Toby is the epitome of a grumpy old pug – no, really. He grumbles, he grunts, and is it doesn’t work for him then it ain’t happening. He’s the love of my life – if the flat was on fire and I could only rescue one thing then sorry BF, you’re a goner…
The irony there, of course, is my BF had Toby long before I came along, but I like to think I reignited a spark in his heart the day I walked through the door (26 October, 2016, in case you wondered – I remember that better than I do the day I met my BF, actually).
Toby’s 10, and he knows how to play it so anyone will feel sorry for him. If he could get his paws on my phone and call Help The Aged, he would. On walks, he limps when people are around. He’ll stand and look feeble in the hope he gets fed. And if you dare try and stroke him without offering a treat, he’ll turn and strut off like the diva he was born to be.
He’s also a bundle of love and, although he’s not overtly affectionate, take 3 steps and he’ll follow to see what’s going on. He sleeps on the pillow next to my head, and won’t settle unless he sprawled across me (i.e. pinning me down) watching TV. He’s hard work – but I wouldn’t have him any other way.
Since Ollie came along, he’s discovered some inbuilt energy that’s been simmering away deep down for some time. I mean, he won’t be joining Cirque du Soleil anytime soon – but he runs instead of plods on walks now, so that’s a start.
For more on Toby and Ollie’s day-to-day antics, check out the Pug Diaries here.