We buried our handsome, pup of a friend, Toby this morning. He died early this morning while I sat beside him whispering love and doing the only thing I knew to do, stroking his head. He went quickly, an answered prayer. He hadn't been sick and his last day was a good one. He liked cool fronts and while I worked, he spent most of the day sitting in the sun, his nose to the wind. I snuck him extra treats after dinner, and then he chewed on his bone and snuggled on the couch with Stan. It was a perfect day as far as Toby was concerned. He didn't need much.
I heard someone say one time that they wanted to be the kind of person their dog thinks they are. That's how I feel about Toby. I always wanted to know what was going on behind those soulful brown eyes when he sat in my lap and held my gaze. He loved us with his entire being. Just being with us was enough for him. Beside us or in our laps was his favorite place because we were his favorite people. He showed us what contentment looked like. And tail wagging joy. He was the embodiment of faithfulness.
I found myself saying twice today "I know he was just dog." I'm not going to say that anymore. He wasn't just a dog. As Stan said this morning, bent over Toby's grave, "He was our boy." He was Our Boy. And we were his people. He showed us so on many occasions. When I was in bed recuperating from surgery and he pulled his own bed into the room and held vigil by my bedside. When I found myself a crumpled mess on the kitchen floor, crying, my hopes for children dashed with a simple phone call, Our Boy was there. He came up alongside me and leaned into my grief. Literally. He was there after Stan's surgeries, and a long recovery from a staph infection. Our Boy was there. Always faithful.
I do want to be the kind of person my dog thought I was. Our Boy thought I was kind. And patient. Steadfast and ever loving. And maybe I am. But if I am, it is because I had fifteen beautiful years to learn from him. The love of a dog made me a better human. But he wasn't just a dog. He was Our Boy. And we will miss him always.
Farewell, Sweet Toby.
I heard someone say one time that they wanted to be the kind of person their dog thinks they are. That's how I feel about Toby. I always wanted to know what was going on behind those soulful brown eyes when he sat in my lap and held my gaze. He loved us with his entire being. Just being with us was enough for him. Beside us or in our laps was his favorite place because we were his favorite people. He showed us what contentment looked like. And tail wagging joy. He was the embodiment of faithfulness.
I found myself saying twice today "I know he was just dog." I'm not going to say that anymore. He wasn't just a dog. As Stan said this morning, bent over Toby's grave, "He was our boy." He was Our Boy. And we were his people. He showed us so on many occasions. When I was in bed recuperating from surgery and he pulled his own bed into the room and held vigil by my bedside. When I found myself a crumpled mess on the kitchen floor, crying, my hopes for children dashed with a simple phone call, Our Boy was there. He came up alongside me and leaned into my grief. Literally. He was there after Stan's surgeries, and a long recovery from a staph infection. Our Boy was there. Always faithful.
I do want to be the kind of person my dog thought I was. Our Boy thought I was kind. And patient. Steadfast and ever loving. And maybe I am. But if I am, it is because I had fifteen beautiful years to learn from him. The love of a dog made me a better human. But he wasn't just a dog. He was Our Boy. And we will miss him always.
Farewell, Sweet Toby.
1 comment:
It is a little embarrassing to say that today was the first day I sat down to read your blog. This entry just made me cry. I wish I could give past Stephanie a hug, but I will work to remember to give present Stephanie a hug. Love you!
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