COMMENTARY
STACEY MORRIS
Published in The Post-Star newspaper 8/1/02
Toby.
I still smile when I say his name.
My family and I didn't know much about Toby when we brought him home from the SPCA six years ago -- other than that he was an adorably photogenic Beagle-Jack Russell mix and the people who first owned him called him Rex.
Toby was dropped off at the SPCA by his first owners, who said they could no longer keep him.
It had been nearly two full years since Penny, our Dalmatian, had passed away and we began to yearn once again for the love of a dog.
This time, instead of a purebred, we opted for a "pound dog" -- the lineage didn't matter -- we just wanted a dog who needed a home.
My mother spotted him in the back yard of the SPCA tied to a tree and barking. When their eyes met, their fate was sealed.
To honor the new chapter in his life, my mother renamed him Toby.
Toby was such a welcome change in our world -- the minute he came through the door of our home, the atmosphere switched miraculously from a deafeningly silent void to an abundance of limitless love.
He was a feisty one -- with a will of steel not easily bent into obedience. You could call him till you were blue in the face -- Toby came when he was good and ready.
Forget about scratching at the door like our other dogs did when they wanted to come back in the house.
Practically the second he got to the front door, Toby would bark imperiously at the top of his lungs until someone came to let him in.
Eventually, we managed to persuade Toby to sit on command -- but only if there was something in it for him -- preferably a Milk Bone.
My brothers and I always thought of Toby as our dog, even though we left our parents' home years ago. And since we live in places that don't allow dogs, we'd make weekly beelines to my parents' house to soak up unconditional love from Toby.
As soon as I'd get to their front porch, I'd smile in anticipation. Behind the darkness of their brown front door would be his little face, full of pure love.
Unless you're the president, where else do you get such a palpable reaction of excitement when you walk into a room?
No one delivers an "I'm SO GLAD to see you" greeting better than a dog.
For anyone who loves a dog, there comes a point when you realize a certain truth.
Taking care of a dog is deceptive in some ways because it appears to be a one-sided relationship and that the dog is dependent on you.
But then it happens, symbiosis creeps in silently and the needs between person and dog become intertwined and indistinguishable.
I have no doubt that I needed Toby more than he needed me. I've realized that with all the dogs I've loved in my life.
That truth is never so achingly clear as when it's time to say good-bye.
Tuesday began as just another morning in July -- a beautiful, sunny one.
By 1 p.m., five red-eyed family members were gathered in the hollow silence of a veterinarian's examining room.
My mother brought Toby to the vet's to be examined because he was having trouble breathing that morning and wasn't eating. X-rays showed that there were tumors all over his lungs.
I didn't want to believe the doctor's declaration that nothing could be done, but when I saw Toby, there was no denying the process that was in place. His breathing was erratic and labored and Toby's bright pink tongue had begun to turn blue.
There was nothing left for us but to spend what little time was left together.
Each of us had a few moments with him. I took his beautiful brown head in my hands and cradled it, looking into his eyes.
How do you say good-bye to love? Who is ever ready enough?
As quickly as Toby came into our lives six years ago, he was gone.
What's the message in all this -- that life is precarious and that we can't take anything for granted?
You don't need this column to realize that.
George Carlin once said that when you bring a pet into your lives, you're willingly setting yourself up for a mini-tragedy.
There's only one reason that people sign on for it.
Love.
How did we say good-bye to love on Tuesday?
With love.
Toby's last hour was filled with it. In the end, as we surrounded him, our love for him became as unconditional as his had always been.
Beyond the portal of the veterinarian's window, the outside world evaporated.
It was just Toby, looking up at the five of us, his eyes smiling, and our love, filling the room in one invisible, unbreakable circle.