Flight to Forever

Because life is nothing without a slew of complications, I took Toby home on the Sunday before Thanksgiving. With little thought to transportation or logistics, I suppose you could say that I was somewhat irresponsible with my timing. Traveling with a dog is not as easy as one might think, and traveling with a paperless rescue is even more complicated. From Virgin America’s corporate standpoint, Toby was an illegal alien that I was harboring. Millions of phone calls later, I switched our flight to Southwest and called my parents with the exciting news that they should prepare to meet their new granddog! My mom was thrilled, and my dad, well, not so much.

We had a few days before takeoff, and in those days it became apparent that something was very wrong with Toby. His energy level was nonexistent, and depression and angst seeped out from every fiber in his little body. I would have moved mountains to see just a little wag in his tail, but all my efforts were unsuccessful. As time progressed, Toby’s condition deteriorated.

Out of desperation I called the woman who so willingly handed Toby off to me. She was less than unhelpful, responding to my desperate call with an email writing my cries for help off as Toby’s “new home adjustment period”. While the original plan was to foster Toby, I soon realized that Toby was mine, adoption papers or not. I wasn’t looking to bring a dog into my already complicated life, but the situation was grim, and helping was not an option. Toby found me for a reason, and from this point forward I had to be his advocate, campaigning and petitioning on his behalf. So I deleted her email, looked at my new “son” and realized that we had a long road ahead of us.

In hindsight, I suppose I never really planned to find Toby a home. I brought Toby to work one day and a coworker made a rather intelligent observation. She asked me when I was planning to find Toby a home, before or after I had his tags engraved with all of my information? The comment was a “realty check” and a realization that engraving those tags was symbolic in ways that I didn’t understand at the time. That night I sent out a mass email with a subject title that read, “Toby Patton Has a New Home!”

Crash Rodman

As a teenager I was known for being a terrible driver. My dad dubbed me “Crash Rodman” and the name followed me through my early twenties. I crashed my fifth and final car during a summer holiday, and I remember thinking to myself that I had two options; buck up and call my dad or drive the partially totaled car to Mexico and never look back. I went with the call, but it was a decision that I seriously contemplated! After what seemed like an eternity, my dad lifted his silence and reminded me that “it’s just a car”. This is just one example of why I have the best dad. My dad is always endlessly understanding and supportive, no matter how many times you make the same mistake (which in my case can be a lot). I was reminded of my fifth crash when I brought Toby home from the farmer’s market.

Last winter I fostered a male Chihuahua, Sherman, from a local rescue group. Sherman was a handful- a true Chihuahua through and through. Sherman ran circles around me and my apartment; marking his territory anywhere and everywhere, literally pissing all over my life. Sherman was unbelievably overwhelming, and completely nocturnal. I hardly slept, and I was convinced that my new roommate was not exactly “adoptable”. Despite being mismatched, Sherman deserved a break and I made a commitment to help him find his forever home. Sherman and I went to doggy school, had all night slumber parties, and just had a grand old time. The weeks turned into months, and I grew accustomed to upgrading to super sized coffees and sleepwalking my way through life. My mom, an animal whisperor and true saint, sympathetically tried to help me better manage the situation. My dad, a realist and animal tolerateor, thought that Sherman was sucking me dry and wanted to find a way to expedite his adoption.

It did take some time, but eventually Sherman was adopted by a wonderful family. I was sad to see my little friend go, but I knew he would be happier in home with kids and other doggie siblings to keep him busy. So I brushed the experience off as a job well done, took a long nap and promised my dad that I would never commit myself to another high maintenance Chihuahua again.

Back to the present, and Toby and I are heading back to Irvine. As I stared at the now sleeping bundle of Chihuahua on my lap I couldn’t help but think “Shit, maybe I should consider taking that drive to Mexico.”

Meet Toby

I am far from a writer, and even further from a computer savvy "blogger", but there are people, moments, places, and in my case, dogs, that simply beg to be memorialized. My dog, Tobias Patton, has inspired me to share his story and attempt to articulate my deep fondness and affection for my new companion. I will apologize now, and I am sure many more times, for the endless typos, grammatical errors, run-on sentences and overall incoherent thoughts that are likely, no highly likely, to ensue. I hope that the writing will be acceptable, but more importantly, I hope that Toby’s story will touch you.

Before I go on, I must preface this entry (and all my entries) with a serious warning. I have made the mistake of speaking about Toby with such pride and affection that the people on the receiving end begin to envision Toby as somewhat of an untouchable super-dog. This seemed like the correct sentiment to me, but to be fair, I should tell you that if Toby decided to grace you with his presence you ought to be prepared for a chilly reception. Toby is a Chihuahua through and through, and true to his breed he is a one person dog. Try not to be offended and I will try not to gloat that the greatest dog on earth loves me best. One of many Toby adventures is about our futile attempts at socialization, so don’t feel bad because it isn’t you...I promise, this isn’t me blowing smoke, maybe it’s normally you but this time it really is “me” (or him). This is a hard one for my friends and family, but I keep reminding them that there is a special dog who wants to be their one and only who is just waiting to meet them!

My little Toby was handed to me like a bag of fruit at a Farmer’s Market in Los Angeles. The market often hosts different rescue groups, but this particular group was especially chaotic and disorganized. I was scared for the dogs who seemed visibly stressed amidst the shoppers and pedestrians who were practically tripping over the pens. The dogs were tense and heartbreakingly pitiful, so my attempts to keep moving were futile. I tried to be strong, but the pull on my heart was simply too strong to resist.

Toby was huddled in the back, shaking like a leaf in a tornado. I wasn’t sure he would approach me, but our eyes met and I put my hand near his noise so he could give it a little sniff. With less apprehension then I expected, Toby placed his entire head on my hand and let out a big sigh. So to put it simply, Toby “had me at hello”. If Toby were a man, I might say that it was love at first sight. Since Toby is a dog, I affectionately say that it was absolutely positively love at first sight. Love comes in all different shapes and sizes, and no matter how prepared you think you are, love has a sneaky little way of creeping up on you when you least expect it. I went to the market for olives and came back with a dog...shocking and unexpected, sure, but wonderfully worth all that followed? Absolutely.