Toby

Toby was a menace. A shaggy, drooling, furniture-destroying menace. But God, I loved him. We got him from the rescue centre. Supposedly “part collie.” Looked more like a yeti. First night he jumped on the bed and promptly peed on my foot. That set the tone. Over the years, he broke three remote controls, chewed four phone chargers and once ate an entire birthday cake, candles and all. Still not sure how he survived that one. But he was there. Always. Through good times and bad times. He sat by me when I felt like giving up. Put his head on my leg like, “Still here, mate.” He got old. Stopped jumping. Slept more than barked. Started forgetting where the garden was. It was hard to watch. I held him at the end. Told him he was the best boy, even though he’d ruined three rugs and never once came when I called him. It’s quiet now. No toenails on the floorboards. No wet nose nudging the fridge. I didn’t think I’d miss the smell of wet dog. But I do. Cheers, Toby. You did good.