![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stoutfellowIn the spring of 1994, I went down to the Humane Society to get a companion for Murphy. The plan was for a puppy, but the dog who caught my attention was grown or nearly so. He was a mutt, but obviously with a lot of terrier in him. He was bright-eyed and friendly, and when I left he came with me.
The tag on his cage named him "Karl", and said that he was six months old. The former I decided to change almost immediately, to "Ben"; the latter, I eventually realized, was inaccurate - he was nearer twelve months than six. His introduction to Murphy was loud and ferocious on both sides, but the two soon settled into acceptance.
Emotionally, Ben was a bit fragile. At the least sign of my displeasure, he would perform the full submission routine, rolling over and piddling. Since this most often happened when I asked him to get off my bed, the results were... unsettling. I soon learned to keep any trace of anger out of my voice in dealing with him. (Firmness was possible, but raising my voice was a recipe for problems.) He disliked being held, and panicked on being picked up, screaming and struggling violently to escape. His mood would swing wildly, for no discernible reason; some days, he would bounce joyfully around the house, and others he would slink, as if expecting to be beaten. I suspected - and still suspect - that whoever he had lived with before mistreated him; I have no proof, but only the evidence of his behavior.
He was one of the most playful dogs I've ever lived with. I think Murphy found him a bit tiresome, but there developed a modus vivendi. If they tussled over a toy, Ben would win; if over food, Murphy would win. Both seemed content with this. Ben would play chase (but never fetch) with a ball for as long as I would cooperate; if I declined, he would play by himself, batting the ball with his paws, catlike, and chasing after it. (On one memorable occasion, I saw him throw a tennis ball, snapping his head around and releasing it, so that it bounced away, to be pursued again.)
Ben's jumping ability was remarkable; he frequently would leap from the floor to make a four-point landing on the back of the couch. He was very quiet about it, though.... On one occasion, I was walking alongside the couch, headed for the kitchen and listening to music. I was air-conducting as I walked; Ben jumped onto the couch-back behind me, and received a vigorous down-beat square in the face.
He loved people; when, on walks, we passed children or the elderly, I had to pull the leash in tight to keep his inevitable leaps from knocking them down. I never met anyone who didn't love him back.
I'd had Ben for perhaps four years, the first time he came onto the couch and into my lap, of his own accord. (He always enjoyed being petted, but, as I said, was skittish about being held.) I was careful with him, stroking his head but not hugging him or doing anything to set him off. After a time, I had to get up; it was only then that I discovered that his entire left foreleg was inside my pants pocket. Extricating myself took a bit of time.
It was another couple of years before he finally allowed me to pick him up. I was walking him to the vet, one hot August morning, and about halfway there he sat down and made it clear that he wasn't taking another step. Carefully, I picked him up and hoisted his forequarters onto my shoulder, and carried him the rest of the way.
There have been times I felt fiercely angry towards his first people; and of the things that I feel proud of, the healing of his spirit in the years he lived with me ranks very high.
There really isn't much to say of the way Ben aged; he never lost his playfulness or his gusto, or his ecstasy at being petted. Sometimes he would escape, sneaking through or under the fence or bolting through an unguarded door, but he would always come trotting back soon enough, grinning at the fun. (Oh, no one could grin like Ben....) He loved, and he was loved, and nothing ever slowed him down - not even the cancer that finally killed him. He pranced along beside me on the way to the vet, that last day, with as much vigor as ever.
I will always remember him, leaping and barking in the back yard when he saw me coming home, then dashing to the doggie doors so he could greet me as I entered. This house, and my life, is emptier without him.
The tag on his cage named him "Karl", and said that he was six months old. The former I decided to change almost immediately, to "Ben"; the latter, I eventually realized, was inaccurate - he was nearer twelve months than six. His introduction to Murphy was loud and ferocious on both sides, but the two soon settled into acceptance.
Emotionally, Ben was a bit fragile. At the least sign of my displeasure, he would perform the full submission routine, rolling over and piddling. Since this most often happened when I asked him to get off my bed, the results were... unsettling. I soon learned to keep any trace of anger out of my voice in dealing with him. (Firmness was possible, but raising my voice was a recipe for problems.) He disliked being held, and panicked on being picked up, screaming and struggling violently to escape. His mood would swing wildly, for no discernible reason; some days, he would bounce joyfully around the house, and others he would slink, as if expecting to be beaten. I suspected - and still suspect - that whoever he had lived with before mistreated him; I have no proof, but only the evidence of his behavior.
He was one of the most playful dogs I've ever lived with. I think Murphy found him a bit tiresome, but there developed a modus vivendi. If they tussled over a toy, Ben would win; if over food, Murphy would win. Both seemed content with this. Ben would play chase (but never fetch) with a ball for as long as I would cooperate; if I declined, he would play by himself, batting the ball with his paws, catlike, and chasing after it. (On one memorable occasion, I saw him throw a tennis ball, snapping his head around and releasing it, so that it bounced away, to be pursued again.)
Ben's jumping ability was remarkable; he frequently would leap from the floor to make a four-point landing on the back of the couch. He was very quiet about it, though.... On one occasion, I was walking alongside the couch, headed for the kitchen and listening to music. I was air-conducting as I walked; Ben jumped onto the couch-back behind me, and received a vigorous down-beat square in the face.
He loved people; when, on walks, we passed children or the elderly, I had to pull the leash in tight to keep his inevitable leaps from knocking them down. I never met anyone who didn't love him back.
I'd had Ben for perhaps four years, the first time he came onto the couch and into my lap, of his own accord. (He always enjoyed being petted, but, as I said, was skittish about being held.) I was careful with him, stroking his head but not hugging him or doing anything to set him off. After a time, I had to get up; it was only then that I discovered that his entire left foreleg was inside my pants pocket. Extricating myself took a bit of time.
It was another couple of years before he finally allowed me to pick him up. I was walking him to the vet, one hot August morning, and about halfway there he sat down and made it clear that he wasn't taking another step. Carefully, I picked him up and hoisted his forequarters onto my shoulder, and carried him the rest of the way.
There have been times I felt fiercely angry towards his first people; and of the things that I feel proud of, the healing of his spirit in the years he lived with me ranks very high.
There really isn't much to say of the way Ben aged; he never lost his playfulness or his gusto, or his ecstasy at being petted. Sometimes he would escape, sneaking through or under the fence or bolting through an unguarded door, but he would always come trotting back soon enough, grinning at the fun. (Oh, no one could grin like Ben....) He loved, and he was loved, and nothing ever slowed him down - not even the cancer that finally killed him. He pranced along beside me on the way to the vet, that last day, with as much vigor as ever.
I will always remember him, leaping and barking in the back yard when he saw me coming home, then dashing to the doggie doors so he could greet me as I entered. This house, and my life, is emptier without him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 12:33 am (UTC)I am so glad you and Ben found each other, and got to spend those years together. He certainly found the right human to spend his life with.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 12:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 12:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 01:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 01:13 am (UTC)"Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear."
--Rudyard Kipling.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 01:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 01:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 02:11 am (UTC)You were blessed to find each other. Remember that blessing and draw strength and joy from it in the somewhat emptier days to come.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 02:13 am (UTC)Goodbye, Ben. May you find balls to throw and chase again and strokes when you want them.
I read your LMB response; I look forward to more posts in the spring.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 03:17 am (UTC)As do we all. Sandie and I have over the last couple of years lost three of our cats ... we were able to get kittens fairly quickly, but we are home all the time. ::hugs::
no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 03:50 am (UTC)Ben
Date: 2008-10-02 04:27 am (UTC)James
(Bryant)
I am so sorry
Date: 2008-10-02 04:52 am (UTC)I will miss both of them in your posts. Small dog and even smaller dog will be getting extra cuddles from me this evening.
Bea
no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 12:41 pm (UTC)*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 01:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 05:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-03 12:33 pm (UTC)Suey
no subject
Date: 2008-10-04 03:13 am (UTC)