Last night, George walked into the kitchen. “I have something to tell you that will be a bit upsetting,” he announced.
It’s never good when someone starts a conversation quite like that. Of course, my thoughts went immediately to the well-being of my family. I decided not to “go there” quite so quickly, though, and asked instead about the boat.
“Did somebody quit?” I asked.
“Something happened on Toby’s walk yesterday,” George said. “I didn’t want to tell you.”
I was alarmed at once, because saying that something happened to Toby is no small thing. Toby is our six-year old pitbull. He started out as our six-week-old foster pup (named “Baby” by the foster program due to his shy, under-confident, scared manner).
Toby has grown into a beautiful, gentle, mild pitbull who was suddenly diagnosed with cancer 18 months ago. He had to have surgery to remove his eye. During surgery, the doctor placed a glass eye inside Toby’s empty socket before sewing it shut. (Some of you may remember me blogging about this in March of 2008.)
“He got punched in the head during the walk,” George said.
Yes, you read correctly.
Our beautiful Toby (and his border collie-mix sister, Mandy) was on a normal walk on a pleasant trail in a nice section of town with his walker and our dear friend, Lisa, when a drunken and aggressive bum came out of nowhere and sucker-punched Toby in his face and screamed obscenities at Lisa. Toby literally did not see it coming.
Let’s just say that this loser better not have caused our Toby to lose ground in his cancer treatment (which is based in large part upon building his confidence and joy, not having it KNOCKED out of him) or instigated a relapse.
This will be the last time anyone messes with us, our kids, or our furry kids. George is making sure of that as we speak!