Today, I’m saying goodbye for the last time to one of the best furry friends God could have given me, someone who has been my companion, a source of support, a source of laughter and my shadow. It’s something that all pet owners have to face, but it’s never something that’s easy.

Toby came into my life 10 years ago. I was still living in Arizona, and I agreed to foster a dog that had been housed at the local animal shelter. He’d been abandoned and was spotted running around on the streets of the local airport. My roommate at the time had been volunteering at the shelter and thought it would be good to help an animal in need until a forever home could be found. About halfway home with that terrier mix in the passenger seat, I knew I couldn’t part with him.

At the time I adopted Toby, he’d been given the name Buster by the folks at the shelter. Buster did not seem to fit the dog’s personality at all. It took a couple of weeks to figure out a name, but for some reason, Toby seemed to be what his identity would be.

As with most dogs who have been abandoned, Toby had a few issues. One of them was fearing he’d be beaten or hurt if he angered me. Whenever I would take him outside to do his business, when he pooped his ears would go back like he was committing some horrible sin by voiding his bowels. It took some time to bond with him and help him to realize he was safe with me, but once he got the message, he rarely left my side.

However, there was one exception in those early months. One morning, I opened the front door without realizing Toby was nearby, and he was out the door like a shot and running down the sidewalk. I quickly grabbed his leash and chased him on foot, figuring he’d stop and let me catch up. He did—after about a half-mile. It was only when he ran into a cul-de-sac when I was finally able to corner him and snap the leash on him.

After that, I learned to look around and make sure Toby was elsewhere before going through the door. If I needed to leave somewhere, I gave him a treat or made sure he was behind a pet gate beforehand.

A few months after I got Toby, I lost my job. For a lot of folks in that situation, that usually meant sending the animals to a shelter. However, I grew up in the country, and your pets were considered family. Besides, I knew Toby had already experienced a rough start to life, and I wasn’t about to let him go back somewhere where that life could come to a quick and unhappy end. Where I go, he goes.

Where we went was to Wisconsin. My sister and parents had moved there years before. Toby and I moved in with my parents for a few months before I found a new job and a permanent place to live. It was nice coming home to an eager, happy face with a wagging tail. Toby was comfortable being left for eight hours or more while I reported the news, but he was definitely happy when I came home again.

Toby was my shadow through and through, even sleeping in the same bed as me. Most times, he knew to sleep on the other side of the bed, but there was the occasional time he’d sleep right next to me, and if I turned over on him, a yelp would quickly serve as a wake-up call. Even after I met my sweetheart, Todd, and we’d moved in together, Toby would still sleep in the bed.

Toby was my protector, too. Although I had taught him not to bark while inside—so as not to infuriate any neighbors—he would growl when anyone else came around me. That included friends, family members and even Todd. I would try to explain to my furry friend that these people were OK and would not hurt me, but it seemed to be the one thing I could not teach him.

Toby was a key source of emotional support. Besides being the happy bundle of energy whenever I came home, he was a shoulder to cry on when Todd was arrested a few years ago. Toby was there for me when I was a neurotic bundle of nerves trying to figure out where my life was going to go from there.

For most of his life, Toby was healthy and happy. Whenever we went on walks, he was bouncing along, tugging me along on his leash. Things changed about a year ago.

I first realized something was wrong when Toby peed on the carpet. I had housebroken him long ago, so for Toby to need to urinate indicated something was up. When he did it a second time a few hours later, I knew I needed to consult his veterinarian. My mother had suggested it might be a urinary tract infection and that he’d be OK in a few days.

It wasn’t a urinary tract infection, though. The vet suggested bringing in a sample of his urine to be tested, and it didn’t take her long to realize that Toby had diabetes. It surprised me. It surprised my mother, who’d only known of larger dogs getting the condition. It surprised many of the people I knew, who didn’t realize that diabetes was not limited to humans.

With the diagnosis, some changes had to be made. Toby had been fed Pedigree most of his life, but the vet said he needed a grain-free diet, so I found a dog food called Taste of the Wild to help with that.

I also had to give him insulin, and Toby was not a fan of needles. The ears going down look came back, so I had to calm him down before giving him his injections twice a day.

I also had to take breaks from work to come home and let him out to pee, as not doing so usually resulted in puddles on the floor when I came home. Sometimes I got home in time to get him outside to relieve his bladder. Sometimes I was too late.

Just as I was getting used to the new normal, things changed again. Whenever I had taken Toby outside before, he’d trot down the stairs, traversing them like a pro, but as winter came upon us, he started taking the steps very slowly, like he was unsure of himself. He also started bumping into furniture, where before he’d easily navigate around it. Another visit to the vet revealed the diabetes had caused him to go blind.

The vet assured me that Toby would still be able to manage without his sight. It would just be a matter of him getting used to where everything was—the recliner, the couch, the bookshelves, the kitchen table—and he’d be fine. He was, until about a month ago.

As I was taking him out one day, Toby took a tumble partway down the stairs due to missing a step. He had a hard time getting up again, so I helped him to his feet. Once we stepped outside, I noticed he was kind of shaky on his feet, almost like a person who’s drunk, and when he got to a patch of tall grass, he tripped and fell again. When we got back inside, he couldn’t climb up the stairs, so I had to carry him. It was off to the vet again.

The diagnosis was not good. The diabetes was affecting Toby’s liver, and that was causing issues with his back legs. The vet prescribed some medication to help, but she warned that it was only a matter of time before things worsened. For the first few days, Toby seemed better, able to go up and down the stairs again, but then he started having trouble going up those stairs, and coming down, he was more cautious, fearful he might tumble again.

Two weeks ago, I noticed his breathing had gotten heavier, especially when maneuvering on the stairs. A week ago, he developed a hacking sound with that heavy breathing. A few days ago, I noticed he wasn’t eating like he used to, with his favorite treats going unfinished, and he wasn’t consuming as much water.

After talking with my mother, Todd and some friends, I made the decision Friday to call the vet one more time and make one last appointment—to put Toby to sleep. It was the humane thing to do. Continuing to watch him suffer and deteriorate is more than I can bear, and keeping him alive just because I’m not ready to live alone again would be selfish.

Because of the coronavirus, people cannot be inside the veterinary clinic, so the vet staff has arranged to do the deed underneath a big oak tree outside so I can be with him and say goodbye as he draws his last breaths. I made him a promise 10 years ago not to abandon him when times got tough, and I intend to carry that promise out to the bitter end.

I’m dreading tonight, when I return home and find the only one inside is me. I’m used to greeting my dog with a hug or a pat on the head. It’s going to feel weird not taking Toby outside every few hours, not having Toby sitting or laying next to me as I watch television, work on my computer or cook dinner. What awaits me as I spend my first night without my faithful dog?

As for Toby, I know he’s in a better place. He’s crossing that rainbow bridge—I know it—and I’m willing to bet my stepfather, who passed away a couple of years ago, is waiting on the other end to greet him. My stepfather was one of the few people Toby got along with, and I’m hoping they keep each other company until I can join them again someday.

I love you, Toby. Always have. Always will.