Today our childhood dog was put down. I’m not usually one to get sentimental over pets…I’ve seen them come and go, and while it might sting a little, life moves on. And life will continue today as it always has, however, I cannot help but feel saddened.
Benji was never my dog. He was my brother’s. Jacob asked for a puppy many, many Christmases ago. I can still remember the gift my parents gave him. He didn’t get a puppy, he received a box with a dog bowl, a collar, a leash, and a few other puppy items. The promise was that when spring came we would go get a puppy.
The very first day of spring my brother ran to my mom and told her it was time to go get our puppy. Keeping true to their word, my parents loaded us all up into the van and drove to the humane society. We passed rows and rows of dogs and somehow came upon Benji. I’m not sure who found him, but everyone agreed that this dog, the black haired, smiling, whiskered dog, was the one for us.
That dog wasn’t the prettiest of dogs, he wasn’t always the best groomed dog, he most certainly was not the best smelling of dogs, but he was a happy dog. Our dog. He was another member of our family that grew up with us, played with us, protected us, and comforted us when we needed a friend.
He was the dog that didn’t want to die. He was shot, hit by a car (twice!), had heart problems, and could barely walk, but he simply wagged his tail and kept on keeping on, hobbling from one room to the next simply to be with you. He was a loyal companion to nearly anyone who would pet him.
While he was just a dog, I think that what really stings the most about having to put him down is the fact that he was a part of our past. A reminder of times gone by. Somehow, his death really seems to hammer the final nail into my childhood. The nail that seals it shut.The finale that wasn’t so grand. A sad ending that was inevitable but something nobody liked to talk about. I know he was only a dog, but I feel that his significance in our family was a little more than the average animal..he was a constant in our lives when everything else didn’t make sense. And I feel like his death has even more significance as it is almost symbolic of putting away our childhood, our old life, and moving forward into the next adventure. It's almost as if the old book has closed, and the new has begun. And I'm not quite sure I'm done pondering the old. I'm not quite sure I'm ready for it all to be different. I hate the feeling of knowing that the current moments I'm living are fleeting, and soon they will only be a memory. And more quickly than we'd like, those memories fade, and the details aren't as clear anymore. The memory isn't quite complete.
It feels like our family is morphing into something new. Changing. And it is. And I know that all things must change, but I guess during times like this, when one is undergoing major life changes, one likes to hold onto whatever is left, and I guess for me that was Benji: A simple reminder of our family, our past, and our history.