Some dogs have sensitive stomachs.
Some dogs have big appetites.
Toby, being a Caniche Royal, chose to have both… at the exact same time.
It was June 2020.
COVID was in full force. Life was stressful, unpredictable, and exhausting.
And Toby, in true royal fashion, decided this was the perfect moment to eat something stupid.
To understand how ridiculous this story is, you need to know a few things about Toby.
First: the breed name in French for a standard poodle is Caniche Royal.
And Toby took the “royal” part very literally.
He believed he was royalty, with all the perks and absolutely none of the responsibilities.
Second: his stomach was absurdly sensitive.
A single forbidden ingredient, one stolen crumb, one random Kleenex (for reasons known only to the universe)… and his entire digestive system staged a coup.
Third: despite this delicate stomach, Toby had zero self-control.
He would steal other dogs’ treats.
He would sniff out tiny particles of food like a truffle pig.
He would happily eat tissues, wrappers, pieces of fluff, and anything that wasn’t nailed down.
And then he would look at us like,
“I didn’t do anything wrong, but I feel terrible, please fix me immediately.”
So when Toby suddenly seemed uncomfortable, we panicked.
Because poodles can be at risk of gastric torsion, and his symptoms sometimes mimicked it.
Which meant:
Enter the vet.
Enter the abdominal imaging.
Enter the bill that could make a grown man cry.
Every. Single. Time.
Thousands of dollars to rule out every terrifying condition imaginable… only to receive the same diagnosis:
“Toby ate something he shouldn’t have.”
Again.
And then came the aftermath — unforgettable in all the wrong ways.
For days, Toby’s royal digestive system expelled whatever nonsense he had swallowed. But here’s the part that still amazes me: he never once soiled the house.
Not once.
Even in full gastrointestinal catastrophe mode, His Royal Highness maintained palace etiquette.
Instead, Toby would sprint toward us, eyes wide, tail rigid, paws scrambling in a frantic dance. He jumped on us, whined, barked, and pleaded with every fiber of his being.
The urgent message was always crystal clear:
“Escort me outside immediately. We are seconds from disaster.”
And the second that door opened, he would rocket into the yard and unleash a fountain of doom that defied gravity, biology, and common sense.
I would stand there, watching him, thinking,
How does a dog with the stomach of a Fabergé egg also have the appetite of a dumpster raccoon?
A fully grown adult man, humbled yet again by a poodle with luxury tastes and a garbage palate.
Afterward, Toby would trot back inside with this innocent little face that said:
“I feel better. Thank you. Also, do we have snacks?”
Back at home, he rested on his bed, his entire abdomen shaved from the imaging, looking like a tiny lion cub recovering from battle. A soft, vulnerable, ridiculous lion cub who cost me a small fortune.
And still, I loved him through every chaotic moment.
Even when I was elbow-deep in paper towels.
Even when I swore I’d never financially recover from this.
Even when I wondered how such a royal creature could be so intensely stupid about what he ate.
Because that was Toby.
Messy, dramatic, fragile, chaotic.
And absolutely unforgettable.
Classic Toby.