Life with Benji

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Benji, our 12-pound rescue pooch, continues to enrich our lives with his independent personality and endearing behavior.

Valentine’s Day marked our first year with this 6-year-old straw-colored little man who is a blend of toy fox terrier and Chihuahua. The formal title is Taco Terrier.

As with many canines, Benji has many amusing quirks. For instance, he takes his treats immediately to the yard or sofa, whichever is closest, and buries them in the garden or beneath a throw. Following the recent snow melt, the furry exhumer trotted back inside with mud layered across the first 2 inches of his nose.

When not nestled beside one of us in our recliners (he takes turns), Benji has taken up residence on the back of our living room couch against a front window.

With blinds open, he can spend hours carefully observing the street and everything along it. I call it doggie TV.

He even has a built-in timer. We know because each evening at 6:45, he rises from whichever chair he’s been peacefully dozing in and begins staring alternately between Jeanetta and me while performing what I can best describe as the Benji bounce.

He’s waiting for us to utter the magic phrase: “You ready to go back?” That’s all it takes to set him to spinning and leaping between the chairs. That’s Benji-speak for “do I have a tail?” The going-back ritual has become his favorite minute of each day.

In bed he snuggles by crawling atop the covers where he paws and gnaws at them until their arrangement meet his satisfaction, only to finally settle atop Jeanetta’s stomach as she lies on her back. He also gets his warmed-over evening treat that she prepares and serves at the foot of the bed (spoiled much?)

If his stomach is upset, he will climb up her body and into her face, with a tiny paw on each collarbone and noses almost touching.

That’s become his way of saying he’s needing a swig of Pepto Bismol. We have no idea how he arrived at that form of communication. I suspect because it works.

Actually, climbing (I should say crawling) is among his favorite pastimes, as he often lays flat against the ground or carpet and pulls himself across on his belly. While I have yet to give it a try, it looks like fun. I may give it a try once the ground thaws and mud is gone.

When I’m in the office writing, he’s often lying beside me in one of those cushioned canine beds. Every so often, he’ll arise and put both front paws up on my leg. It’s his way of saying enough of that hunt-and-pecking already. I need my ears rubbed and additional attention.

As with most dogs, Benji relishes being outside, especially when playing with other dogs. If he’s not basking in the sun on the deck, the boy is usually warbling his throaty “girrr, girr, girrs” lasting several seconds before breaking into a full-blown bark in response to the woofs from across the neighborhood. I imagine him telling them, “You really want some of these 12 pounds?”

The only other noticeable sounds during these canine calls to arms are the tapping of his toenails on hardwood as he trots from the deck into the living room only to sprint back outside with the next outcries from his brethren. I call it yo-yoing.

Sometimes he sprints through the backyard, constantly growling at the faintest barks from a half-mile distant.

I imagine he’s actually reassuring them that he hears their concerns and is eager to join in their appeals.

And while he’s a firstrate growler and acceptable barker, he never barks at people or in anger. Those who visit are in danger of being severely loved. He has such an abiding affection for humans.

For instance, a male visitor seated on the couch was shocked the other day when Benji climbed up behind him and began rubbing his face and neck against the man’s hair (visualize a cat rubbing and purring against your leg).

Although he’s gained 2 pounds over the year since we paid $75 to bring him home from the Ozark Humane Society Shelter in Harrison, Benji remains somewhat a picky eater. So we’ve turned to freeze-dried raw dog food, which he prefers to the store-bought dry stuff.

And, get this, we discovered chicken feet (yes, as in chicken and their feet) at the grocery that he loves as his treat. The hideous appearance of those severed fowl appendages doesn’t bother him, so who are we to deny the boy his odd snack fetish?

When we met him, you may recall Benji was a, well, notso-hot mess. Trembling in our arms last February, we noticed the fur on his back had been stripped away from incessant chewing on infesting fleas. His toenails were approaching 2 inches and his teeth badly needed cleaning, so much so, in fact, that the vet had to pull three.

In short, the boy was suffering until we could get his ailments cured and his life turned from constant discomfort into a positive experience where he is loved.

Now go out into the world and treat everyone (and every animal) you meet exactly like you want them to treat you.