Toby-Do

Toby is not the dog I would have chosen. Much like a cat, he is the dog that picked us.

We believe that Toby had a family before us, because he took to various home-living-as-a-dog things quite well. As a street dog in Puerto Rico, this was surprising. Our best guess is that he must have been separated from his family during Hurricane Maria.

Before you ask—no, I’m fairly sure he doesn’t speak Spanish. We also thought that at the beginning, but he responds with equal skepticism in all languages.

When we got him, he must have weighed about 20 pounds and was significantly darker than you see in his profile picture. He still seems to go through seasonal color changes, to the point that many people think he wears eyeliner. If he does, he hasn’t confessed.
Toby has behavioral issues. He’ll howl in the middle of the night, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. Arthritis in his back paw makes him suspicious of his surroundings, including over-eager petters. He is not the dog I would have chosen.

I’ve come to realize, however, that despite these traits—the grumpiness, waking up at 2 AM to the dulcet tones of a dog who thinks the world is ending… I’m clearly not good at picking dogs. If I had gotten the opportunity to choose a dog, I would have made the wrong choice for the wrong reasons. I would have missed out on my best boy. Perhaps most of life is like that? We think we’re choosing wisely, only to find out that our initial concerns were fundamentally wrong, and our initial desires were unaligned with our deeply held needs.