Benny was a big dog. A big male dog. I don't remember what kind of dog he was, except that he had a coat of tan and white fur and pointy ears.

My brother and I were young. I was in kindergarten; my brother was not yet in preschool.

Being little boys, we'd run and play with Benny. Fetch. Sit and Shake. Even Horsey because he was big enough to support our weight.

One day, he leaped up onto me. I didn't fathom what he was doing, only that it must have been a new game he wanted to play.

"Look, Mommy! Benny wants to dance!"

My Mom's face twisted in horror and she pulled Benny off.

Benny would occasionally leap up at us from behind. "Benny, I don't want to dance right now. We'll play later," I'd tell him because we were playing with our Matchbox cars.

Rejected, Benny would leap up against the couch and dance with it instead.

One weekend, my parents brought him to the doctor. "He needs…" my Mom paused and looked around, "…he needs some vitamins."

When they brought him back, he didn't want to dance anymore. My brother and I would pick him up and hold his paws. "C'mon, Benny, let's dance!"

But he didn't care much for dancing now. "Mommy, how come Benny doesn't dance?"

She looked at my Dad. "Um," she answered, scratching her head. "He's just getting old and doesn't have enough energy to dance anymore."

The next dog we got was a small female dog. My parents seemed pleased at that, though she never wanted to dance with us like Benny did.

. . .

Ever dance with your dog?