Toby 2008-2023

We saw him at the Golden Valley Humane Society in 2009. 11 months, an Australian Cattle Dog who was apparently listed as a special needs dog. His card said his name was Sparky which Chris was vehemently against, so it was something I found delight in and frequently used just to annoy him for the next ten years.

I took my sister a day or two later to show her the black and white puppy we were falling head over heels in love with. On the way home, we thought of names.

“He looks like a Toby,” she said right away. And the rest is history.

He lived with us for the next 14 years through two moves, grad school, infertility, job changes, miscarriages, and three kids.

These three kids weren’t so much kids to Toby, as they were his sheep needing to be herded around 24/7.

He wasn’t what I call a family dog. No, Toby was a full-on Australian Cattle Dog and that meant he could be a colossal ass, knocking his kids over, ducking away from their little hands wanting to pet him, and would rub his fur ALLLLL over their bedroom rugs. He wasn’t a devoted golden retriever, but still. He loved his family. He always wanted to be there. So much that with every baby that came to live in his home, he’d spent hours staring and shaking and panting over them like they were a juicy filet mignon. We joked this anxiety would shave years off his life.

He loved stalking bunnies, geese, and ducks in that way only herding dogs can. But cats? Hated them. We would tell people he has a strong prey drive which was a nice way of saying if he ever caught a cat he’d probably rip its head off and traumatize any witnesses.

While he’s too short to counter-surf, it didn’t stop him from grabbing an entire pack of hamburger buns off the counter and eating them without throwing up.

Just like the bag of Baby Ruth bars.

And the package of lentils.

And the fruit and vegetable gummies.

And the 24-piece puzzle and the newspapers and the underwear and cardboard boxes.

Okay, the puzzle he eventually barfed up after a $400 late night emergency vet visit and I don’t think we even got all the pieces.

He ate a yoga mat, and ate our bedsheets, and chewed through three leashes. He broke his two canines off the first month of having him because he was trying to escape the kennel.

Sometimes I think he’d purposely stand behind me so I could step on his paw and he could yipe and I’d feel bad for him so I would give him treats.

He was just too smart for his own good. His Cattle Dog brain combined with being bred to get kicked in the head by cattle is what made him bullheaded, strong-willed and hid from us any pain he was in. He loved leaping into snow banks, leaping into the air to catch balls and frisbees, leaping into leaves, and all that leaping meant eventually he would get hurt. We thought for sure his hip injuries would collectively shave years off his life.

But somehow despite the anxiety and hip injuries and dangerous ingestion of varying foods and objects, Toby lived on to be 15. (Fun fact: The world’s oldest cattle dog was named Bluey and lived to be 29.) (Another fun fact: We thought for sure our idiot cattle dog would live a similar lifespan.)

Slowly, he became almost deaf, and almost blind. And then there were some health problems. Which seemed to get better. And then we found the cancer.

And Monday of this week, we had to say goodbye. And I’m crying while writing this because you know, you KNOW, the day is going to come. One of the worst things our pets do is not live as long as us. So while we knew it was coming, it didn’t make it any easier when the day came.

I didn’t think I would be able to let him go. But this was the dog who would lay between our legs at night watching TV, the who would spend hours hiking with us when he was in his prime. The one who sat Very Still as I sobbed into his coat when my first IVF failed. He deserved the best. He deserved to go with dignity and without suffering.

But now we’re left to pick up the pieces, to fill the very large hole that is now in our family. We got to love him for 14 years, to be his forever home, to be his people. It wasn’t enough time. It’s never enough time.

My sweet furry friend, you were kind of an asshole, but you were a good dog. We’re going to miss you so much.