Benson

Hello.

My name is Benson, and I am a dog. This is where you say “Hello Benson!”

Go ahead. I’ll wait.

I am four, or five, or eight years old. I don’t know. I’m not very good at math, and honestly, I can’t read a watch or a calendar either. I’d ask my humans, but they don’t know either, because they came into my life when I was already fully grown.

This is at least my third home. I sort of lost track. These humans have been with me for quite a while, though, so I think I’m gonna stick it out here. Not only do I get a lot of affection from the four bipeds who live with me, but I have two other furry mates who run around our fenced yard together, chasing tennis balls, chasing each other, chasing leaves, chasing squirrels, chasing birds … where was I again? Oh yeah. My home.

The people feed me really good food, so my coat is soft and fluffy, but they also feed me treats. They like to toss the treats to me. I really wish they wouldn’t. It puts a lot of pressure on me to perform, and catching stuff in my mouth isn’t really my thing. One of the other dogs is super-athletic and can catch anything thrown at her, but that’s just not my thing.

Treats, like cheese, or pizza crusts, or pieces of meat tend to confound me and often bounce off my forehead, and sometimes land on my back and stay there. I can’t see what’s stuck back there, so I spin around looking for the lost treat, and the humans and the other dogs laugh. It makes me feel self-conscious, especially when one of the other dogs eats my treat off my fur. The people are nice, though. They just hand me another one and give me rubs and pets to console me. Between us, sometimes I miss on purpose because I like being consoled. I’m a big, soft-hearted lump.

It took me a while to adapt here – probably a year or so. Everyone treated me well, but I didn’t know if I was staying or going, so I was reluctant to commit. My tail was usually down and my ears were back. Over time, though, I realized, unlike before, the humans didn’t leave me, and whenever we would go for rides in the car, they’d always bring me home.

When I first arrived on the scene, there was only one other furry thing, and she didn’t really like me too much. I’d try to play tug-of-war or wrestle with her, and she’d growl, and then she’d keep dropping tennis balls in front of me, like she wanted to play catch, but I didn’t understand. Basically, we had a communication breakdown. Then, a few months ago, the humans brought the third furry thing home, and my life improved dramatically.

She gets me.

Now, I have a dog to wrestle and tug on stuff with. The humans call her Lilo, but I call her my friend. Even the other furry thing has gotten in on the act, and all three of us play tug of war and wrestle. But the first one still never puts down the tennis ball. Although the first one’s never come right out and said it, or anything, I really think she wants me and Lilo to go back to where we came from so she can have the humans and the yard and the tennis balls all to herself again.

These days, my life is amazing. I have friends who play with me, a big yard for romping, great food, and kind humans who I sleep on all the time, and who give me belly and head rubs until I don’t want anymore, then I retreat to a quiet place to contemplate the essence of my being.

My name is Benson. I’m an 85 pounds Border Collie, mixed with something else (my vet thinks it’s Bernese Mountain Dog), and that’s my story.

Oh, and there are squirrels. Did I mention the squirrels? We have lots and lots of squirrels.