Farewell and welcome home

Benji, the big white furball that created a bedroom of snowing fur for godpa. A greedy chin that popped out of his cosy ceramic house whenever fresh hay was brought. He used to jump to the top platform eager and vying with Rocky when godpa ruffled the bag of treats containing apple twig or rosehips.

Today godpa prepared him for his journey, a journey that releases him from the confines of a mortal body. I sniffed around Benji's limp body but was quickly shoo-ed away and locked out by godpa. I guess he needed to spend a few moments alone feeling the soft fluffy fur which will soon turn to dust. Touch is such a beautiful thing, I often crave for godpa to cradle me or stay close to me.

The cremation folks came by in the morning to pick up Benji while godpa was at work. By evening after dinner, they brought him back to us. Somehow seeing the transformation helps one to realize that the mortal form has irrevocably changed and what's left are memories and the bond that continues without end. Godpa hasn't decided whether to keep the ashes or scatter them into the sea. I favour rejoining life giving great mother nature.

Godpa tells me Benji was an imported chinchilla, which meant he travelled by air from a distant country, likely USA, while still a baby. Even though he wasn't adopted like me, one wonders about the circumstances that bring two beings together. Some call it fate? Or is it a kind of love that brought godpa and uncle Leon to choose him from among other chins at the shop?

Chinchilla lovers will say Benji has crossed the rainbow bridge into raisin heaven. Is there a bone heaven for doggies too?

Is it a kind of dream,
Floating out on the tide,
Following the river of death downstream?
Oh, is it a dream?

There's a fog along the horizon,
A strange glow in the sky.
And nobody seems to know where you go.
And what does it mean?
Oh, is it a dream?

Bright eyes,
Burning like fire.
Bright eyes,
How can you close and fail?
How can the light that burned so brightly
Suddenly burn so pale?
Bright eyes.

Is it a kind of shadow,
Reaching into the night,
Wandering over the hills unseen?
Or is it a dream?

There's a high wind in the trees,
A cold sound in the air.
And nobody ever knows when you go.
And where do you start,
Oh, into the dark?