Toto

I know most people will say that their dog is special, one of a kind, the goodest dogs of all the dogs. They might not be wrong. But there was an undeniable spark in tiny Toto, that even strangers couldn't miss or brush off as a mere trait of every pet.

He was this impossibly small, (he wasn't that small but he felt small) miniature schnauzer with the loudest and strongest bark in the whole neighbourhood. He was definitely in love with my mother, and in a weird way it often seemed like he looked up to my father. And I'm pretty sure he regarded both me and my sister as the annoying siblings who bugged him when he was calmly sleeping or hogged the attention of his beloved guardians. Still, there were times when he'd fall asleep in your lap or lick your nose when you were giving him a cuddle, and you couldn't deny the mutual appreciation that existed between you and this fur-ball with a beard and a moustache and the bushiest eyebrows.

Strangers would cross the street just to take a closer look and when he'd bark ferociously they would laugh and say how cute. I imagine Toto didn't appreciate that much. He was the patrol dog of the neighbourhood, or so I think that's what he considered himself to be, of course the mailman being public enemy number one followed closely behind anybody who dared cross the sidewalk in front of our house.

He didn't take well to strangers at first, especially when they were guests at the house, and he would creep under the table and bark and growl but if they tried to approach he would run behind your legs and cower, poking his head out to keep them in line with a scowl. But if you fed him enough treats and gave him enough ear scratches you too could be a friend.

I don't think most people would call the final moments of your dog's life a fond memory, yet for some reason, this is the one I have chosen to share with you. Toto became slowly ill in September of 2021; it started off with the occasional seizure and a lack of appetite, and slowly dissolved into more painful moments, constant sickness, lack of energy. Numerous vet trips only confirmed our worst fears - his time was coming.

For a long time, I don't think we let ourselves admit it. Toto was a critical part of our lives, a family member who was basically treated as another human in our home. He had been through countless critical moments in each of our lives, helping us through tough times and joyfully parading with us when things were well. He was the cornerstone of our family; a much-needed light when things were dark. I think a lot of things would have unfolded differently if it were not for Toto.

It was the morning after Easter Sunday: April 18. We had had family friends over the day before, and upon seeing Toto still walking and somewhat eating they said: "He's a tough guy. He's going to make it." But when we woke up the next day, I think we all knew how it would unfold.

Toto was incredibly tough, and strong-willed and determined, and a part of me is pretty sure he was pushing as hard as he could for us. But when we took him to the vet that morning after yet another complication, the condemned look on his face told us that pushing anymore would be too painful. They gave us time to say goodbye, to hold him, to hear his tiny heartbeat and his heavy, exhausted breathing, but watching him close his eyes for the last time was no easier.

I've cried a lot in my life, but I don't think I'd ever cried as much as I did that afternoon. Collectively, all of us might have even filled a swimming pool with all our tears. It felt like losing the most important part of yourself, and the emptiness in our family lingered for many months. I think the absence of something or someone really does make you realize how important it was.

Like a gaping hole in existence, there was no one there to purr under your door until you'd let him in in the mornings, or to howl from the couch when people were walking by. Toto was famous for knowing exactly when my dad would come home and he was no longer there to run out into the driveway and greet him. He wasn't there for an evening snooze on the couch in front of the TV or for a morning run. He wasn't clambering out the door when you were on your way out to join you on a car ride, or squeezing his head out the window and letting the wind push back all the whiskers on his face.

Holding him in those last moments on that final day, made me realize how much I truly loved this creature, how much a part of me and my family he was. It made me think about all the love he had for us, and sometimes I think he was trying so hard to live just to make sure he could still protect us and be there with us.

I know it was his time, I understand death and I understand that it is a natural part of this world. But I'd like to think that he is still here, around us, following us, still barking away all the intruders and celebrating with us when things are good. I think he's still there with us on every walk we go, every nap we take, every morning we wake up. I think we may have lost his little body, but we never lost his spirit and his essence and the impact he had on everybody he met.

He was a little pup with a big heart.

He was Toto.