Benji

The puppy came home to joyous shouts of the boy. It was a mutt, brown with white freckles and a patch of white on his back. This was day one.

By day five, the interior of the house took the appearance of a college dorm room a few days before annual cleanup. The puppy, christened Benji by the boy, had managed to sample every item on the first floor at least once and came back for a third and fourth helping of table legs and carpet.

Measures implemented by Mom seemed to ease the chaos. Now the puppy contented itself with linoleum
floors of the kitchen, which never seemed to give way under his digging paws.

Around one month, Benji, quite attached to his new family (especially their socks, which appeared in odd
locations throughout his domain) decided that he would join them for dinner. He currently resided in the conspicuously neat laundry room (where every laundry basket sat four feet off the floor) and was therefore separated from his goal by a none too formidable sheetrock wall. After trying the taste, he decided that such a thing was better left for his paws and set to work.

As it turned out, the family, Mom, Dad, and Billy, had gone to dinner with friends; Billy entertained himself
with four crayons and a paper, producing no less than three Rembrandts and two Michelangelos before his chicken fingers came. The puppy, now through the wall, mournfully found the kitchen vacant of human companions. Chance would have it that the phone decided to ring at the moment, and the puppy commenced operation Find Playmate, which dictated that if it makes noise, it also might more about and play tug-of-war.

The phone was safely out of reach until Benji moved from the chair to the countertop. Fouth ring and the
built in answering machine picked up. "Hello, we're not home right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, we'll get back to you as soon as possible," came Dad's voice from the unit.
Benji almost fell off the countertop at this discovery, and now took the offending voice into his mouth. The
cordless phone came away from the wall and went with Benji to his lair in the laundry room where he proceeded to sample the new treat.

Hard plastic was Benji's favorite, and, before he knew it, he had chewed and swallowed the phone, with the exception of a few plastic crumbs that he dutifully cleaned up with his tongue. By this time, Benji decided that he was not feeling well and napped on his bed beside the warmth of the dryer.

The family took this opportunity to return home, jaunty after their night with friends. They quickly found the hole in the wall and became very concerned with Benji's paws. As all pet owners might have worries when their dog eat through walls, they searched for a phone to call the vet. Looking around for the kitchen phone, which, despite its charging unit's location, seemed to have full range of the house like an escaped gerbil, the phone rang. Mom, who was with Benji, was astonished and perplexed to hear a ring from inside Benji.

Dad answered the phone in the bedroom. It was the neighbor who had called before, complaining that he
was about to leave a message when the phone was answered, and he heard (here he expressed doubt) what sounded like chewing. Dad arrived at the same conclusion as Mom at about the same time, which produced two oddly harmonizing screams.

They rushed Benji to the vet hospital and x-rayed his stomach. In addition to his normal diet of two socks
(preferably dirty), he sported the remains of what appeared to be a phone. The vet enjoined surgery, and Dad eagerly assented.

Two hours and many coffees later, the vet emerged with good news. Benji's condition was stable but she
recommended that when he came home, he refrain from any objects lacking the amino acids normally attributed with food.

The paragon-of-a-quadruped patient came home a few days later, convinced that the goal had not been worth his troubles that stemmed from removing inconvenient walls. But then, most goals do not appear worth the tribulations that accompany them when the goal seeker falls short of success.

David Friend, October 2001.