Every dog has an enemy.
For some, it is the mail carrier.
For others, it is vacuum cleaners.
For Toby, it was squirrels.
Specifically, urban squirrels. The confident ones. The ones who knew exactly what they were doing. The ones who dared to exist within his line of sight.
Living near the Mont Saint Hilaire train station meant squirrels were everywhere. Running across sidewalks. Climbing trees. Sitting on fences like they owned the place. To Toby, this was unacceptable.
From the moment he spotted one, his entire demeanor changed.
His posture stiffened.
His head tilted slightly forward.
His eyes locked on target.
This was no longer casual observation.
This was a situation.
He did not bark immediately. That would have been beneath him. Instead, he produced a low, offended sound from deep in his chest. A warning. A notice of presence. A formal announcement that rules existed here.
Sometimes the squirrel stopped.
Sometimes it stared back.
Sometimes it flicked its tail.
That tail flick was personal.
Toby would lean forward, muscles tight, clearly debating whether this was the day he would finally handle the squirrel problem once and for all. He never moved beyond the boundary of reason, but his disappointment was visible.
On walks, squirrels became his main distraction. He could ignore cars. He could ignore people. He could tolerate dogs. But a squirrel crossing the sidewalk? Unacceptable.
He would freeze mid walk, mid step, mid sniff. The leash would go taut. His attention fully consumed by the audacity of a small rodent existing freely.
Sometimes the squirrel would climb a tree and sit just high enough to be safe. That was the worst outcome. Toby would stand there, staring upward, convinced that if he waited long enough, justice would prevail.
It never did.
From the balcony, the situation escalated. The higher vantage point gave Toby the illusion of authority. Squirrels below became targets of intense supervision. Every movement tracked. Every pause logged. Every glance returned with judgment.
Toby never forgot a squirrel.
He remembered routes.
He remembered patterns.
He remembered repeat offenders.
And yet, despite all his vigilance, squirrels remained undefeated.
Still, Toby took his role seriously. Someone had to enforce the rules. Someone had to make sure the squirrels knew they were being watched.
And even if they did not care, Toby did.
Classic Toby.
Chief Squirrel Compliance Officer.
Zero victories.
Unwavering dedication.