Benny Is Home

Benny is home.

I had to have my beloved dog Benny euthanized last week due to health issues that were getting worse. Today I got a call from the veterinary hospital telling me  that his remains were available for me to pick up. 

Every time I go through this, I find that bringing my dog home for the final time is such a gut-wrenching experience. It’s a punch in the gut. On the one hand, I’m glad to know that my dog is back home where he belongs. He will be with me for the rest of my life. On the other hand, bringing him home in an urn, and knowing that all that remains of him are his ashes, is like a kick to the stomach. And right now, the latter feeling is much stronger than the first.

I know that his spirit is still with me. I know it will always be with me. But I miss his physical presence.

I miss seeing him running across the yard on his short little legs when I raised my arms to the sky. When he sees that, he takes off running and often puts his front feet on my thighs. That was his expression of love.

I had some prints made of my favorite photos of Benny to display in my office. I think of him every single day. But seeing that blue urn with his name on it in gold lettering is heartbreaking. It brings home the depth of my loss.

I’m glad he his home, and I know the terrible heartache will diminish over time. He is home where he belongs.

I will love you forever, Benny Boo.

. I will love you forever, Benny.

A Special Connection

During a trip to Tanzania earlier this year, three of us riding in one vehicle decided to put some specific requests or intentions “out there” to the universe.

Our intentions were for the specific animal species we hoped to see that day.  I don’t remember what all of the wishes were, but I do remember that one person wanted to see a baby elephant that day. And I don’t remember what I really wanted to photograph. But to our surprise, every animal we wanted to photograph that day appeared. Our intentions came true.

I had to have a very special dog put to sleep recently. I knew I wanted to adopt another male golden retriever, a breed of dog very difficult to find in my state, to become the new companion for my other dog. So through my tears the night of Benny’s death, I asked him to send me a male golden retriever to be the new big brother for my female dog. I even asked for a dog between the ages of 3 years and 7 years old. The coat color, whether red or blond, wasn't important.

I figured that finding a dog that met my specifications would be difficult. But I texted the woman who runs the golden retriever rescue from which I had adopted my younger dog. I let her know that Benny had passed and that I would like to adopt a male golden retriever between the ages of three and seven years. I had checked the organization's website, and I didn’t see a dog that met those requirements.

I didn’t hear anything right away, but then she texted me with the photo of a male golden retriever between three and four years old. I was shocked. I was stunned. And I knew this had to be Benny’s work. I’m sure one of his little paws made this happen. 

I’m trying to make arrangements now to go meet this dog. I feel a little guilty about even thinking about getting another dog so soon after Benny’s passing, but I can’t ignore the feeling that he is up there in heaven pulling strings to help heal my heart just a little bit.

So do these things really happen? Do our intentions and wishes made to a departed dog actually come to fruition? It all seems a bit strange and weird, but I and a friend of mine in another state have both had things happen that cannot otherwise be explained.

After my first dog died many years ago, I would sometimes hear her tags jingling. Once I caught a brief glimpse of her peering around a corner. I have twice heard Benny's panting for just a couple of seconds. One day I was on the phone with a friend when I felt a dog nose touch my hand. One dog was outside, and the other was asleep in the living room. I concluded that what I felt must have been the dog that had died recently. So sure was I of what I felt that I mentioned it to my friend on the phone when it happened.

I'm not saying that I believe in ghosts, but I do believe that sometimes something in the spirit world is responding to us. I would love for my dogs to appear to me in a dream, or to give me some sign that they are OK and waiting for me when my time comes.

I believe that there is a special connection between me and my dogs, and that the connection changes but isn't broken when the animals die. 

I look forward to being reunited with them when the time comes.

It's Never Long Enough

My 12 year old dog named Benny is gone.

I adopted Benny when he was about seven years old. He was half golden retriever and half corgi. He had the beautiful red coat, the floppy ears and the fringed tale of a golden, along with a golden temperament. The rest of his body was that of a corgi, right down to the broad back and short legs.

Benny was an absolutely wonderful dog. He was my companion throughout the pandemic lockdown, and I’m not sure I would have made it through the isolation without him by my side.

The years passed, and we were comfortable in our life together. And then I had to face what every person who shares a life with a beloved dog or cat or horse or rabbit must eventually face. 

Our animals age so much more quickly than we do. Benny was very hard of hearing at the end of his life, which wasn't a problem. It just meant I had to speak very loudly so he could hear me. A couple of years ago he suddenly became a very picky eater. Benny was never terribly interested in food, unlike my other dog, who is a real chow hound.

Benny also began panting, a lot. Unless he was sleeping, he was panting. It was rather annoying sometimes, listening to his constant panting. But I'm sure it wasn't fun for him either. I took him to the veterinarian four different times. We did x-rays. We did blood work. We checked his urine. Nothing showed up that would explain his panting. but recently his panting became more pronounced.

Dogs pant for a number of reasons, including being hot, being nervous or being in pain. It’s hot outside, but it wasn’t hot during the winter, and the temperature inside my house right now is a very pleasant 71°F. I don’t think he was nervous, although he was obsessed with licking the carpet or rug. So maybe he had some anxiety, which leaves pain as the reason for his panting. There was no obvious reason for him to be in pain. I gave him prescription pain medication, which was not an easy feat because he hated to be medicated. It didn’t do any good. I gave him some canine ulcer medicine, in case his stomach was bothering him. I couldn’t tell that it made any difference.

I will never know the reason for his panting. But it was  killing me to not know what was going on with him. I would never want one of my dogs to remain in pain.

On his final day, Benny slept next to my foot as I sat in the living room. He’s always been nearby, but he doesn’t usually sleep so he’s touching me. This, of course, set my mind to racing. Is he hurting? Does he know he’s dying? And is he afraid? When we were in the back yard one evening, he did some exploring, but then he walked over and sat next to me as I sat on the edge of the stone fire pit.

Benny was named Bailey when I adopted him, but I had a dog with the same name and I didn't want to have two dogs with the same name. Each dog deserves his/her own, unique name. Benny was a perfect name for the new dog, and it was similar enough to Bailey that I hoped it wouldn't confuse him. He took to the new name right away.

Since then, he was called Benny, Ben, Boo, Benny Boo, Benjamin, Bud and Buddy. He was a quiet, gentle, kind and friendly dog. He never destroyed or tore up anything, aside from digging a few unwelcome holes in my yard. I could always trust him to have the run of the house when I was gone.

And now Benny is gone. He gave me several subtle signs that he was ready. Taken together, they gave me the answer for which I had been waiting. It wasn’t a smack on the side of the head answer, but I’ve had dogs for 50 years, and I know when they are trying to tell me something.

We made his last day special. I took him for a longer than usual, leisurely walk with all the time he wanted to sniff and mark. He had a little bit of breakfast, mostly ground beef. I let him into the back yard and he spent his time sticking his head into the bushes looking for lizards, something he always loved to do. As I drove him to the veterinary hospital for the very last time, I put the back windows halfway down, and he rode with his head out the window. He was happy. His passing was peaceful. I told him I will always love him, and I thanked him for being such a good boy.

As soon as I returned home, I really missed Benny. I miss all the little things I did to accommodate him. He used to sleep when I was in my recliner with the foot rest up, squirreled away under the raised foot rest. I find myself looking for him to make sure he’s OK. 

Now I switch between feeling numb and feeling as if something is squeezing my heart. I miss preparing his meals, which over the past few months have become more involved as he refused to eat his typical dog food. Benny weighed only 25 pounds when he died, having lost 5 pounds once he became such a picky eater. 

I am writing to keep from breaking down in never ending tears. Writing helps me clarify my thoughts and feelings, but I know this isn't the most coherent piece of writing I have done.

This day, which of course I knew was coming, came far too quickly. But then these days always come far too quickly. There’s never enough time. It’s always too soon. 

Making the decision to end the life of a beloved animal companion is the absolute worst thing anyone can do. When I adopt a dog, I don’t sign up to have to decide when is the right time to end that animal’s life. But giving my dogs a painless and humane death after a lifetime of companionship, regardless of how long that lifetime is, is the last act of love I can give my dogs. I am grateful that I can end their suffering when nothing else will.

Unfortunately, that decision isn’t clear cut in many cases. Sometimes it’s painfully obvious that it is time. I have had that happen with some of my dogs. But at other times, as in Benny’s case, the signs were very subtle, and I had to piece them together. But things became clear the evening before Benny died. Things became clear to me without my really thinking about them. All of a sudden, I just knew

Things were clear enough that I knew what I had to do. So yesterday morning very early, before 6 AM, when the weather was still cool, I took Benny for a longer than usual, leisurely walk. He had lots of time to sniff, to poop several times and to mark his territory. When we got home, he ate part of his breakfast. Then after I walked my other dog, I let them into the back yard. He enjoyed sticking his head and sometimes his whole body into some of the plants in the yard as he looked for lizards. As we drove to the vet clinic for the final time, I put the rear windows halfway down. I wish I could have gotten a picture of him with a smile on his face and his head hanging out the window.

Benny was a calm, sweet, kind dog. He liked other dogs and he liked people. He never tried to jump on anybody. He was easy to walk. In his younger days he enjoyed carrying a toy in his mouth in typical retriever fashion. One thing I will always remember is that how, when I raised my arms he would go running across the yard toward me. That kind of joy, that kind of love, is priceless.

I recently commented to friends that Benny had all the best traits of a golden retriever but in a smaller body. 

Rest well, my sweet boy, until we meet again.

Let's Be Woke

Do you remember those name tags people used to be forced to wear at gatherings? Hello. My name is ___________.

The  latest says Hello. I am woke. Woke means being awakened to the needs of others. It means being well informed, thoughtful, compassionate, humble and kind. It means being eager to make the world a better place for all. It is a byword for social awareness. Being woke means that we are aware of discrimination of all kinds, of misogyny, or of homophobia.

According to Al Jazeera, the term woke "first emerged in the US in the 1940s from the word “awake” and was used to describe someone who is well-informed on issues of social injustice – particularly racism." That is how the word was used initially, until the uber conservatives decided to make it into something negative. Now the word woke is just another example of the deep divide in the US.

I hope I am woke. I hope I am well informed and kind. If I am not all the things that being woke represents, then I am not well informed. I am not thoughtful or compassionate or kind. It means I don't want to make the world a better place for everyone, not just for those of whom I approve. That is not who I want to be. 

But millions of Americans believe that being woke is bad. Worst of all are the so-called political leaders who use being woke as a pejorative, as an insult, as something to be avoided. These people are so over-the-edge that they boycott products just because the manufacturer supports equal rights for everyone.

I don’t understand why being ‘woke’ is to be avoided at all costs. Why is being kind and empathetic such a bad thing? Why is supporting equality not a good thing? Nobody is demanding that women, racial minorities and members of the LGBTQ community get more rights than those available to white males. But why should they not have equal rights? Rights are not a pie. Giving rights to others doesn't mean fewer rights for white men. 

I would much rather be woke than be an ignorant, brainwashed, hate-filled person incapable of critical thinking and blindly following a cult-like politician or political party.

Why are so many people filled with hatred toward the LGBTQ community? Why do they want to control what I and others are allowed to read? Why do they hate Jews or Muslims or anybody who doesn't embrace their idea of a white Christian religion? 

Here's a news flash: Jesus Christ was a Middle Eastern, non-white man with black hair and dark skin. He didn't speak English. He didn't have blue eyes and fair skin as so often depicted. And his gospel was one of love, of forgiveness, not of hatred. Jesus was woke.

Let’s be woke.

The Beauty and the Ugliness of Words

As a writer, I love words. 

I love manipulating words. I love working to find just the right words to express my thoughts and feelings. 

But there are some words I just don't like.

Here are a few examples. I simply dislike the sound of these words. There is nothing beautiful or melodic about the words on this list.

Slather (But lather is OK.)

Beverage

Crotch

Patty (as in chicken patty)

Penis

Slake

Vagina

Snack

Ointment

Phlegm

Mucus

Squirt

Panties (What's wrong with simply saying underwear?)

Pustule

Pus

One of the most hated words in English is moist, although I don't have a problem with it.

The words on my list of most-hated terms have an unpleasant sound to my ears. I'm sure there are more words to add to this list, but these came to mind immediately. Some of these words sound unpleasant, while others have unpleasant connotations.

The English language, as other languages, can sound remarkably beautiful. The young poet Amanda Gorman writes stunning poetry. She knows how to use words. But certain words are akin to the sound of fingernails on a blackboard.

I love language. I enjoy writing and manipulating words until I get the right combination of words to express precisely what I want to convey. Words are important to me, and I enjoy the challenge of writing. I am somewhat a student of language, as I studied Latin for four years during high school and Russian for six years of high school and college. Writing brings me comfort. It can inspire me and it can help me let off steam.

Words can inspire us. And words can hurt us as well.

Do you have some least favorite words?

Thank You, Tina Turner

Thanks to singer Tina Turner, I am now taking blood pressure medicine.

After hearing about how her untreated high blood pressure caused her to have a stroke and severely damaged her kidneys, necessitating a kidney transplant and dialysis, I started checking my blood pressure with a machine I had bought online. It shows that my blood pressure is just a tiny bit above where it should be. This was confirmed when my blood pressure was taken as part of routine screening during a couple of recent doctor appointments for other issues. I also have a family history of high blood pressure, with both my mother and my father suffering from it. My younger sister already takes a low-dose blood pressure medication. So clearly high blood pressure runs in my family. Fortunately, I have been able to avoid it until now.

So today I saw my primary care doctor. She confirmed that my blood pressure is just a wee bit high. She started me on a very low dose of a medication that’s supposed to lower my blood pressure. I will go back in six weeks and report the findings from my at-home monitoring. I also will report any unwanted side effects. If she needs to change or adjust the medication, that’s when it will happen.

She also reminded me that I am overdue for a colonoscopy, something I have been postponing. So I reluctantly agreed that she could send in a referral for a colonoscopy. She did say it might be several months before I can get in, but that’s OK with me. Intestinal cancer was another thing from which Tina Turner suffered, so it’s good that I’m going to get this taken care of, as unpleasant as the preparation is. My doctor added that as unpleasant as the preparation for the colonoscopy may be, it’s a whole lot better than dealing with colon cancer.

So thank you, Tina Turner, not only for your music but for inspiring me to take some steps to avoid some of the health issues that plagued you.

Different Is Not the Same As Less Important

Different is not the same as less important. 

I read this line in a book about an English veterinarian.

But that line could just as well be applied to several situations currently going on in this very divided America. 

Some ultraconservative Republicans, such as Ron DeSantis, appear to believe that people who are different from white straight males aren't just different, they are less important. Consider the members of the LGBTQ community, who are considered less than because they aren't straight, white males. They are so less than that they don't deserve the same rights those straight white males have.

Consider drag queens who are painted as threats to innocent children about to be 'groomed' to take part in that oh-so-dangerous world.

Consider women, who are definitely less than the male population who believe they shouldn't be allowed to determine for themselves when, or whether, to have children.

Consider members of other political parties whose polling places are being removed to make voting for the non-Republican candidates more difficult.

Consider the former president of the United States who questioned aloud whether protests against him and his policies should be allowed, despite constitutional guarantees of the freedom to protest.

We all are different in a variety of ways. Different shouldn't mean less important, or not as good as, or less valued. Yet DeSantis and others of his ilk (isn't ilk a great word?) are working to eliminate -- and even make illegal -- programs that promote a diverse world and celebrate our differences. 

Maybe someday people like the former president and other so-called leaders of today's Republican party will be nothing more than an unpleasant footnote in our nation's history. Maybe someday they truly will be less important.