Just shy of three years is not enough time with a dog, especially one that’s supposed to have double that left. Today my parent’s dog Ben left us way, way too soon (he was only 6 or 7). Apparently he had a heart defect, and as cliché as it sounds, he may have just been too full of love.
A rescue dog, Ben came into our lives on my parents’ birthday in 2010, about a year after we lost our previous (and also wonderful) dog Jake. He’d been found wandering the streets of Hillsboro, Oregon, likely a result of the housing collapse.
Ben’s time with my family mirrored my return the West Coast. I met him over Christmas break that first year, when my plans to move back here seriously set into motion.
When my folks made their first trip down after I moved to San Francisco what a treat it was for them to bring the dog along! He actually ended up making the trip twice – my person brother hasn’t even been able to make it yet.
Changing up my Portland visit pattern over the past couple of years, I got to know this pup pretty well as a part of my adolescent home. For a boxer, he thought he was a lapdog. He always behaved so well on our walks or greeted you with a grin, instead of a bark, when you came in the door. With my parents moving to Virginia next year, it makes me extra sad to think there may not be another dog at 1160 NW 119th Place.
We’ll miss you, Benny!