“That Day…”
Toby—I didn’t see you there as I was getting ready for work that morning. I saw you—but I didn’t see: I even yelled at you, “Let’s go, Toby! You’re going to make me late for work!” as though my tardiness were all your fault. I should have known better: you weren’t eating or drinking; you didn’t want to move. And here I was forcing you up and out the door for a walk. I didn’t realize the pain you were in. You just stood there on the lawn. You stood and looked at me with sad eyes—and even them I didn’t see. I only wanted to get to work, to get on with my day. I was so impatient, though all the signs were there. Something was wrong—but I barely noticed.
I had so much on my mind already: work, the car, the upcoming Memorial Day weekend. You were always there for me when I’d come home, were always a great companion—so much fun to have around. Yet when you needed me, you didn’t hop up for attention or bark or whine. You quietly folded yourself into the middle of the floor of the room, away from everything, under the furniture. I should have noticed your silence, but I was too focused on myself that day. I let you back in and then went out the door without even saying so long.
You were still there when I got off work and walked in the door: lying on the bathroom floor, on the cold tile. “An odd place to lie,” I thought, still not getting it. Yet it was as though your silence had accumulated all throughout the day and hung heavy in the air—like a rebuke to me. I dropped my keys on the counter and felt so uneasy, so suddenly struck by what I hadn’t had time to see earlier—that you were suffering. I went back to the bathroom and crouched down. You, my first love, my best friend, my companion for so many years…. You helped shape my life. I brushed my hand over your coat. Your legs were moving back and forth, like you were chasing squirrels in your sleep. I thought it best not to wake you. “I’ll get him some new food,” I thought to myself—perhaps trying to make up for a feeling of guilt, of negligence creeping up on me. I went out again, picked up food, returned an hour later. Still, there you were, lying on the same bathroom tile floor—only you had shifted, turned as though to see me—where I had been...
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