Every dog has a toy phase.
Toby had an obsession.
For reasons no one will ever fully understand, Toby developed an intense, lifelong passion for squeaky toys shaped like salamanders or dinosaurs. Not balls. Not ropes. Not plush animals.
Only long, weird, prehistoric creatures that screamed when bitten.
Once he chose one, that was it.
The toy became part of him.
He played with them constantly.
He slept next to them.
He guarded them.
And most importantly, he brought them everywhere.
And no, this was never suggested.
We did not hand him the toy before walks.
We did not encourage it for laughs.
We did not stage anything.
Toby decided, entirely on his own, that dinosaurs belonged outside.
So there we were, walking through the neighbourhood, Toby proudly trotting along with a bright green squeaky dinosaur dangling from his mouth. People stopped us constantly.
They laughed.
They pointed.
They melted.
They asked questions.
“Is that his toy?”
“Does he always do that?”
“That is the cutest thing I have ever seen.”
Toby soaked it all in.
Every smile.
Every laugh.
Every bit of attention.
And he never let go of the dinosaur.
Not even to pee.
Yes.
He peed while holding the dinosaur.
Focused.
Professional.
Committed.
Sometimes I genuinely wondered if he had figured out the fastest possible way to become the center of attention in public spaces. A large black poodle carrying a squeaky dinosaur is apparently a winning formula.
But the real performances happened at home.
After walks, Toby did not simply relax.
He performed.
He squeaked those toys like his life depended on it. As fast as possible. As loud as possible. With no rhythm and no mercy. A true one poodle orchestra.
Professionals say dogs squeak toys to release stress or express playfulness.
I do not believe that.
I believe Toby was a strategic menace.
He always waited.
Until the movie got serious.
Until the plot thickened.
Until everyone stopped talking.
Then the squeaking began.
And during COVID, he reached peak chaos.
One day, I was on an extremely important phone conference with Quebec Provincial Public Health officials. We were discussing emergency measures. Serious decisions. High stakes. Professional voices.
And right on cue, Toby chose that exact moment to express his musical talent.
Squeak.
Squeak squeak.
SQUEAK.
Loud.
Relentless.
Unstoppable.
I muted myself.
I apologized.
I tried to grab the dinosaur.
Toby clamped down harder.
I had to unmute and explain, with a straight face, that my poodle had decided to perform live background music during a public health crisis.
Somehow, people laughed.
Somehow, the world did not end.
And Toby looked very proud of himself.
Classic Toby.
A prehistoric toy.
Perfect timing.
Zero shame.