There were many things Toby believed with complete confidence.
He believed all couches were designed specifically for him.
He believed all visitors arrived with the intention of admiring him.
And most importantly, he believed that any cooking happening in the house was obviously for him.
This rule had no exceptions.
If a human was in the kitchen, Toby assumed his meal was being prepared.
It was September 2019, and Stephanie had decided to bake muffins. These were not dog muffins. They were not peanut butter treats. They were definitely not chicken.
They were regular human muffins.
And to make things worse for Toby, they were muffins for me.
Toby rejected this idea completely.
The moment Stephanie placed the tray into the oven, he understood that his duty had begun. He positioned himself in front of the oven like a guard on royal patrol. His posture was serious. His stare was intense. He was ready to protect the muffins with his life.
Every time the oven light flicked on, Toby leaned forward as if receiving secret instructions from the Muffin Gods.
He watched them rise with the focus of a scientist waiting for a breakthrough.
Stephanie and I were chatting, but Toby heard nothing.
His entire soul was concentrated on the baking muffins.
At one point he let out a quiet little whine. It was his polite way of saying,
“I respectfully request an update on the status of my muffins.”
And then came the devastating moment.
The muffins came out of the oven.
The tray cooled on the counter.
I let him know that these muffins were for me, not for him.
Toby slowly turned his head toward me.
The look on his face was unforgettable.
Utter heartbreak.
Complete confusion.
A soft sadness that could have melted concrete.
He stayed seated in the exact same guarding position, but his eyes told the whole story.
“Not for me? After everything I have done? I have protected them with honor.”
The picture captures this perfectly. Toby looking back over his shoulder with a face that said he was trying to understand how the universe could allow such injustice.
We reassured him.
We gave him a dog-safe treat.
We complimented him on his exceptional muffin-guarding skills.
But he stayed by that oven a little longer, as if trying to figure out how muffins could be created without being intended for him.
And to be honest, knowing Toby, I do not think he ever accepted that idea.
Classic Toby.