I was 21 years old. I’d been couch surfing for a full year and starting to ask the serious questions. What was next? Was this me? Was there more for me to do? What do I do?
Sensing the end of my ‘no attachment to anything’ days I decided I needed to take advantage of my freedom while I still possessed it. No serious girlfriend, no serious job, no prospects for a serious job.
I decided to take a trip to the homeland. I packed up my teal ’98 Pontiac Sunfire and drove to Utah. I stayed with various family members, intending to be there a week tops. Weeks went by. I stayed with a cousin to party, I stayed with an aunt for movies and dinner, I stayed with grandparents for home cooked meals. Everything back then was tinted with selfish motivations.
Eventually I ended up at the home of my Aunt Laura, Uncle Jon, and cousin Sydney.
They had a dog named Bengie. He had been around a while. At this point he must have been around 4 years old. A little puppy-like dog, full of energy.
I stayed in the guest bedroom in the basement. I still don’t know if this was normal for Bengie, but every night I was there, when it came time to go downstairs for bed, he’d saunter down with me. I’d get in bed and he’d lay at my feet. Every night.
This was a soul-searching trip. One of the most spiritual experiences of my life happened in that basement. There were many tears. A lot of growing up and change happened there. Things were thought about that hadn’t been thought about for a long time. Options considered. Prayers said to God that had been avoided for so long. So many feelings and emotions. A post later this week called “Jonah and the Whale” will elaborate on these prayers.
Through all those emotional moments, I remember a dog. Sitting on the bed. Keeping me company. It was like God was saying, in a way my spiritually dimmed and simple brain could understand, “See him. He’s here for you. I brought him here for you.” Multiple times Bengie was hugged, talked to. You know, those weird, talk-to-the-dog-like-he’s-a-person moments. “What am I going to do Bengie? I’m scared.” He would look at me and it was like he knew; it was like he understood.
I had a lot of comfort from that dog those few days.
So, when the time came that Bengie needed a home; Sydney was going to college and Uncle Jon wasn’t able to keep up with the day to day care of a still energetic, 11-year-old puppy, I jumped at the opportunity. My mom was talking to Jon about taking Bengie in. I asked and was prepared to beg. Let us take Bengie! Beth and I had just gotten married, I had just started coaching so Beth was home for hours and hours on her own.
It felt like the second time God sent just the right person, a dog, to answer not yet uttered prayers.
Today, I tell Beth that Bengie is my best friend, she can take second. Everyone else has fallen behind. Just like those days in that basement bedroom, seemingly alone, I’m never alone long. Any dog lover knows, especially with a velcro dog, he’s always there.
It was only a couple months in to having Bengie. We were at a dog park. As soon as we walked in a playful pit bull took an extreme interest in Bengie. It seemed playful. A small amount of concern set in when the owner of the pit bull quickly intervened, pulling her dog by its harness and dragging it, kicking and screaming, to the other end of the park. Beth and I continued to walk through the park. We were dog-sitting a giant golden doodle that day. So, Archie-the-golden-doodle ran bounding around the perimeter of the park. Bengie did his normal perusing, checking out the hot spots of the area.
Bengie was walking on his own, near no other animals or people. I didn’t go to the dog parks with Beth too often. It wasn’t in my nature to hover protectively over a dog when I did. Maybe something did feel off when we came in with the pit bull and the other dogs, being playful, I thought.
I saw the pit bull sprint right by me. It ran at Bengie. I continued walking towards them. I was maybe 15 feet away. I thought they were going to play. Bengie, not appreciating the sudden surprise charge of a bigger dog immediately got defensive.
It happened really fast. The pit bull bit Bengie around the neck and started swinging him around. I ran and grabbed the harness of the pit bull and yanked him back. Bengie fell out of his mouth. I pulled the pit away as he kept trying to get back to Bengie who was laying on the ground. The owner showed up and was trying to calm her dog. Beth showed up and scooped Bengie off the ground. I didn’t see it happen; all I saw was the blood pouring from the pit owner’s hand. I was lucky I got behind the pit bull. She made the mistake of getting in between a dog and what it now, apparently, deemed prey.
I’ll jump ahead, I don’t want to leave you in too much suspense. Bengie survived. By some miracle the pit bull didn’t get a full grip on his neck. Only one side of him was punctured, the other side of his neck was just grazed. If the pit got a proper grip, there’s no chance Bengie would have survived.
The next day was really difficult. Bengie wouldn’t eat or drink. He couldn’t walk, though he tried to. You know, because he couldn’t let us be anywhere in our home alone, even when he was near dying. I don’t know if you’re supposed to bless animals. I don’t think you’re supposed to. I didn’t anoint him with oil. But I held him, and I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed.
I know this will be silly to many. Once upon a time it may have been silly to me. But I love that dog so much. In that moment I felt a tiny glimpse into what it’s like to see a child suffer. I know, I know, he wasn’t a child, I get it. I’m still saying it. I love him like a child, and it was really, really hard to see him so hurt and in so much pain.
I can’t begin to understand, even consider the pain of losing a child. I can’t. I won’t let my mind go there and hope I never have to. I learned a tiny, infinitesimal bit of that pain that day.
Now, as my first daughter makes her way to my life, I realize how much Bengie has taught me.
I like to think I’ve progressed more from a boy to man in these past 9 years. Since those first days with Bengie, when he comforted me. He stayed by my side and slept at my feet. He watched me pray. He was there to look at me, with (I swear it) care in his eyes as I cried questions I had to ask.
One day I’ll write about my Aunt Laura and why she was so special. Bengie was her special companion and comforter through her last years. Beth said something interesting recently. She said, “Sometimes I look at him and think about all the comforting he’s done.” For Laura, for me, for Beth. Aren’t we lucky God has sent us such special friends?
You sent a puppy to comfort a boy. You sent a dog to teach a man.
No Coincidences 