It’s with an unbearable sadness and a very heavy heart that I share that today, Toby crossed over the Rainbow Bridge.

His full, government-issued name was Tobias Underfoot Stuber—a title he earned via his Hobbit heritage as well as the fact that he was, well, always underfoot — but he generously always answered to “Toby.”

Toby came into my life in 2015 as a scrawny little pea of a dog with a long list of medical issues and a personality so quiet you could forget he was even in the room… at least for the first few weeks. Then he discovered his bark—and once found, it was used liberally.

What followed were years of ups and downs: an ACL surgery, multiple corneal laser treatments, more bouts of pancreatitis than any dog should ever endure, and finally idiopathic epilepsy. In the past three years alone, Toby survived over 175 seizures and introduction to over 15 medications. As brave and stubborn as he was, it was the toll on his brain and lungs that ultimately took him from me.

Life with Toby included many unforgettable daily “events,” none more athletic than his self-invented Olympic sport: Vacuum Sprints. The moment the vacuum turned on, Toby would clamp down on a stuffed toy and run laps around the dining table. His personal record was 85 full rotations. I attempted six once and nearly passed out. He clearly trained harder than I did.

Toby was also an excellent traveler. Together we went everywhere—from Maine to Paris, Guerneville to Palm Springs, Paso Robles, Sonoma, Reno, and beyond. In cars, he slept like a champion. Airports were… another story. On one flight home from Maine after visiting Grammy, a Gen-Z passenger thought it was appropriate to stash a toasted Quiznos sub under the seat—directly next to Toby. The result was an airborne bark-fest that will live in infamy.

And then there was “the incident” at Charles de Gaulle Airport in January 2020. When security insisted Toby must go through the X-ray machine naked—no harness, no leash and must be HELD —an international incident erupted with me holding him and his screeching. A bystander screaming at me to stop hurting that poor dog – or so I guessed since she was screaming at me in French. I distinctly remember armed guards moving toward us with machine guns at the ready. In hindsight, I should have known that 2020 was going to be an absolute shit show!

What I’ll miss most are the quiet moments with just us: late-night snuggles, slow strolls around the neighborhood, nights sitting on the back patio, strangers always wanting to pet him but with him pulling and with a responding look of “I’m to be seen and not touched” and the way he’d startle me awake by sliding his freezing cold wet nose under my bare leg just to remind me it was really his bed.

Toby was more than my dog. He was my constant, my comic relief, my travel buddy, and my heart. We have been inseparable since the pandemic. Life without him will be quieter, emptier, and far less entertaining—but infinitely richer for having loved him at all.

Toby – you were deeply loved, and you always will be.

-Jon S.