Toby -- she was a helluva dog

Brisketexan

1,000+ Posts
Toby was my chocolate lab -- she turned 13 in April. This was after her first bird season of full retirement -- for the first time in over 10 years, she did not retrieve a single duck or dove. Honestly, without her company, I only hunted a couple of times myself, and came home empty-handed both times. It just wasn't the same hunting without her there beside me.

My wife gave me Toby as a law school graduation gift in the summer of 95. She trained with Harlen Winter later that year, and became a solid hunting dog -- and a great hunting companion. She wasn't a prize-winner in a field trial or anything, and didn't always do everything by the book, but man -- she LOVED going out and getting her some birds. By my count, she retreived a couple thousand doves, and easily a thousand ducks (I often hunted with friends, and she would retreive all of our birds). She would get excited if I even pulled the gun case out of the closet -- she never understood me cleaning the gun (why would you get a gun out and then NOT go hunting?) If you wanted to get her dancing around the house, just ask her "wanna go get some BIRDS? Do you want some BIRDS?" She'd do flips.

When I walked out into the living room at 5:00 a.m., she would wake up, ready to go -- she knew the routine. Hell, she knew the route to our bird lease by memory in the dark, and when we were almost there, she'd start pacing and whining in the back seat. She'd get so worked up that she'd start ripping farts in the cab, and then as soon as we parked and I let her out, she'd take an enormous dump . . . . right next to my door.

Some great memories:

-- the weekend-long dove hunt in Concan in September with 12 other guys, where Toby was the only dog. I made everyone carry an extra bottle of water for her -- she had learned how to drink from a squeeze bottle during her first hunting season. She retreived probably 200 dove that weekend alone. When a bird would fall on the other side of one barbed wire fence, we would hoist her over, plop her on the ground, and send her off. When she came back, we'd raise the bottom wire and pull her through. That's also the trip where she made perhaps the most spectacular retreive of her life.

A friend and I were hunting a recently plowed field the first morning, with deep and broad furrows in the dirt. I shot a single dove but, as was often the case, it wasn't a perfect shot. The dove glided down about 50 yards away. I sent Toby -- she sprinted (full-bore -- that's the way to go get birds). Right before she got there, the wounded dove fluttered up and began flying away limply, about 5-6 feet off the ground. It was too low, and too close to Toby, for me to try a follow-up shot. Toby tore off after the bird, running cross-ways over the furrows at full speed, slowly gaining on the dove. At one point, Toby mis-timed her jump and did a face-plant into a furrow. She just rolled with it, bounced back to her feet, and kept running. 100 yards away. 150 yards. At about 175 yards, she was getting close to the still-flying dove. Just as I was thinking "that bird is GONE," Toby leaped several feet forward and the full 5-6 feet in the air, snatching the bird from mid-air. She then began her long, and proud, trot back to us. When she got to me and I took the bird from her, praising her, she looked at me with feigned indifference, as if to say "that's what I'm supposed to do." But my buddy and I both cracked up as we watched her tail wagging like hell -- she was pretty damned pleased with herself.

That afternoon, she retrieved easily 120 birds for the group. When we got to the cabin, she flopped onto her side on the cool tile floor and crapped out. I kenneled her that night, and when we got up for the next morning hunt, she staggered out, looking like her whole side was paralyzed. I thought "oh crap, she's had a stroke" -- then, after a minute of her walking it off, I realized that she was just tired and sore. But man, was she happy.

-- Duck hunting -- her love was really duck hunting. We had some great seasons together -- one year, she retrieved probably 300 ducks, and loved every second of it. I remember her first real cold weather hunt. It was about 15 degrees. As soon as she'd get out of the pond, the water on her coat would freeze, leaving her looking like a shivering Cocoa Puff. Of course, when I told my wife about it, nothing would do but to get the dog a neoprene vest. To be fair, that vest did help a lot in later years, keeping her warm and the ice off of most of her coat.

She learned to chase the wounded diving ducks. Frustrated from swimming after them, only to have them go under at the last second, she figured out that she could dive too. I always got a kick out of the look on a buddy's face the first time they saw Toby go under completely, then come up a few seconds later with a duck in her mouth, as if she was saying "there -- got the sumbitch."

She was REALLY pissed the season that she cut her foot so badly that it had to be bandaged, and she was sidelined for 4 weeks in the heart of duck season. That dog wanted to get off the bench and play, and she wanted it bad. I actually went hunting without her a couple of times during that period. She pouted for days afterwards.

-------------

Really, what made her a great dog as much as the retrieves was the companionship. She'd go out and paddle in the water while we set up the dekes. She'd then sit next to us, farting in the mud (man, THAT makes a helluva sound) the whole time. She had a keener eye than I did -- I didn't really have to look for ducks at all. I just had to watch Toby. As soon as her breathing changed rhythm and her eyes locked onto something, I could just follow her gaze and find the far-off flight, inevitably heading our way. She'd stay locked onto them as they came in -- and she would get REALLY pissed if she heard 6 shots and not a bird fell. She always got to carry a duck back to the truck -- it was part of her routine. And she wouldn't just walk -- she'd prance, proud as hell.

In her later years, we realized that she'd gone completely deaf. She still hunted well, but she'd hang closer to us because she couldn't hear us, so she had to make sure we were in visual range. Then, the joints began to go, and her recovery periods after a hunt would take longer and longer. Eventually, season before last, the vet told us that she needed to hang up her hunting boots. Well, I told him that I wouldn't take her on any hard or hot hunts, but she'd still go on an easy hunt or two. And she did. She went on one last duck hunt with me, a buddy, and my buddy's young lab. We only dropped one duck that day. My buddy's lab went out into the water, but couldn't seem to get a handle on the bird. Toby was laying next to me (not sitting -- laying). I tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up at me with a "you want me to handle this one?" look. I put my hand over her head and swung it forward -- "Back!" She got to her feet and walked (not leaped) into the pond, swam out to the duck, grabbed it, and swam back to me, delivering it to hand like she'd done thousands of times before. She layed back down with a sigh, as if to say "there, that should do it."

My kids have never known a home without a Toby. And, once Toby retired from hunting, she became my daughter's dog. Toby couldn't sleep in her kennel or under our bed anymore (her joints wouldn't do it). So, every night, my daughter would pull out her trundle bed, and Toby would hop on to sleep. They were constant companions the last couple of years -- my daughter took care of her, and she was her near-constant companion. But Toby's joints were getting worse all the time. She was in pain -- real pain, by the end. Eventually, she couldn't get up one day. It took her several hours to get to her feet.

We took her in to our Vet -- Dr. Hanks, at West Lynn, who has known Toby her whole life, and took great care of her through it all, and helped extend her life and the quality thereof at the end. I had hoped that we were takingher in to find out what we could do to help her out -- maybe a new pain medication or something. We even left the kids at home, explaining that we were going to take Toby to the vet, but we'd be back. But in the back of my mind, I feared that we were at the end of what we could -- and should -- do for her.

Gently, Dr. Hanks confirmed my fears. She's done, guys. He explained: "Toby's a working dog. She's always had a job to do. For 10 years, that job was getting birds. Then, she had the job of keeping an eye on the kids. But she can't even do that job anymore. She's proud -- she's so proud. And now, she can't do what she was born to do -- work. And it's killing her. The spark is gone, and I know you can see it too. I told you that I'd do everything I could to help her until she lost that spark -- and she's lost it."

We left Toby at the vet, and went home to get the kids. When we walked in the door without the dog, my daughter's eyes got wide -- "WHERE'S TOBY!" I kneeled down in front of her and started to explain that it was time. She fought it as hard as she could -- "NO -- we're supposed to go out to dinner tonight! Bring her home, and we'll go out to dinner!" I explained that Toby was hurting -- she was hurting so bad, and it was time for her to go to God. And then my daughter, weeping and desperate, cried out "You CAN'T. You CAN'T. SHE'S MY BEST FRIEND!" I said "I know -- she's mine too" -- and we cried together. Goddamit, that broke my freaking heart. I then told her that we had to go. She cried the whole way to the vet. Her brother seemed oblivious. That would change.

We got to the vet, and Toby was already in the back. They had the injection ready. The whole family went in to say goodbye. My daughter hugged her. She hugged her so tight. And then my son broke into tears, and reached out to hug her. And then they had to leave. I stayed with her. I was going to stay with her till the end. For as many times as she'd stood by my side, I sure as hell owed her that.

I held her and comforted her as they got the needle into her old, weak veins. They pushed the plunger down, and then gently laid her on the table, waiting for the drugs to take effect. I cradled her head in my hands, scratching under her chin, as she so loved for me to do, the whole time. And I talked to her, right into her ear. "You've had a good life -- and you are SO loved. There were SO many birds -- SO many birds."

The vet turned to me. "She's gone. And the last word she heard you say was "Birds." I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just buried my face in hers and wept. Big ole sobs. I went out in the waiting room and told them "she's gone." And we all cried again.

My kids went to sleep in our bed the next couple of nights, together -- they couldn't bear to be alone.

Since then, we've talked about how good it was that Toby essentially had 3 lives -- (1) the life of an "only dog," spoiled rotten before we had kids, (2) the life of a hunting dog -- and she lived it well, and (3) the companion to kids who loved her, and who she looked out for. All 3 of those lives were fantastic. She had a great life.




That was in mid-May. I still hear the click-click-click of her toenails on our wood floor, even now. I still walk through the house, making up silly songs and subbing her name into them, as I'd done for 13 years. I still walk into my daughter's room, where she still pulls the trundle out, every night. It's empty. I still miss her.

There will be another dog someday. Probably someday soon. But there will never be another Toby. She was a good dog. She was a great goddamned dog.
 
Great read. Sounds like an awesome dog.

My lab turns two in November and I see many of Toby's qualties in Belle.
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A dog is a blessing to her people. And those people, if they are worthy of being called human, are a blessing to their dog.

May you be just as blessed with your next best friend.

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I'm sorry to hear of your loss. Our dog wasn't as spectacular and didn't like to hunt or swim (what a weird lab) but was an awesome dog and I still get sad every now and again thinking of her. Hope your next dog is half the dog that Toby was, you'll be doing well.
 
Your last moments part of the story reminded me all to well of when my first Rottie, Sigmund, passed. I was right there with him too. He was in my arms, calm, strong, noble. Just like he always was.

I don't remember leaving, walking on my own or getting into the car that a friend drove since I knew I would not be able to. We said just about the same words.

What a fantastically lucky dog Toby was to have people pets like you and your family. Truly lucky indeed. You won't EVER forget your four legged friend. Nor should you. You will always hear the click-click on the floor as you should.

Your next dog won't be comparable but not in a bad way. I would give anything to have Sigmund around now to play with my newer Rottie, Amelie. OMG would they be buddies and bring out the best in one another. But it can't happen. All I can do is be a great friend to the new dog who is so very special too.

I think you will agree with me when I tell dog owners to hug your dog as much as you possibly can. Go for walks, go for rides, go play fetch, go swim, lay with them, feed them out of your hand, give them treats, give them attention. There will come that day when you wonder if you did it enough, if you missed opportunities.

No matter how much you do, you don't know if it was enough. So get started every single day. My respects and tears to you and your family. What a lucky dog Toby is...not was.
 
I recall your frequent posts about the dog, particularly your hunting posts and how she would get very excited when the box came out and how she would get ducks and your young girl I believe would play with the dead ducks when you got home with them.

This must be an awful time.

I'm sorry it had to end. Nary a dry eye after reading that post, I imagine
 
it's so weird how you can always find a post that relates to you. I was going to post about something similar. We lost patches on Friday night. We left him in the backyard in the evening since he had been in his room all day. We went to a softball game and he had gotten out while we were out. We couldn't find him and we were worried because he always came home when he got out. Well we found him the next morning in our driveway. He had been hit and had some how made it home where he finally passed. He was only with us a year and half but it is amazing how they become a part of the family. Patches was my first dog and my daughters first as well. He was a really sweet dog, but still very much a puppy. I never thought I was a 'pet' person or that I would ever become emotional if we lost a pet, but I really am. I get sad that I'm not going to hear his tags clinking when I call him for the night. I was the one that let him out in the morning too, and I really missed that this morning. I left for the weekend thinking it would be easier for my daughter if we weren't at home. I think I did it for me. I miss him and I feel so guilty. We should have known better than to leave him in the backyard. We knew he liked to dig. We were constantly covering holes, putting pepper and trying what we could to get him to stop. It was our own fault so I think that is the reason I'm feeling really bad. We let him down.
 
My heart is heavy yet again. Awww, a cutie. Respects Pepper, to your family who misses you. It is not your fault though.

When I was a kid we had a dog, Ginger. Ginger was a master of escape. We finally found a chain that had enough flex in it to where she could not escape. It lasted weeks.

We found her one day hanging from the fence. She had broken the chain and jumped to the next yard to play with their dog. In the process of coming back home the chain got stuck on the fence and she died.

Surely we were not THAT horrible of humans. She was a sweet dog and I did not do enough to take care of her like I should have, like I told my parents I would when I wanted to get her. I did sneak her lots of food and treats. We did let her in the house more than we should have and she did get love.

She just craved attention and I don't think she got her fill, not even close. Though I don't know if she ever would have even if doted on all day, everyday. She was just a love sponge.

It was that experience that helped be a good doggy daddy for my future pets.
 
Great post ...

My two pups are now 6 and 4, and even today I sometimes think how tough it would be to have to put one of them down.

Your dog was blessed to have such a great owner ... I'm making sure to spoil mine tonight when I get home.

Stay strong.
 
BT- Thanks for sharing your wonderful story about Toby. Her life, love and inevitable loss. I read every word, and offer the obvious condolences. I genuinely hope sharing helped you as much as it moved those that read it.

I'm facing the same prospect rapidly with my big guy Gus. Halfway through the post, I hear him stir from his sleeping pillow in front of the hearth, where he and his best bud Goober, spend more and more time these days.

Inexplicably, he hauled himself up on his tired and aching joints, and ambled over just to plop-down at my hip, resting his head on my knee, giving me that look that I've recently come to realize is telling me, "Don't worry brother, when the time comes, I'll be there for you too."

RIP Toby, Birds!
 
Man, that was a helluva post. I too have a chocolate lab and I love her dearly. She just turned one in May and I hope she can be half the dog that Toby was.

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Nice story Brisket. I'd write more but I gotta cut this damn fan off. It's blowing right in my eyes, making em water and stuff.
 
Dammit, I saw the title of the post, and I saw the author, and knew this was going to be an awesome post that would make me cry. ******.
 
Great post and it hurt like hell to read it because I'll be going through it within the next month. My chocolate male and Toby are about the same age and have had similar lives. I got him in the fall of '95 as a gift from a girlfriend when I was a senior at UT (the girl was gone within a year and he's been here ever since). When I moved to Houston after graduation, my dog, my bed, and an old couch were all I brought with me. He went from my dog to our dog when my wife and I met and got married, and now our seven and four year olds are just as attached to him as I am.

I've hunted over him every single dove and duck season since September 1st of '96. Much like Toby he's been the only dog on a shitload of trips, so if I had to guess at the number of doves and ducks he's retrieved, a couple thousand is about as close as I could come. I already know a lot of the fun is going to be gone when he's not there. ****, I'm not evening looking forward to the dove opener this year and in the 12+ years I've had him it's been damn near a religous holiday for us. Last year was the first time I noticed him slowing up. He still made every retrieve but he took his time doing it. His joints have really started going this summer. He can no longer go up stairs and even going from the street up onto a curb is damn hard for him. Laying down and getting up get a little harder for him and take a little longer every day.

My wife hates to see the pain he's in now and has told me a couple of times that I need to make an appointment with the vet to see about putting him down. I know she's right but I haven't been able to bring myself to do it. I'd like to take him to Llano for the opening day of dove season for one final hunt together. We'll probably just sit in the shade watching everyone else but he'll get to be there one more time. Then, we'll go see the vet together when we get back.
 
Great post Brisket. I remember you posting about Toby in the past.

I have a general question: I've heard from a couple folks who've had to go through this that getting a new puppy when your best friend is starting to get to the end of the road is a good idea. They've always said that a new pup can interject new life into those old bones, maybe even making it a little easier on them at the end. Has anyone here had this experience?
 
holy crap.

we are on our family vacation in galveston... its raining hard..
nothing to do but sit here and read hornfans.
nice to be on vacation with crappy weather and now sit here like a little girl and cry.

i lost my chocolate hunting buddy nov 25, 2004. i have lots of similar stories.

TX_HORNS dog and mine were a pretty good team.
 
Brisket, Thanks for telling us about Toby. Im sure that she was one great companion. Dogs are such wonderful creatures. Do yourself and your family a favor and get another one. You probably wont find another one just like Toby, but I bet you find another friend.
 
Just in the last week or so, my daughter has started asking when we can get Eleanor (yeah, that's what she and my wife have decided the next one will be named -- I've cautioned against it -- what if she turns out that such a name doesn't suit her? They are undeterred).

And, I'm starting to get ready for hunting season. I'm going to enjoy the chance to hunt with my friends, and their dogs -- they need to have a shot at being the only dog in the blind. But in a season or two . . .

We're not ready yet. But we're getting there.

I still find myself reaching down to scratch Toby's chin, though . . . dammit.
 
I'd like to warn the mods that maybe we need a dog tribute forum.

I have a 13-year-old golden that we've been expecting to die for at least the last 15 months. Nicest dog ever.

Today, we took my 7-year-old basset hound to the vet because he has been limping the last week. He's ridiculously stupid, but is the most loving animal I've ever seen. Turns out he has a malignant bone tumor.

Pretty sure I'll lose both of them in the next couple of months.
 
Totally agree we need a "dog" forum....

Lost my own Torito in June...he was fabulous...a bulldog with his own Longhorn shirt....

Hoped to take him to tailgates...but looks like it will be my other dog Petunia...so if you see a tan and white bulldog at tailgates this year...give a pat will ya? Or a beer...she LOVES beer!

Sorry for your loss...I KNOW how that feels...

Hugs,
Diva
 
second time i've read the story... why did i go back to read it again i don't know. i just love reading about the awesome relationship man can have with his best friend.
 
Interestingly enough, I bumped into our vet, Dr. Hanks, at lunch today. When he saw me, he immediately said hi, and stood up to come over towards our table. The first question he asked, quite sensitively, was "how is it going with that lab pup?" At first, I thought that he had forgotten that we'd put Toby down -- "well, you remember . . . " and he said "oh, no, I mean how's it going with the family and getting another lab pup?"

I told him that we were getting there, and that the kids had just started to really ask about it. He smiled, and nodded his head. "Good, good."

I guess that I took it as a nod of approval -- that we were the kind of folks that he thinks should have a dog in the family. It seems silly, but that means something.
 
you have a sense that getting a new dog replaces toby. can't help but feel that way. that's how my family felt when debating whether to get another dog or not.

just gotta get the mindset that you want to raise another dog that could be so lucky to live the life you can give her or him that Toby so graciously recieved from y'all.

best of luck!
 
I have been reading posts on this site for years but I don't post very often.

I too am a duck hunter. I lost my Lab Molly last spring.

Thank goodness my class is taking a test right now because I could not see them to teach because my eyes are filled with tears.

God bless you and Toby.
 

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