedly focused on the yellow tennis ball in flight, legs scrambling underneath him, every ounce of his will engaged in each muscle to get the target as fast as possible. When he reached the ball, he’d thrust himself, full force, to catch it and I’d see his body twist and contort. I couldn’t help but worry how his full force speed would impact him over time.

He loved to jump, to shoot himself in the air like a gush of water, do a little pirouette and land with the frisbee, the ball, whatever.

The four of us played keep-away together with the floppy frisbee on a regular basis – one dog in a “sit and stay” on the side, the other dog running fiercely between us to catch the pink flying disc, hoping for us to fumble. And with Benji between us, if he and I came in close for the catch, I always snatched my hand away to save my fingers. He just couldn’t help his intensity. Those frisbee games always ended with happy panting dogs who’d then need a nap.

We’d swim him at the river in summer, throw huge branches out as far as we could so he could paddle back with his prize. He wouldn’t even make the effort for a skinny, wimpy stick. No, he’d tell us, this one… the big one. His effort and focus just the same as when he ran, one pointed, determined, like a good soldier.

The first year he lived with us, sometimes he’d go rogue in the woods after the scent of a deer or a moose. A few times we thought we’d lost him.

Brave and fierce as he was, he would occasionally shake like a leaf at home, unable to move between rooms as though something from another dimension was blocking his way. Eventually, we called in an energy worker to get help and she said our house was haunted and that the spirit was picking on Benji. It seemed far-fetched, but we couldn’t deny his strange behavior and how his freedom to move about returned after she’d cleared the house.

Now, he spends his days lounging on my cozy bed looking out over the street – my room, now dubbed “the watch-tower.” He walks like a hunched old man and on occasion trips down the stairs. I cringe every time.

His vertebrae discs are compressed. 
He takes daily pain meds in a variety of forms.

He’s one of three elders in my life and I’m bracing for their inevitable departure. I suppose this is what we sign up for when we get dogs, that they will leave us first with a gaping hole in our hearts, their loyal friendship gone.

And then there’s my mother. Ninety-three and counting, still playing piano. She’s making a CD this year. But just last week she told me her knees hurt more and she’s sleeping a lot and the cold she got hasn’t gone away.

Bracing. Or perhaps softening into what is coming.
What is inevitable.

Watch Tower

We lie together on the bed
Looking out of the second-floor window.

Maple leaves flutter.

A blackbird with a yellow beak
Pecks at the grass in the front yard.

From this vantage point
The lawn looks like a spotted
Toad with yellow markings
Covering its body.

I open the window and he
Lifts his head, sniffs the air.
Who’s coming?
What does he smell?

We both jerk our heads to see
The walker who strolls by
Buoyantly chatting with someone
On the other end of the line.

I see why he spends hours here
In the “watch tower.”
Bits of life happen all day long.

I lay my head on a pillow
And listen. It’s all I can muster
After an hour of weeding
And pruning the huge hair bun
On the grape vine.

My old self has faded;
The one who squeezed in laundry,
Making dinner, walking the dogs,
Weeding and pruning in between
Teaching, writing newsletters,
Calling people back and posting
On Facebook.

It’s been three months
On this new journey.

I’ve unraveled.
Unfurled.
Dissolved.

I’m happy now if the laundry
Gets done in three days.
If I pull weeds once a week.
If I have food in my refrigerator.

I’m most happy sitting
Among the plants, watching
Them grow. Listening 
To birds chirp.
Watching my dogs lounge in their beds
Observing what’s right in front of them.