Tara Mason

October 6, 2009 – August 17, 2026

After nearly seventeen years together, Benjamin accumulated quite a few nicknames. One of my favorites was Prince of Peace because he was acquired in the Bible Belt.

I was living with my parents in that strange stretch between college and New York City when I picked him up from a farm deep in the middle of Nowhere, Missouri. 

When he was a tiny pup, my dad used to ball up pieces of paper and throw them across the room. Ben would go flying after them, ears pinned back, absolutely certain this was his calling.

When I was in college, I told people I was going to name my firstborn son Benjamin. I just loved the formality of it. Turns out I quickly used it on a five-pound dog instead.

He followed me to NYC when he was eight months old. In the East Village, Benjamin drank exclusively from pink water bowls and slept on top of my ruffle duvet cover, which feels like useful information about who he was.

Over the years, he lived with a teacup Yorkie named Lily, a Jack Russell-pug mix named Ouzo, a Great Dane named Pearl, and a Goldendoodle named Remy before eventually landing with Banjo, the dachshund brother he begrudgingly accepted and ultimately loved for the last decade of his life.

There are very few parts of my adult life that don’t have Benjamin somewhere in the frame. He absorbed heartbreak, new arrivals, marriage, babies, moves, grief, uncertainty, and all the ordinary days in between.

In 2021, he was diagnosed with an ocular tumor. We didn’t hesitate to have his eye removed if it meant more time. Which reminds me of one of my favorite stories about him…