Tobi

I was hesitant to post this, but was encouraged to by those who read it. So here is the story of Tobi.

            How do I say goodbye to my best friend when he can’t understand words? I stroke my hands over his thick wiry fur and hope that he isn’t afraid of my crying. I run my hands over him as he cuddles in my lap, watching his ears flatten and spring back up with each pass of my hand. I hold him while he falls asleep, and I think about my dog.

            I was a teenager, probably fifteen. I went with my step-mother, Lucy, to pick out a puppy. She wanted a girl puppy, but the moment I saw him I knew he was the one. He was a little furry black, gray, and reddish thing, with big dark brown eyes and perfect expressive ears. I never even looked at the other three puppies. I reached down and picked him up. I held him close and told Lucy that this was our dog, and his name was Tobi. An hour later, she finally agreed with me.

            Tobi was a happy puppy that grew into a happy dog. He loved everyone and everything. He let children pull his tail and poke his eyes and never so much as growled. He ran up to every dog he met with enthusiasm and welcome. He would curl up and sleep with my cats and never dream of chasing them. He didn’t chew on furniture or pee or poop in the house. I swear that dog would even wipe his feet before he came in. And when we got another puppy, he accepted Max with affection.

            As a terrier, Tobi took it upon himself to defend our home from the scourge of chipmunks and squirrels. He once ripped the gutter off of the house perusing a chipmunk, then proceeded to bite it so hard he cinched it closed. He once spent four hours crouched by a wood pile waiting for the chipmunk to emerge. Unlike some dogs, he did catch a few. I felt bad for the little guys, but Tobi was always so proud of himself. It was his job and he was good at it. He’d stick out his little chest and wag his tail and I could swear he had a sense of rightness, of purpose.

            He was terrified of thunder and fireworks. He would pace around shaking uncontrollably, inconsolable even if he was held and coddled. I can’t count the number of times we wandered the streets around our home, yelling his name, after someone lit off fireworks and he ran through the electric fence. Looking for a black dog in the dark is an adventure.

            Tobi changed colors throughout his life. None of us understand how or why. As a puppy he was mostly black with a smattering of tan and red. In the middle of his life, he had an odd pattern of reddish tiger stripes along his back. As he grew old, he came mostly black and gray. And at the end, he had turned into a grizzled little old man.

            I live in a duplex with my husband. My father and step-mother live on the other side. So even though I moved out on my own when Tobi was only a few years old, I always felt like he was my dog. And when I moved back into my childhood home after college and a few apartments, I felt like I got to have my dog back even though he really lived with my parents. He would scratch on my front door and patiently wait for me to come and let him in. He’d roll around on my rugs because my parents’ side is wood floors. He would cuddle with my cats and curl up and sleep by my feet. He would stay for hours, then quietly wander to the door and I would escort him back next door. He spent a few nights with us, and whenever there was a thunderstorm or fireworks. For some reason, he must have felt safer on my side of the house. Toward the end, Lucy said that in her house he would pace and keep asking to go out but not go. She would bring him over to me and he’d scratch a little nest in the carpet next to me and sleep like he didn’t have a care in the world.

            Lucy came to my side of the house on a Monday morning. I knew something was wrong. Tobi had been very lethargic, and was throwing up and having accidents in the house. He was fifteen years old, and I wasn’t surprised by the news, but it hurt just the same. The vet said that his kidneys were failing. They said that with dialysis and diet, they might be able to expend his life by a few weeks. I knew as Lucy told me that we weren’t going to do that. We had lost another dog to a horrible disease called Lepto Sperosis. Poor little Peanut died of kidney failure. I remember how she looked with her little legs shaved and bruised from the IV. I knew we weren’t going to put Tobi through that. It was the kinder thing to put him down now, while he was still wagging his tail and smiling with his eyes.

            On Tuesday morning, I got up and brushed my teeth as if it were a normal morning. The appointment at the vet was at 10:30. It was 10. Lucy opened my front door and called upstairs that she had to work, so she moved the appointment to 3:30. She left before I could say anything. I hated that it was postponed. Waiting was worse than anything. I hadn’t let myself go see Tobi since finding out, knowing I would start sobbing. But my Dad was home alone next door with the dog, and I couldn’t leave him like that.

            I went next door and said hi to my Dad, but I wasn’t really seeing him. All I saw was Tobi, lying on the floor. He struggled to his feet, which had become very hard for him in the past few days. He waddled over to me, his tail wagging so hard his whole body swayed back and forth. I sat on the floor and pulled him into my lap. I didn’t cry. My Dad is afraid of tears, and I knew this was hard enough for him already. So I kept up a steady talk about nothing with him, and patted my dog. He looked up at me with his big brown eyes, and I swear that he knew. Maybe I was merely projecting, but he had this calm look in his eyes like he knew it would be over soon and he wouldn’t be in pain anymore.

            I hated the fact that my Dad was sitting with nothing to do all day. I love my father. He is a good man, a hard working man. But he is uncomfortable expressing emotions. He does not hug me often or come visit my side of the house. He expresses his love with actions. If I ever came home crying, he would quickly move into the garage. He never learned how to comfort me. I accept that about him. And I knew that when he was upset, the best thing for him was to have something to do.

            My Dad doesn’t like animals. He once beheaded a groundhog with a shovel. But Tobi did what I never thought any dog could do. My Dad really loved Tobi, and not in the distant way he had loved the other dogs. The other dogs had been Lucy’s pets. Tobi was the first one he appeared to think of as his as well. He is not a man to cry or to hold the dog he is about to lose. So I asked him if he could do an oil change on my truck. It seems an odd request, but I know my Dad, and when he is powerless to save something, its better to give him something productive and helpful to do. So I gave Tobi a final pat and went back to my side of the house.

            At 3:15, Lucy knocked on my door. She had Tobi on the leash and my Dad was already in the car. But Lucy was shaking and already crying and she said she couldn’t do it. So I nodded and took the leash. I picked up Tobi and I brought him over to her so she could say goodbye. I carried him to the car and settled him on my lap.

            My Dad drove and we talked about my job and the coming job search, about the weather and football. I held Tobi against me, and he looked around at the world passing by with his usual doggy-smile on his face. The vet is only a five minute drive, but it felt longer. I set him on the ground and he walked up to the vet, sniffing and acting interested and happy. He peed on some snow, and as he always did, kicked a little snow and dirt behind him afterward.

            He didn’t want to go inside, so I picked him up and carried him in. There was a great dane mutt and a golden retriever in front of us. The couple with the golden retriever unwitting set me off crying when they looked over at tail-wagging-Tobi and said “He’s doing fine.” My Dad muttered ‘Well, not really’ and I gave up trying not to cry. I sat on the floor and petted him to distract myself. I was now the center of a lot of unwanted attention as the six people in the waiting room realized why we were there. Luckily, someone came and told us we could wait in a back room. Tobi didn’t want to leave the other dogs, so I had to carry him.

            It was a nice room, with a small couch, and the examination table. I sat on the couch with Tobi on my lap. I didn’t want to put him down and was relieved when he settled down without any interest in exploring the room. Dad and I tried to fill the sadness with small talk. The vet came in. I know him from the times I’ve brought in my cats. He is a very nice man, and is wonderful with Tobi. My Dad has been pacing the room, unable to sit still. He does not know what to do with himself. I’m glad I’m there to hold Tobi.

            The vet tells us that he is going to give Tobi some of the sedative to calm him. It will basically lull him to sleep so that when the actual injection comes, he won’t be afraid. It takes about ten minutes. I hold Tobi while the vet injects him. He doesn’t like it and I can tell it hurts. But he doesn’t growl. He just twists his head around so he can look at what the vet is doing. He had to inject him twice, trying to find a less sensitive spot for the second one. Tobi never growled, and wagged his tail when the vet patted his head.

            Dad and I were left alone with Tobi. Finally, Dad sat on the bench beside me. Tobi was curled on my lap, and his little nose overlapped onto my Dad’s thigh. My Dad patted his head. We told him he was a good boy, and I told him that he wasn’t going to hurt anymore. I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t make any sound while I cried. It was just a steady stream of tears that soaked his fur. Dad and I talked about nothing for those ten minutes. Tobi relaxed in my lap, and I could feel every bit of tension leave his body. He slowly closed his eyes. I couldn’t see them because he was facing my Dad, but Dad told me they were closed. I ran my hands over him and kept talking. If he had to die, at least it was this way. He got to gently fall asleep on my lap, with my Dad gently patting his head from time to time, listening to the familiar sounds of us talking.

            After ten minutes, the vet and his assistant came in. I knew it was time. Tobi was asleep. He wasn’t even aware of me standing and laying him down on the table. He looked very small and old, but peaceful. They gave him the last injection while I stroked his ears. I cried so much that there was a puddle on the floor. My Dad stood behind me, quietly. It took only a few seconds, and the vet told us he was gone.

            The vet assistant handed me some Kleenex. It was a simple gesture, but one that meant a lot. They were both very comforting without making me feel worse. They let me grieve and told me how sorry they were without being too intrusive. The vet asked if we wanted to take a few minutes with Tobi, but he was already gone. Dad is a man of action, and I know how hard it was for him to just watch while Tobi died. So we thanked the vet, and headed out. My tears were gone by the time we were outside. I felt almost free. My Dad stopped in front of me and turned around, opening his arms. I slid into the hug, and he thanked me for coming with him. He said he couldn’t have done it alone.

            We talked about happy things on the way home. We worried about how Max, the other dog, was going to do without Tobi. We worried about Lucy, who was not coping with losing Tobi very well. I hoped she wouldn’t regret not coming with us to the vet. I think she made the right decision for her.

            While it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, I’m glad I was there. I’m glad that my happy wonderful little dog lived a great life. I feel blessed that I was there to hold him. To make him feel safe and loved, while he fell asleep for the last time. I burst into tears as soon as I shut my front door behind me. And I’ve cried a lot since. But I know that we did the right thing. That I couldn’t have asked for a better end for my little man. Rest in peace Tobius No Jinx Jalbert. Thank you for being my dog.