
All Toby, All the Time
It’s been two-and-a-half months since Toby, our black Labrador retriever, died. The house seems empty; “not enough fur to vacuum up,” as Jeff says. I especially noticed it when Jeff was at work during the day and there was no fuzzy companion lying next to my chair as I wrote or licking the bowl after I was finished with my ice cream.

Toby was a black lab with gray–no, silver–on his paws and nose. His thick tail wagged frantically and his eyes brightened when his human walked in the door. At night, he would keep all the monsters away with his hoarse, baritone bark; if there were 100 dogs talking in a park, you’d easily be able to pick out Toby.
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