Friday, June 17, 2011

Brother Toby

Grandpa John and Toby on the walkway outside
Mom's house in Ephrata.

I am sad today for Mom and Dad as their soft coated Wheaten terrier, Toby, died yesterday of a rare autoimmune disease (see Dad's narrative of Toby's last days here). He was seven years old. He died on Mom's couch with her by his side. I know how devastating losing a dog is; our family went through this together twice in my first twenty-seven years. Corki and Prince, our Pembroke Welsh corgis, were like family members and will always be remembered as such. I know the same will be true for Toby.

Toby caused me a lot of anxiety, I must admit. Mom and Dad immediately began treating him like one of their sons. This had a strange effect on my psyche. For example, when people began putting on jackets and gathering their things to go out, I found myself unexpectedly doing 360 degree spins in front of the door, as fast as I could whirl. I suppose I learned that from Toby as that was always his thing; whenever anyone so much as made a move for the front door, he'd be there, ready to burst with anticipation.

One summer, just after we moved to Lone Ranch Creek Road, Mom and Dad came up to visit in their Camper rig. Dad and I decided to go to Republic on some sort of errand. We put Toby in the bed of my truck and secured him to the truck with a rope by his collar--to keep him safe!? I let dad drive and Toby rode all the way to town just fine. But when we slowed down to the twenty-five MPH speed limit in Republic, the game changed. I felt it first, a very subtle lurch and then heard a pop and a squeal. I looked out and saw Toby limping up the road. I panicked and ran out across the street. I scooped him up and put him in the back seat where he whined and cried all the way to the Ranch. We'd decided to take him there so we could call a vet. Just after we'd turned down Toroda Creek Road at Wauconda, I looked back and he'd urinated all over the back seat. To my horror, there was blood in his urine. I freaked out. Toby was going to die and it was all because I didn't insist that Dad put him in the cab with us! Well, after a long ordeal--dad took him down to Omak in my truck and I went back up to Lone Ranch in Maureen's car to drive Mom and the camper down to Omak to meet up with them--everything turned out fine.

That brilliant decision to tie Toby to the truck was our first mistake. Apparently he'd seen someone he wanted to meet, so he went to jump out of the truck. He'd have probably been fine, were he not tethered to the truck. I think he jumped out and was yanked back around by the rope whereupon his collar came off and he fell out of the bed of the truck backwards. Here's the worst part, on his way to the ground I think his groin area hit the trailer hitch causing his testicle to get lodged where it wasn't supposed to be. To make a long story short. Back in Ephrata, he had surgery and became one short of a pair, but no worse for it. Thank God.

One of Toby's idiosyncrasies from the start was jumping up on you--his own special, albeit painful way of saying, "Hi." When Tera was pregnant with Annika, Toby got her pretty good right in the belly and provoked me to something akin to anger because of it. He didn't know his own strength around the little ones, either. There were a few times when Toby'd come blazing by, leaving toddlers on their rumps looking steamrolled. But he never, ever meant any harm. He was a sweet, sweet dog, always with an unmistakable look of love and happiness on his face.

Truthfully, I don't think Toby ever knew he was a dog. He was loved and pampered like a person. That's probably why, when Mom read to Toby out of the Bible yesterday afternoon, he was able to take one last cleansing breath and slip away, in peace.

It has been quite a year for this family of ours; Brother Toby, you'll be sorely missed.

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