Good day beautiful people. Life fucking sucks sometimes. Shit happens — like really awful stuff happens in this world. But one of the most wonderful things in life is the unwavering, unconditional love you get from a pet.
So, when you lose one, it can really fuck you up
The day after Easter, our sweet Benji passed away.
We made a huge mistake about 13-to-15 years ago and took in every dog that needed us. I say “mistake,” but I don’t mean it. It was just the way it happened. A pup would come into our lives and while trying to find them a forever home, they made it clear that they had already found their forever home … and it was with us.
At one point we had six dogs. All of them found their way into our home and into our hearts.
One was rescued from a junkyard where he was being mistreated, so my husband, Jamie, snatched him up and said, “He’s going with me.”
One walked up to me outside of a pharmacy in Oak Cliff and just stood next to me. He was filthy, malnourished and horribly matted, but I knew within a few seconds that he belonged with us.
One came from my niece. She got a free puppy outside of a Wal-Mart and it took her about two weeks to realize how much work goes into being a pup parent, and she was ready to tap out. So she showed up to our house and asked us to find him a home. It was an I-told-ya-so situation, and yes, I said it.
The thing we did not realize at the time was that all of these sweet little dudes were close to the same age. The past three years, it has seemed that we have had to say goodbye to one of our babies every five or six months. It has felt soul crushing at times, and some days are really hard. But I wouldn’t change a thing.
They needed us. They made our lives better and made us smile every day. They loved us. To me, the years of love — the snuggles, the companionship, the calming effect they have on my soul — all of those things and more far outweigh the pain you feel at the end.
Please don’t think saying goodbye is easy or that it gets easier just because it keeps happening to us, because it fucking doesn’t. Each one hurts in a completely different way.
Each death is a separate wound that time and good memories help to stitch up. But there will always be a scar.
The pup we got from my niece was Benji. We were so creative when naming him: He looked like Benji from the movies in the ’70s and ’80s, so Benji was his name. He was a handful, but he was smart and learned quickly. He almost immediately fit into our growing little pack of misfits.
Benji loved to be outside in our backyard. When I would yell for him to come inside, if he wasn’t ready to come in, he would hide from us. That is how the “Where’s Benji?” game came to be. I would take a pic of him hiding from us — usually just the very top of his head, from the eyes up — and post it on Facebook.
I was always so surprised at how many of y’all would look for him like he was Waldo. He really thought he was slick. He thought, “If the daddies don’t see me, I don’t gotta go in.” We’d usually pretend to give up looking and let him have another five minutes before I would have to go out and stomp my foot. The foot stomping let him know I was serious and for him to get his ass inside.
Benji was adorable but shaped weird. He was stocky and short, built like a tootsie roll on thin legs. We had no idea what breed he was. He looked like a terrier of some sort, but we were clueless about his lineage. So Jamie did a doggie DNA test on Benji, and it turns out that he was 50 percent dachshund and 50 percent Chinese crested. Something tells me that he was an accident, and I am sure there is a story there — like Benji’s parents were young star-crossed lovers. Their love would not be denied, but her parents made her put her child up for adoption so not to ruin the family name.
Benji was a goofball. He barked way too much and probably thought his name was “SHUT UP!” He hated baths and would growl the entire time he was being groomed, but he always seemed apologetic when it was done. He might have been bipolar. He had the most beautiful, expressive eyes that always had a twinkle in them — a wonderfully devilish twinkle that I can’t believe I will never see again.
Our once large and chaotic household is now small and quiet. It’s just me, Jamie and our five-pound behemoth, Riley. One dog — I have not had only one dog in more than 25 years. And before you ask me to take in your friends’ dog or encourage us to get to a shelter soon — please don’t. We will know when it’s time.
Right now, it is all about Riley and making sure he feels loved. To be honest, I think he is starting to get annoyed with us. He will go and sit on his bed with his back to us, as if to say, “I need space, dammit!”
Riley just turned nine years old, so hopefully we have a bunch of years left together. We gotta make those memories while we can. Love on your babies for me and cherish every day with them, and remember to always love more, bitch less and be fabulous! XOXO, Cassie Nova
