The Shared Space Between Us

November 24, 2025

The Shared Space Between Us

By Simon J. Lau

In loving memory of Benny
September 1, 2012 to November 9, 2025

November 9, 2025 was unseasonably warm in San Francisco. It felt far more like summer than fall. That morning, the sun filled our patio, heating the tiles and casting a warm glow across the space. Our dog, Benny, settled onto his striped blanket in his usual spot, leaning over with his eyes closed as the light settled over him. Jean, my wife, sat nearby while Bruno, our other dog, shuffled into a narrow sliver at our feet. Sunbathing was part of Benny’s routine, but that morning carried a stillness that felt unfamiliar. As I watched him rest, he seemed to accept something I wasn’t yet able to.

I found Benny in 2013 through a shelter posting online. His profile photo was far from flattering. His face was caught at an odd angle, the lighting washed him out, and he had a smirk that made him look goofy. He came across as a generic pit bull mix in a long lineup of abandoned dogs, each with a hopeful plea written by shelter staff and volunteers. Still, something in his expression spoke to me.

I’d spent years searching for a dog. Each time something felt right, the timing felt wrong. A few days after seeing Benny’s listing, we met him at the shelter. He was alone in a kennel, sitting quietly. When we called his name, he cocked his head to one side and hurried over. In that moment he recognized us, we recognized him, and that small exchange became the start of our next twelve years together.

When Benny first joined our household, the structure of my early adulthood was still forming. Jean and I had just moved into a small one-bedroom apartment in San Francisco. The carpet was worn, the kitchen was outdated, and most of our furniture was second hand. The photo of Benny resting his head on Jean’s backpack from those initial days captures that reality clearly. It was in that modest apartment, with Benny beside us, that things first took shape.

As that period unfolded, I began to understand the very different roles Jean and Benny played in my life. Jean and I grew together through offsetting forces. She’s deeply introverted, and I’m naturally outgoing. She works through problems in her head, and I work through mine out loud. Those differences created a healthy counterbalance, the kind of stability that helps two people stay aligned even when their instincts diverge.

My relationship with Benny worked on a completely different axis. There was no offset; we simply moved in parallel. If friends stayed over late, he’d stay up with us, curling beside me on the couch. If the day slowed into an afternoon nap, he’d match that pace, settling by my feet or resting his head on my arm. His habits, reactions, and even his aging tracked mine so closely that I could see parts of myself reflected in him. That mirroring, rather than balance, defined our bond.

Benny influenced how I experienced San Francisco. Until then, my understanding of the city was limited. I knew the areas I passed through out of habit: the blocks near my office and the stretch between home and work. With Benny, that all changed. We spent far more time outdoors. We hiked a weekly loop through the Presidio, following trails that dipped along the ridgeline. We covered long sections of Ocean Beach, where he would run the shoreline and wade into the surf. I’d always known these places, but Benny gave me reasons to return and rediscover them. Over time, the city became an important shared space between us.

As I entered my prime, my life gained momentum. Not long after we adopted Benny, Jean and I got engaged. In a photo from that period, the three of us together with the skyline behind us captured how I saw the road ahead. We were just getting started, but our personal lives and professional ambitions were finally aligned in a way that gave our shared future a coherent outline and a real sense of endless possibilities. That chapter was defined by a clear forward drive and the grounded certainty that we were moving in the same direction.

In the years that followed, we married and bought a home. I also transitioned into tech, a career shift that put me in roles shaped by rapid growth and constant change. That’s where I learned I had a talent for managing young teams and that I thrived in environments where I could provide clarity and a sense of direction.

That stretch was when Benny was as strong and capable as I would ever know him. It was evident on our hikes, where we covered hours of trail at a steady pace and he never tired. The same endurance carried into our road trips, where he handled long days in the car and adjusted quickly to new environments. None of it stood out to me then, but in hindsight those moments were the clearest signs of his peak condition.

In 2023, a decade after adopting Benny, that long span of growth and vitality gave way. In March, I was laid off on my birthday, and from that point on work no longer progressed in any predictable way. Instead of advancing from one role to the next, I entered a period marked by interruptions and uncertainty. Several months later, Benny was diagnosed with a cataract that would eventually leave him blind in his left eye. At that same visit, tests revealed an acute kidney injury, the first clear sign that his health was beginning to decline.

As Benny’s world contracted and his vision narrowed, so did mine. What began as a gradual withdrawal during the pandemic deepened after my layoff and his diagnoses. I retreated further. I set aside the long-term goals that had anchored much of my career and pulled away from social gatherings, letting friendships drift and leaving invitations unanswered. Even the solo trips I took then, which appeared outwardly expansive, became another turn inward. Yet even as the contours of our surroundings faded, our shared space held firm.

By 2025, our parallel path reached its limits. I returned to work that summer and slowly reconnected with friends. Shortly after, Benny was diagnosed with stage 3 kidney disease, an irreversible condition that would only worsen. In the months that followed, the loss of his strength and stamina became increasingly evident. These changes marked the moment when our lives diverged.

The week before Benny passed, we visited the Presidio, an area he was always drawn to. That afternoon, he made his way through the grass with his usual calm determination. Seeing him there reminded me how deeply he enjoyed exploring and being outdoors with us. It stands out as one of the last instances in which he still moved with the same cool confidence and genuine curiosity that had long defined him.

That memory became the reference point for everything that followed, sharpening how I understood what came next. November 9th doesn’t represent Benny’s ending. It marks the start of whatever lay beyond my reach for him. He retained the traits most central to him: a steady temperament, a quiet drive, and a deep desire to explore. Those qualities shaped our many years together, and they’ll continue to frame how I carry on without him.

Postscript

Each year, millions of dogs across the United States enter shelters, many of them waiting for someone to give them a second chance. Benny was one such dog.

We found him at a shelter in 2013, and the twelve years that followed shaped our lives in ways we could never have imagined. If you’re considering bringing a dog into your family, please consider adopting from a local shelter or rescue. Benny’s story is a reminder of the impact adoption can have, not only on a dog’s life but also on the people who share their lives with them.