Jared Darlington, the Bench Whisperer

Inspired by his late golden retriever, Ridge, Jared Darlington got the idea to create a dog-shaped bench. And he had the skills to see it through: before moving to Santa Barbara in 2018, he spent most of his career in Boulder, Colo., as a carpenter, contractor, and woodworker. So he came up with the design—dogs on each end, with a bench in between and a shelf in back that, from certain angles, looks like it’s being held in the dogs’ mouths—and researched how to make it comfortable. “I must’ve sat on 20 to 40 benches around town to get the right configuration,” he says. “The one at Sylvan Park was the best.”

The first bench, made entirely made of wood, didn’t hold up well. He switched to concrete, hiring Kenney Construction to cast the sides. The question, then, was where to put it. One of his neighbors on the Riviera is Kim Cantin, who lost her husband and son in the 2018 debris flow; she suggested Casa Dorinda, as a tribute to the dogs and handlers of Santa Barbara County Search and Rescue.

Darlington’s business card includes “bench whisperer” among his titles, but he’s more of a guerrilla artist, placing benches where he thinks they add value. (The benches weigh around 250 pounds, so his gardeners help out.) You might have spotted them at Butterfly Beach; McKenzie Park dog run; two on Alameda Padre Serra (one near Santa Barbara Middle School, the other at the old streetcar shelter); next to the Old Mission Santa Barbara; at Santa Barbara Humane in Goleta; and in the circle at Paterna Road and Lasuen Road on the Riviera, where the bench is dedicated to Louise and Eli Levine, Darlington’s late sister and brother-in-law.

And more are on the way: the city’s Parks & Recreation department has commissioned him to make five, with four destined for the Douglas Family Preserve. There are strict rules about what can be installed where, and by whom, but the staff found a workaround to allow for the dog benches at parks (as long as they don’t have plaques).

Darlington is 75 and lively as hell—just ask him about his adventures kayaking out to the oil rigs. Every Sunday morning, he rides his bike around town to check up on the benches. I recently joined him at Casa Dorinda and Butterfly Beach, where he cleaned up the litter around the benches and made a note of anything that needed to be fixed. Generally, people treat the benches with respect. “The Casa Dorinda one is the only one to have a problem,” he says. “Someone tore an ear off, so I made a new one and clamped it on. They came back and stole the new ear and the clamp.”

It’s not an inexpensive hobby: $5,000 for the mold, $800 to cast each pair of dogs, more in materials and time. He says he doesn’t want to make money from the endeavor, that he views it as a gift he’s giving. Part of the fun is getting to see them in use. At Butterfly Beach, a young boy named Graham and his father approached the bench, and there was a conversation about what to name the dog. (Darlington suggested Parsons.)

Even if Darlington were to entertain private commissions, he’s hard to reach: he doesn’t email or text. Likewise, an e-bike is out of the question. “I have three rules!” he says. “No e-bike, no pickleball, and no Viagra!” And then, after a pause: “But I may change my mind about that.”

P.S. Don’t be surprised if you see a bench show up at the Andrée Clark Bird Refuge….

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