Last night, some very good friends came by to tell me that my dog (one of the friends is my ex, with whom he'd been living) had been struck by a car, and that he had died as a result.
Toby was (we think) a little over eight years old. We'd gotten him when our kids were teenagers, from a shelter out the other side of Toronto. He was a beautiful beagle cross, a mutt, with a serious trauma history (we assume). When we met him, he was a submissive urinator. Meet his eyes? He peed. Call his name? Peed. Basically, interact with him in any way, and he's peeing. Get him on linoleum, and he would just shake, poor wee thing.
Over the next four years, he slowly came to be more confident. He got over the chronic urination within a year or two, and by yesterday, he almost never did it anymore (from fear, anyway). My partner and I broke up, and since she had the house (I got an apartment), he stayed with her. I missed him, a bunch, but since she and I remained good friends throughout and since, I saw him regularly. He would even come stay with me sometimes, particularly after my current girlfriend (who lives in another country) would go home after a visit, he'd come and stay with me to keep me company for a couple of days.
We couldn't play with Toby much. He wouldn't fetch: his submissiveness interfered. If you threw a ball over there, he'd look at it, then look up at you as if to say, "Yep, you're right, it's MUCH better over there!" If you tried to play tugs with him, he'd just let go as soon as he realised you weren't going to.
He was a gentle, quiet type, except in two circumstances (the quiet, I mean - gentle was pretty much always): when his people came home, he'd greet us with a butt-wiggling, tail-smacking happy dance, complete with whines and yelps of pure joy. And (the reason I couldn't have him in my apartment), when he was left alone somewhere, he'd howl and cry for hours.
My youngest had a child a little over a year ago (yes, T_I is a grandmother), and Skyler loved Toby: he'd crawl over to him, bite his ears, put his fingers in Toby's mouth, pull on his tail, and the whole time, Toby would just lie there quietly, usually looking at whomever was the nearest adult as if to say, "Yah, I'll let him do it, but I wouldn't hate it if you could make him stop." Like I said, gentle.
I'm going to miss him awfully, as will my ex, and the rest of our family and friends.
Thanks, Toby. Best dog ever, little guy. Rest well.
