Eight years ago we fostered a precious pit bull puppy named Baby. He was only six weeks old and a scared, shivering little thing. Baby was so sweet and got along so well with our one-year-old rescue pup, Mandy, that we couldn’t let Baby get adopted by anyone else. We adopted Baby ourselves, renamed him Toby, and enjoyed almost eight years together.
Mandy and Toby were the best of friends. Just the best. Mandy was bossy and mothering, Toby was a quiet fellow who adored her and followed her everywhere.
Most of you know that three years ago, when Toby was not yet five, he was diagnosed with lymphoma and had his eye removed. The traditional vets gave him thirty days to live. We chose a non-traditional, homeopathic treatment method and Toby lived another three years (in spite of a second surgery which removed his spleen). We gave Toby remedies, vitamins, home cooked meals, and tons and tons of love. He not only went into remission from the cancer, he flourished!
Well, I can’t write any more for we are all devastated. Out of nowhere yesterday, Toby couldn’t walk. He was droopy, sad, and could not move well. I’ll cut it short and say that Toby passed away this afternoon at 2:45 p.m. George and I were with him.
Toby, you were the best boy ever. All you wanted was to love and be loved. You never hurt a soul, and you loved everyone. You were a working man’s dog and you loved to ride in the flatbed and go down to the harbor to work with Daddy. Mommy loves you so much, sweet boy. I loved to hug your big head and give you kisses. I hope you are playing with your Uncle Danny and your doggie cousins, Inu, Kucha, and Henry.
We love you so much, Sweetheart. You were a soldier and fought the good fight. You can rest now and play forever, okay?