My sweet hairy gentleman is gone; he passed peacefully at home yesterday. His fourteen-year-old body had worn out, and he deserved dignity and relief from pain. As I helped lift him out of physical agony at the end of our story, I realized that we had come full circle. He and I began our time together lifting him from the emotional, physical, and mental anguish of his severe trauma and ferality. In fact, we all played a part in his transformation from feral to domesticated! What an amazing and memorable time it was – I am so grateful to everyone who walked that journey with us in support.

Toby had countless names: Toby, Tobes, Tober, Tobaroo, Roo, Friend to All Four Leggeds, Lover of Air Sniffing, Prince of the House of Ferals, Refuser of Peas and Carrots in Dog Food, Jedi of the Unbearable Adorableness of Being. My exceptionally majestic, gentle and charismatic boy was a breathtakingly beautiful dog who also had the biggest ear holes I have ever known. That boy’s ability to hear was super sonic – I have no doubt he could hear frequencies we haven’t even discovered yet!

To say I loved him is an absolute truth, though not descriptive enough. I was in awe of him every day of our life. He and I possessed a spiritual connection. I was his teacher and he was mine – communicating and instructing each other purely intuitively. He was the most authentic and innocent soul I have ever encountered – he adored simple pleasures: dog friends, his yard/kingdom, poached chicken breast, and his happy place – the quiet of the night. When the cacophonous clatter and din of the world was finally lidded by nightfall, we would venture into the dark backyard and soak in the creature sounds, gaze at the sky, watch for fireflies, inspect the scents on air currents, and allow Mother Earth’s blanket of calm night to heal us of the day’s discord.

I’m so very thankful to have been the lucky steward of Toby’s incredible life. I realized how fortunate I was to have the ability to protect his extremely sensitive disposition. His sensitivity was top level “special needs” – he required a safe place to be himself in a world that wanted him to be like every other dog. Our connection was a sanctuary which I devotedly protected for 14 years. Without that anchor and purpose, my heart and soul feel unmoored – the definition of grief, I suppose.

Tobaroo: may you run free with Tilly and Minnie Moo until we meet again, my cherished friend.