Toby

Many of you know that this past week, I had to make the heartbreaking decision to put my sweet pup, Toby, to sleep. In the hopes of reviving this blog a bit, I thought posting his sweet story would pay tribute to my little 4-legged friend!

Note: This took me 40 minutes to write. I am assuming it might take close to that to read.

I always knew I'd want a dog as soon as I bought my house. I wanted a dog as a companion, like most people. I wanted a dog I could play with, cuddle with, exercise with, and just hang out with. Living alone can be lonely, of course, but I knew I had a life that would perfectly suit a dog, and now I had my own house and yard to keep one in!

The summer of 2013, right after I got my house, I spent some time at animal shelters. I contemplated volunteering. I ended up just visiting, trying to find just the right little pup. I knew I didn't want a tiny yappy dog, or one with a bunch of crazy curly hair. Of course I wanted one that was sociable, good with kids, and good with other dogs. I wasn't very picky, but I knew I would know when I had found the right one. 

So it took a few visits. One time my mom and I visited the Humane Society and "checked out" a dog for about 30 minutes, only to find that he wasn't playful! He just wanted to lay on me, but was not at all interested in playing! It was so sad! I knew I would still continue the search for the perfect furbaby.

One Saturday, I was sitting on my couch, perusing the Humane Society webpage, and found a new dog listed. His name was Scott, and he looked perfect. He was 4 months old, had just been neutered, and had been there a couple of days. He would not last long. As soon as I saw him, I jumped off the couch, changed clothes, and went straight there. 

I was excited to find that no one had claimed Scott yet, and I sat looking at him through the cage, and talking to him, while I waited for a volunteer to come let me take him out to play. He was a playful guy, and he chose me pretty quickly. I debated whether I needed to take him out to play, because he had already stolen my heart. He was a bit more expensive than others, but at that point I didn't care. 

I took "Scott" outside to play. I was delighted. We had a blast. He ran and played, and played and ran, and cuddled, and warmed right up to me. He was 28 whole pounds, and playful and cuddly. 

I didn't waste anytime. I knew someone would adopt him that day. I took his little card up to the adoption center, and filled out my application. While there, I sat with a family who was also adopting a pup. I listened to them talk about how they'd associate him in their home and with their child. I eagerly waited to get my guy.

When it was my turn, they read me all of his paperwork- behavior results were fine, ears and nails fine... Scott was a happy, sweet, adoptable guy! I paid the money for him and some supplies (a leash, collar, food bowl, toys, etc.)

The second I got Scott out to the car, I excitedly told him I did not like his name. I debated for a bit, thinking I liked the name "Toby." At that moment, Toby Keith came on the radio. Sold. (Note: My dog was not named after Toby Keith! It was just appropriate!)

After snapping 6 or 14 pictures of him in the car, I took Toby over to my parents' house. They also fell in love. We tried to get him to potty, and drink water, and play. We were all so happy, and my family promised to help out with him on those days when my work hours didn't work with a puppy's life.

Things were great! Toby was the perfect missing piece to my new house, and I was happy. I went to school and told my students about him, and quickly learned more about my new little guy.

The following Monday, my mom came over to let Toby out. After he went out and did his business, she let him back in. They were standing in the kitchen together, and my mom was eating some yogurt. Apparently her spoon scraped the yogurt cup and made some sort of sound, and Toby began aggressively barking at her. My mom was a bit taken aback, but we all just assumed that Toby was getting used to many new sights, sounds, environments, and people.

I quickly enrolled Toby in the Humane Society's obedience classes, where he was taught a variety of things, such as making eye contact with me, walking correctly on the leash, sitting, laying down, and target training. We used clicker training, and he very quickly associated the clicker with a reward, and, eventually, the behavior that had gotten him the reward. Things were going well.

In October, I went to visit New Mexico for a week. Toby stayed at my parent's house. They had a big backyard, suitable for his energy. Toby LOVES to run. My mom had to send me pictures occasionally of what Toby was doing. That was the week he learned to beg for potato chips. Haha! 

When I got back from New Mexico, we immediately went to my parents' house for their annual Halloween party. I was so excited to introduce Toby to friends and family. 

That's when it all started. A family friend who was 15 at the time, had crouched down to play with him. Much to everyone's surprise, Toby snapped, hard, at him. We all thought he had bitten him. The kid was ok, and brushed it off. I was shocked, sad, and confused. I had no idea where that behavior could have come from! He had never done anything like that to me or to anyone else! Over the course of the evening we attempted to re-socialize Toby to the party, but each time he proved he was uncomfortable, so we would quickly remove him again. No one was as alarmed as my mom and I were, because they all thought he was just being a playful puppy.

But we knew something wasn't right. 

That night was just the beginning of a tumultuous journey. The next few months, I tried to socialize Toby more. I tried to have more friends over. I tried to have my friends meet us on the front porch with cold hot dogs, so that when they came in, they'd give him a treat. It was a funny joke- "If you go to Andie's, bring hot dogs."

I asked the trainer for advice. She didn't understand until she got a bit closer to him, and he snapped at her a couple of times. No one understood. And no one had any advice. Even the vet was confused. One vet said "Well, you are living alone, so he's probably just acting the way you've taught him to."

(We never returned to that particular vet.)

At one point when Toby was about a year and a half, things were tough, but not horrible. I wondered if Toby needed a new environment, if maybe my lifestyle wasn't best for him- if he needed a farm to run off all of his extra energy. He seemed to love other dogs, as indicated by a few play dates, and puppy daycare (which we had to stop going to when he stopped being okay with people.)

I quickly decided I wasn't able to give him up- he was my baby. I wasn't finished trying. I couldn't send him somewhere else. He belonged home with me. 

So I changed things up. I vowed to get him more exercise. I took him to my parent's frequently to run in the backyard. I made sure to get home in time to take him on long walks. 

Around this time, I had a roommate move in. It took Toby about a month to get used to him, but when he did, it was a relief. Derek was able to take Toby for runs and long walks. It was such an incredible relief to me. At least Toby's "circle" of people he trusted had expanded.

When Derek moved out, I wasn't sure if I needed another roommate or not. But I knew it was going to be tough to associate Toby with anyone else. We got lucky with Derek. 

I spent the spring and summer of 2015 making sure my dog was never around anyone. On the off chance that I was brave enough to try, he'd quickly make it clear that he was not ok with anyone. He'd snap at them just for holding their hand out. 

I still worried that I was somehow contributing to Toby's behavior. What did I do? Did I somehow teach him this? Did I make him afraid? Was there a way that I acted? I was definitely always afraid anytime he was around ANYONE, and I wondered if my fear fueled his.

In August, I had to take Toby in for a routine nail trim. At this time, I had chosen a new vet, one that I now swear by and will always go to. I called this vet beforehand, explaining that Toby needed quite a bit of extra care- that getting him sedated enough for a nail trim would be a bit of a challenge. 

The sweet people at the vet's office tried to understand. But they could have never predicted that visit. I can't explain it as anything less than horrible. It took the vet and 3 vet techs, a muzzle, and pushing Toby into the corner just to inject him with the sedative. 30 minutes later, the sedative wasn't enough. They had to do it again. They described the dosage that it took to knock Toby out enough JUST TO TRIM HIS NAILS as an "elephant dosage."

I asked the vet what she recommended for Toby. She suggested I try giving him Prozac, and wrote me a prescription right then. At this point, there wasn't anything I wouldn't try. But I wasn't too optimistic, honestly.

At the end of August, I had another roommate move in. For the first week or two, Toby didn't seem interested in her. He ignored her. I was so happy! I coached Sara into ignoring him all the time- even when he seemed curious by her and tried to lick her hand...

But then, it started with her. He snapped at her. Twice. And it scared her. And it scared me. Literally nothing worked. She gave him treats, she ignored him... we tried everything. Every time she needed to come home, I had to plan ahead to make sure I was home, because she couldn't come in when Toby was out. 

And then, my beautiful niece was born. I visited her in the hospital and thought about how much fun we'd have together. We'd play and build snowmen together, and --- wait... she could never come to my house. She could not meet Toby. Not ever. She was another person I would have to protect from my dog.

Last weekend, my mom and I had a tough conversation. By the end, I looked up at my mom, and said "I have to let him go."

I looked into dog sanctuaries and shelters. They were perfect! And then, I'd read on... "This Sanctuary does not accept aggressive animals."

The decision that I had to make loomed over me like a dark cloud all week. I called the vet to schedule an appointment to discuss this with the doctor. I wasn't able to get in until Thursday at 4:30. 

Sunday through Thursday, I was nothing short of a disaster. When I did not have children in my classroom, I was sobbing. I tried not to tell many people, as I was afraid people would judge me for deciding to put my dog down. "Why can't you just rehome him?" or "Just try a behavioral consultant."

But no one truly understands what I (my mom and I) went through with this dog. We'd spend SO MUCH of our time with our stomachs in knots, worried that he'd hurt someone. He'd get out the back door and bite a neighborhood walker... or worse, a child. This was a CONSTANT worry. Sometimes I got into the habit of just not leaving the house, because that way I knew I could control the possibility of anything happening. 

This week was horrible. I wasn't sure. I was heartbroken. And all the while, I'd have to come home from work to that sweet little face at the back door, shaking his little butt and wagging his tail, so happy to see me. He cuddled up to me because I sobbed and sobbed and he wanted to comfort me. 

Leading up to the vet appointment, I had a feeling I was going to feel some way about my decision. The vet was very supportive. While she did not encourage my decision, she told me that she supported it, and that she would do it. She said a whole lot more things that reassured me (thought she couldn't legally come out and tell me) as I cried, but felt completely sure that I was doing the right thing. She sent me home with 5 sedatives for Toby. The normal dosage for a dog of his size is 2. The goal was to sedate him enough to get him in the door of the vet office on Friday and to have him sedate enough to perform the euthanasia. 

Toby is as stubborn as he is precious. I cried as I gave him those sedatives, and held him as they slowly kicked in. He looked at me with glossy eyes as he struggled to stand up. He finally laid down with his head in my lap. I sobbed. I was sure he was gone.

And then, my dad showed up. I had asked him to come over to help me get Toby into the car, because I assumed he'd already be passed out. 

My dad walked in, and Toby got up and started walking around. He greeted my dad, a bit drunkenly, but mostly normally. I knew this was going to be quite a process.

Toby was able to jump up into my truck, and stood up during the whole ride to the vet. He happily let me put his leash on him and walked with me across Mass Ave to the vet's office. (Remember, he'd had enough sedative for a 200 pound dog. He's 70 pounds.)

We walked in and checked in. I quickly told the receptionist that he'd probably need a muzzle, as he was not nearly as sedate as he was supposed to be.

And then, I turned around and saw a cat in the vet's office. I saw it just as Toby opened his mouth and took and bite at the cat. Somehow, someway, the cat got away just in time. But Toby was going for her. He tried to eat a cat.

The rest of the appointment went somewhat smoothly. I can't explain the relief I was given by the staff at the vet. They were prepared, and sedated him more, so that even they could pet him and massage his leg as they inserted the catheter to put him down. 

Toby went peacefully, and I cried. 

I cried because I love him. I cried because I failed him. I cried because I didn't understand. I cried because no one else could know what a great dog he could be when he was with "his people" (my mom, dad, brother, old roommate, and I). 

And then, as I took off his muzzle, collar and leash, I said goodbye to him, and I walked back to the car.

And that time, if I'm being honest, I cried. I cried with relief.

I hope that no one ever has to go through what I had to go through with my dog. This past week was a defining week in my life, and I will never forget it. I miss Toby, but I'm comfortable with my decision. Right now, I'm not worried about Toby. I'm not worried that Sara will come home when he's out. I'm not worried that he'll somehow get out and hurt someone. I'm not worried to have friends over. I'm not worried to introduce him to someone new (i.e. a boyfriend.)

One day, I hope to try again with a new pet. There are things I'd do differently, but ultimately, I know that there was nothing I did wrong for Toby. It wasn't my fault. It may not have been anyone's fault. I don't know his full story. But I know I did my best for him. I did everything I could to keep Toby around in my life. I will miss my sweet guy, Toby Joe!