On that fateful morning, I woke to the sound of Toby struggling to breathe. Immediately, I carried him to my car, put him in the back seat to rush him to his veterinarian.
During the ride, I drove with one hand and held Toby’s paw with the other. Fate had other ideas that morning. We never made it. As the end neared, Toby touched my hand with his nose or paw, as if to say goodbye.
Still holding his paw, I continued to talk to him. Then, he stopped breathing, his paw going limp in my grasp, the same paw he loved to “shake hands” with. No longer suffering, Toby went peacefully.