Toby will always be part of our memories. He was the best dog a human could ever call his own.
When at the kennel, first in line to pick out my first Labrador puppy, I sat amongst the 11 brothers while the kennel owner held the lone female. One pup, a fat little man who cried at the gate of his mama’s kennel, was eliminated easily. That left only ten! A daunting task. I went through all of the things you were supposed to look for in a good pup and for the life of me they ALL acted that way. In the end I scooped up the one nearest me and fled, hoping I had “chosen” well.
Within a few days it was apparent that I had, through dumb luck, found a bright little guy. He learned to sit within two days on command (the food dish helped). He learned all of his little commands so easily, that I felt like I was in a dream. My friend had urged me to stay clear of Labrador Retrievers because they are stubborn when being trained. Not our little Toblerone.
We registered him with the AKC, even though we intended to neuter him. His official name was Big Mac’s Toblerone (after his daddy and a great little chocolate bar we had eaten in Germany). And he was a sweet little confection.
He learned to fetch, heel, stay, sit, come, and “get” birds. He practiced on quail and moved up to ducks. He would see my husband’s shotgun and begin jumping at the door. We soon found that his enthusiasm for duck hunting was almost the death of him. Once on a duck, he would rather drown than quit searching.
As much as he adored duck hunting, he was an absolutely committed fisherman. Toby would “help” reel them in. We always feared that he would be hooked, but alas he escaped that little dilemma. He would scrape the bottom of the creek while my husband casted looking for fish bodies, as spawned salmon are often found there. He would roll in dead salmon for the delicious odor of it, and often had to make a special trip to the dog wash for a “please God just let us be able to breathe the air he occupies” bath.
He took to camping like a salmon to water too. Our first trip was tent camping. He immediately knew the perimeter of our campsite, and began guard duty. He barked at other dogs that passed. We taught him not to do that the second day, and a lifetime of camp trips was in his blood.
Then we got a trailer. The only tricky part was getting him to actually walk up those scary backless steps into the trailer. Once he had that down (sort of) we were on our way. He never looked back. There were smells to smell, squirrels to tree, wildlife to chase (shh, don’t tell the DNR), and hikes to hike. Rain or shine he was thrilled to go camping. We worried about bears and moose being an issue, but they never phased him. He soon conscripted the couch as his own bed, and we settled into 3 happy years of almost constant summer camping.
On our second to last trip, our first for the year, we walked through the woods. He swam at a local lake, chased a pair of loons (very unperturbed loons), and fished like a puppy. The second day my men (hubby and Toby) caught a Dolly Varden. Toby was ecstatic. The first fish of the season or the last always got his happy dance. This time was no different.
But on the way home he seemed especially tired, and that night he got clingy. He couldn’t seem to get close enough to family, and would whimper and change positions a lot. We were worried. We were in denial. Three days later we went camping again. The drive out was excruciating. He whined, cried, and whimpered the entire hour long ride. We were beside ourselves. Finally, that night he walked into the woods and vomited two days worth of meals. We thought it was a bug. But that evening he whined more. He was never a whiner. We never knew he felt pain. In the morning, when he was let out he stared out into the woods with his eyes at half mast, and leaned on us as we walked by. In our hearts we knew.
My husband found the nearest vet in town. We made an appointment. From the time we heard “mass in his belly” to “cancer of the intestines and lymph nodes” was a matter of hours. I had to make the decision alone to put him to sleep. I wanted him to stay, but I couldn’t be that selfish. God gives us the authority and duty to keep his Garden. I gave the order, stood with his sleeping form as the vet put in the shot, and whispered sweet nothings in his soft black ear for the last time.
We had him cremated. We have a paw print and his collar, pictures, and a billion fabulous memories. Our hearts are broken that we only shared this Earth for six and a half years. But we DID share them. We LIVED them. And we won’t forget him.
Grief is no stranger to us all and we grieve with you. As Herculez said, You needed to write and we needed to read. As much it helped, it hurt, I'm sure, but we're hurting with you. God Bless you.
Bill & Linda
Ladymc & Shuttlebird
2008 Silver Dodge Diesel Dually 3500 - "The Silver Bullet"
Towing 1998 35 ft. Newmar 5th wheel
20K Husky Hitch & Blue Ox Bedsaver
Handheld Garmin Nuvi 350 GPS AND Sat. in dash mounted GPS in the truck
READY TO ROLL!
That was really hard to read, most of us get a lot more than six and a half years, we got eleven with our Sofie and we felt cheated it wasn't more.
You wrote a beautiful tribute to your special Lab, we've had those too, and we do again, thanks for sharing that.
It was difficult to read without tearing up, and I know how hard it was to write.
So very sorry for your loss.
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