Tybalt (also called Tubby)...
Tubby has found a wonderful
retirement home where he made his way at the end of
August 2006. Tubby is a senior,
blind, house trained male shar pei who is very loving and
appreciative of all kindness shown to him. Tubby makes
everyone love him because he is so sweet in spite his difficult
circumstances and being moved around to homes that are able to
accommodate him. Tubby doesn't need exercising, just a home
to call his own, with someone who is home a lot to keep him safe
and make him feel loved. Tubby still has lots of love to
give and deserves his good fortune after a tough life.
Sad news regarding our darling boy, after being
adopted Tubby passed away in December shortly before Christmas.
Sadly missed by his mom and the whole family who couldn't help but
love this little dog. Tubby (renamed to the more dignified
name of Tybalt) passed away quietly sleeping in
his own bed with one of his humans in bed beside him.
This loving tribute was written by his mother
...
Mr. Tybalt! Tybaltimus! Mr. T. !
What a wild ride
you led us through. It’s hard to believe a whole year has passed
since I first saw that shelter notice in the newspaper. Be very,
very careful if you read the dog adoption column. Life might never
be the same.
I saw your
beautiful face, and I couldn’t get you out of my thoughts. My
married son saw the ad and said, “Maybe we could adopt him.” His
younger brother saw the ad and said, “Maybe we could adopt him.” I
did not want another dog - it was not in the plans, there were
countless ways it wouldn’t work. I was relieved when the shelter
first told me No. But the weeks went by, and something like panic
set in. What if someone else gets him? So I phoned back, and
little by little the bigger plan was set in motion.
My first glimpse
of you standing by the foster’s front door – “O, that’s him!”
I couldn’t
believe I was finally meeting you. But on closer inspection, I
became dismayed. You seemed really out of it, with hardly enough
energy to walk up the street. I kept wondering what I was letting
myself in for. This dog needs rehab, I can’t do this. But I was
too far in to back out – my heart wouldn’t let me. So the months
went by while you finished your time at the foster, and I gave
myself breathing room before letting this big responsibility into
my life. Truly I was scared, although in retrospect, that was a
needless worry. Once you were here, you were no trouble at all -
unless you consider 1½ hours for daily walks a problem.
I was determined to get you moving. Not sure how I
managed to succeed, but I did. Or we did. Remember the first time
you started wandering down that trail through the woods, full of
curiosity?
Little did you know that is one substantial stroll! About half way
down, you began to realize you were getting more walk than you
bargained for. I’ll never forget that incredulous look on your
face,
like- “You’ve got to be kidding!” Lucky for us, when we reached
the bottom of the hill, your uncle happened to be driving by, and
we
were both grateful for the ride home. But within a few weeks, that
trail was part of your daily routine. It took us 45 minutes
instead of
the 15 minutes it takes most dogs, but you did it! And you liked
it!
You really enjoyed riding in the car, too. It
didn’t seem to matter
if we went anywhere or not. Once I took you for a 5-minute ride to
pick up your uncle at the bus stop. You were so quiet in the back,
he didn’t even realize you were there til you suddenly moved,
startling him. Another time, I was driving on the highway on a hot
day, with the windows open for air. You were sitting on the back
floor, and suddenly the sheet I had used as a seat protector blew
over your head. You didn’t appear to mind riding the rest of the
way like that, a contented ghost!
You had such funny quirks – like meandering into
the room where
we keep the beeswax candles, and eating them. You really liked
beeswax, and I didn’t mind letting you have the occasional candle
to chew on. It gave you something to do. You have no idea how bad
I felt for you sometimes. You were so beautiful, it was heart
breaking to see the limitations you lived under. Nothing to look
at, nothing really to do. I had hoped that maybe one day we’d be
able
to go the park and you’d have enough energy to run freely, without
fear of bumping into things. Actually, we did manage the
occasional brief jog at times, so maybe that dream had
possibilities.
I’ll never forget that amazing, snowy day we walked
up to the top
of the neighborhood. There was a special place I wanted to take
you – a peaceful meadow surrounded by trees. This meant an extra
long walk, but you seemed up for it. We walked through that
narrow
trail and stepped out into the open space – and the view took my
breath away. There were the tall, snow-covered evergreens and the
snowy meadow spread out before us. And in the middle was a
lamppost. It was like a scene from the movie Narnia. And then I
looked down at you, and noticed for the first time how much you
looked like a lion. You were my very own Aslan, and we were in
Narnia – it was really magical! You were a little uncertain about
the snow at first, then decided you liked it, and went traipsing
knee-
high through the drifts. Afterwards, we went there a lot.
You really became quite a fixture on our walks in
the neighborhood. So many people would stop and comment on how
well you were doing, or introduce their children to you. You
definitely had your fan club. It seems the mailman was a secret
Santa. He kept leaving you treats during the weeks leading up to
Christmas. It really showed me how much kindness there is in the
world. Many people recognized your great spirit, and were touched
by it. You were such a great soul.
The vet called you an old soul. I think more than that, you
had
soul. I tell people you were the Stevie Wonder or Ray Charles of
the canine world.
Do you remember that big cedar tree we always
passed on the way
to the park, the one you loved to wander under? It’s gone now,
blown over in that terrible wind storm on the night you first got
sick. I always wondered how you knew that tree was there. And the
timing – was there some connection with you and that tree?
What a terrible night!
Well, we did end up getting that new TV for
Christmas. And just as I had reckoned, I am spending more time now
in the evening
downstairs in the family room - your room. Whenever I watch a
video, your empty bed is beside me - the big new plush one your
uncle got you for Christmas. The one you died in. It’s hard not to
feel sad.
On a beautifully clear January evening, we
scattered your ashes in ‘Narnia’. It was the closest thing to a
‘sacred place’ that you had known and loved. The whole family,
including Thor and Peanut,
walked up there in the deepening dusk. When we had finished,
all the dogs in the surrounding houses started barking – you had a
21-Dog Salute to send you off!
I hope you knew how much we loved you. I hope you
realized you
were really, finally home, here with us. I hope you understood we
would never abandon you. I’m so sorry you had to go through that
sickness. But I think that now, in the beautiful place you’ve gone
to, you can finally see and run and be free. You will always be
part
of our family. We will always hold you deep in our hearts.
You’re our own Mr.Tybalt – He Who Sees.
September 19, 2006 – coming home
