Good night, Sweet Prince

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest....

Farewell, Best. Dog. Ever.

If you follow me on social media at all, you’ll feel like you know my beloved Benny, aka “The Writing Assistant.” He has been by my side for all but the first of my 20 published (or soon to be published) novels.

Today he crossed the Rainbow Bridge, leaving a ginormous, Benny-shaped hole in all of our hearts.

My mother painted this portrait of Benny on my computer from a photograph I took. She added the humor of him looking up Beggin’ Strips on it.

There’s so much emotion on top of the usual grief of losing a beloved furry family member.

There’s the added sense that he is the last dog that my late parents knew and loved. I’ve written before about the special relationship he had with my father when Dad had Alzheimer’s. One of the last pictures I took of Mom before she died so suddenly and unexpectedly 16 months after Dad, was taken at my birthday celebration at home - you can see it in the gallery below. Benny brought a smile to everyone’s face, and that dog LOVED his family. He had a special high pitched bark of excitement he saved for when people he loved arrived at the door - we called it the “Family Bark”.

Benny and his fam

Benny was known as “The Care Dog”, because his big heart extended to comforting our other dogs if they were distressed. One of our Italian Greyhounds, Raja, was very sensitive and skittish. If he got upset, Benny would chase after him, sniffing him to make sure he was okay. When we lost Raja, young Benny kept looking for him under the covers of our bed, where Raja burrowed to sleep every night.

Even though he wasn’t an official therapy dog, Benny was amazing when I’d take him to Waveny Care Center to visit Dad. Below is a video I took on one of our visits - he raced to my father’s room every time.

When I was grieving my parents, Benny would sleep on the pillow next to my head, so if I woke up in the middle of the night and was walloped by the remembrance of grief I could stroke his soft fur and feel the comfort of his warmth.

And he grieved along with me. The picture below was taken when I kept vigil by my father’s bedside the day before he died. Benny adored my father. And as you can see by the pup’s expression, he knew we were losing him.

Benny giving comfort to my dying father the day before Dad died.

He was as gentle and patient with babies as he was with the elderly patients at Waveney. Here he is with my dear friend Maura’s son Hugh, outside Parsonage Cottage in Greenwich.

Benny being "walked" by baby Hugh

But as sweet and loving as he was, Benny had his ferocious side, too. He was a fierce de-squeaker of any toy in the house. I’d buy him toys with multiple squeakers and we’d bet on how long it would take for him to destroy all of them. Benny had a particular penchant for decapitating and destuffing Lambchops.

Despite his gentle and loving soul, Benny never met a Lambchop or squeaky toy that he didn’t want to utterly destroy.

He had a serious addiction to Beggin’ Strips and Greenies, to the point that we had to make up codewords for them.

As well as being the Writing Assistant, he was also my faithful Grill Assistant who hung out with me outside, no matter the weather. He’d wait patiently until I gave him a small piece of steak to taste to ensure that it was grilled to perfection. He was an excellent quality controller.

I know the Rainbow Bridge probably doesn’t really exist; it’s most likely a beautiful story we tell ourselves to cope with loss. But today it gives me comfort to imagine our beloved Benny, young again, free of his ailments and pain, his sight and vision restored, running across that bridge, giving the Family Bark as he runs to the waiting arms of my late parents. It gives me comfort to think of their joyful reunion.

When we lost dogs in the past, I used to read my kids Cynthia Rylant’s Dog Heaven, a book I’ve never managed to read through without crying.

I hope and pray that when I enter eventually walk through final gate that we all must enter, my beloved boy will be there waiting to greet me, tail wagging, eyes bright, and I look forward to cuddling him in my arms again.