When I became EMS Chief in Côte Saint Luc, Toby naturally became the actual Chief.
But every Chief needs a morning routine.
And Toby’s routine started with Una.
Every morning, without fail, Toby would make his way toward the front office. Not casually. Not by accident. Deliberately. With purpose. With the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
He was not there to review reports.
He was not there to coordinate operations.
He was there for breakfast.
Una loved Toby. And Toby loved Una. There was a mutual understanding between them. A gentle affection that turned into one of the most adorable workplace rituals I have ever witnessed.
Now to be fair, Una did not always hand feed him. Toby had a bowl like a normal dog. He was perfectly capable of eating on his own.
But the station was busy. Phones ringing. Medics walking in and out. Radios chirping. Conversations happening everywhere. Sometimes Toby would get distracted by the activity and forget to focus on his food.
And that is when Una would step in.
She would sit near him, pick up one of his large nuggets, and gently offer it to him by hand to help him “refocus.” Not as indulgence. Not as permanent protocol. Just as a little encouragement when the world felt too interesting.
Toby would accept the nugget with exaggerated delicacy. Slow. Gentle. Intent. As if evaluating the culinary standards of the Côte Saint Luc EMS breakfast program.
It was impossible not to laugh.
There he was, a black standard poodle, sitting in the administrative office, being encouraged to eat like a visiting dignitary who needed personal attention during his meal.
Staff would walk by and shake their heads.
“Is he being hand fed again?”
Sometimes.
Only when necessary.
Only when distracted.
But Toby remembered.
And that is where the problem began.
Because after a full day of being gently encouraged to eat at work, Toby would come home.
Stephanie or I would place his bowl down. Proper portion. Balanced. Responsible.
Toby would look at it.
Then look at us.
Then look back at the bowl.
Then back at us again.
Those eyes.
The eyes of expectation.
The subtle tilt of the head that clearly said,
“I believe the service model has changed.”
He would sit and wait.
Not dramatically. Not aggressively. Just patiently. As if we had temporarily forgotten the correct feeding procedure.
I would look back at him with the most exaggerated expression I could manage.
“Absolutely not.”
Dude. No way.
You are a dog.
Sometimes he would try to hold out. A quiet protest. A hunger strike in hopes that standards would improve.
With me, it almost never worked.
With Stephanie… occasionally.
Just enough to reinforce his belief that the strategy was viable.
And so he tried.
Regularly.
Work Toby was gently assisted when distracted.
Home Toby attempted to renegotiate the terms of service.
Classic Toby.
Princess at headquarters.
Union representative at home.
Always testing the boundaries of royal privilege.
