In Other Words

I’ve learned a new language. It’s taken three years, but I’d say I’m rather well versed in my new language.

Three years ago, I whined just enough, flashed my baby blues just so, and pouted profusely, until at last, my darling husband could not say no when I told him it was time to fill the our home with the sounds of pitter patter of a new puppy. He couldn’t understand why I would go looking for trouble or , excuse the expression, go barking up the wrong tree, after successfully potty-training and raising our children. He reminded me he wasn’t a “dog” person. His excuse fell on deaf ears.

Some called it a mid-life crisis. Some said it was “empty nest” syndrome. Something serious was taking place inside of my heart and I couldn’t resist the constant nagging, the prompting to find the right puppy to fit our family. We searched the shelters, we talked to friends, we perused the internet, until at last, we found the perfect puppy. He was so adorable, so small and so shy. He was newly weaned from his mother and I felt it was the perfect time for me to take over his raising. I chose the name “Rowdy”. It was a name I recalled from an old TV western series “Rawhide”, starring Clint Eastwood. But the little puppy was so timid, so quiet and shy, I knew that name was not going to fit. Our six year old granddaughter was fond of the country singer, Toby Keith, so Toby seemed like a good southern name for our new addition.

Although I had read every piece of information I could find on the breed of dog we chose, which is a Yorkshire Terrier, I learned fast that each dog has his own personality and just like children, they require individual love and discipline, unique to them. The reading material carried me just so far, then I was on my own. I recall the one time we drove Toby to Pet Smart in Chattanooga. I never knew dogs could get car sick. But I found out fast that they can and do. What an ordeal that was. Still as we pulled up to Pet Smart I was still eager to show off my “baby” and introduce him to the world. I heard my husband say ever so slightly under his breath, “We’ve now officially become one of THOSE kind of people.” He was feeling despair and horror, while I felt honored to be a doggy Mom.

Determined to show my husband that Toby was meant to be a member of our family, I was careful not to let him know whenever he had an “accident” and hid a lot of the things he chewed up while teething. Soon I ran out of places to hide the many items. The truth came out in oodles, or rather “puddles“. My husband handled it so-so. Full of mischief Toby soon found his favorite thing to do was to steal socks from the laundry basket. He found out that one sock could fit perfectly into his little mouth. When he realized he was not suppose to eat the sock, a feud ensued and the chase was on. He would grab the sock, run down the hallway, into the bedroom, hide under the bed, sock and all. The thing is, only the first half of little body fit under the bed. His backside remained exposed from the bedcovers. His wee tail would wag proudly as he hid. I would call out his name “Toby, where are you?” and suddenly the wagging tail came to a halt. He didn’t dare move for fear of being caught. He was confidant that if he couldn’t see me, then I couldn’t see him.

It wasn’t long before Toby began to see my husband as the Alfa dog. He became his very shadow. It was Terry he took to in a big way. It was Terry who took him for the long walks. Terry was the one who would ask me at 3:00 a.m. if I had checked on Toby because he thought he’d heard him crying. Before long Toby’s bed was placed in our bedroom. It was Terry’s idea to move him there. When Terry fell asleep in the recliner, Toby would climb into his lap, where he found safety and slumber snuggled in his lap. Terry would call in the afternoon to check on us and sometimes asked that I put Toby on the phone. I reminded him Toby was a dog and couldn’t speak.

Every day at 4:30, Terry would pull into the driveway, returning home from work. Toby soon caught on and like clockwork found a spot on the back of the sofa where he could see “Daddy” pull into the drive. Whenever he saw his red car, his little tail began wagging wildly. He would bark with joy. Terry would give me a kiss and immediately turn to Toby and take him for a walk. It was their time together. It was obvious, Terry, just like the rest of the family, had fallen totally in love with Toby. He was his “little man” as he called him.

Toby was with us three years when Terry suddenly died. Our world came crashing down. Toby grieved with us at his loss. In the midst of my grief I almost failed to take notice of just how deeply losing the person he saw as the leader, had taken its toll on Toby. I took him to our vet. With Medication and lots of hugs, oodles of prayers, in time he healed. Like the rest of us, he continues to grieve to some degree. For the longest time after Terry’s passing, as always, at 4:30 Toby waited on the sofa, looking longingly for Daddy’s red car to pull into the driveway. He would whimper a few times. I knew well his pain.

Toby has been my constant companion since I lost the love of my life. He has made me laugh, made me move, given me reason to get up when I didn’t feel like it. He has stolen so many socks, hid them everywhere in this house to the point I will never find them all. The funny thing is, I don’t mind. The joy he gives is worth the trade. We are so attached, I even understand the differences in his barks. I look at him and know what he wants. Some would say he is spoiled. I say he is loved.

I had no idea why the urge to obtain Toby was felt so strongly three years ago. But God is watching and knows all things. It was not empty nest syndrome, nor a mid-life crisis. It was a reminder that God works in mysterious ways and in all those ways, he is always looking out for us.

"For I know the plans I have for you," says the Lord. "Plans to prosper and not to harm you, plans for a hope and a future." -Jeremiah 29:11