My bride and I celebrated April 1 in an odd fashion: we commemorated the birth of our puppy, Toby on that day.

He joined our family in early September 2014. We took him to the doctor to get him vaccinated, neutered … all the stuff pet parents do. The vet looked him over and calculated him to be five months of age. We backed it up five months and learned he was born in early April.

Thus, April Fool’s Day became Toby the Puppy’s birthday.

On Monday, he would be 10 years old. Except that he is no longer with us. He passed away from cancer on Dec. 1.

I had struggled mightily to keep him longer. His 12-pound body couldn’t keep up the fight. His demise ended the worst year of my life, adding a poignant symmetry to a year that began with the loss of my wife on Feb. 3, 2023, and ended with Toby’s passing away on Dec. 1.

I still struggle with Toby’s passing. I well up when I see couples walking their own dogs down my street in Princeton, Texas. I told a dear friend today that I get “jealous,” but she responded that it isn’t jealousy I am feeling, but that “You’re just missing your puppy.” I accept that definition of what happens to me.

It will take some time get over my loss of this critter who turned into the best friend and companion I ever could have imagined. We fell in love with him almost the moment we laid eyes on him in September 2014; he felt the same thing toward us, too. We took him on RV trips to all corners of this country and through the western half of Canada. Was he a road warrior? Damn right!

He made us laugh every single day he lived in our home. That is not an exaggeration! Every single day we giggled at something he did.

I wanted to get this posted today, because I’ll be on the road Monday returning from a brief visit to Amarillo … where our journey as dog parents began.

I will miss him forever … and then some.

Many of you — those who follow this blog — know about the journey I have taken for the past year.

It started out painfully. It got better over time as I jumped into my pickup and — with Toby the Puppy riding shotgun — traveled to both coasts of this great nation.

We bid a good fu**ing riddance to 2023. My sons and I burned calendars in my back yard the evening of Dec. 31. I had just said so long to my puppy on Dec. 1, ending the year with nearly the pain I felt when I lost my bride, Kathy Anne, to cancer near the beginning of the year.

But now a new year has arrived. We’re three weeks into 2024 and I am happy — no, thrilled and delighted — to report that the pain has all but subsided. I have laid the foundation for a new life in North Texas.

I am committing to some worthwhile projects. I am socializing more. I vowed to find the light at the end of that dark journey and I am going to declare that the light is shining brightly on me. I hope it shines on my sons, my daughter-in-law and my granddaughter.

We have all been through a lot together. I hope they all know how indebted I am for the strength they have shown and demonstrated and I am hoping they have received some strength and encouragement from their old man. They know I love them with every beat of my heart.

My friends all have said that I always will have those moments when emotion takes control of my senses. I get it. Honestly, I truly do.

But I will be damned forever if I let it control me as I soldier on with the rest of my life.

I am looking forward to a year of adventure, I hope a surprise or three, and one that produces plenty of additional cherished memories.

Most of us know that cats are a bit harder to read than dogs. Their personalities are more, um, hidden from human eyes.

However, I am going to presume something about one of my grandkitties that you might find implausible. Or … you might get it!

We lost Toby the Puppy on Dec. 1. Cancer had become too much for him, so we had to let him go.

For several months, my Princeton house has been occupied by two kitties, Marlowe and Macy, who moved in with my son when he relocated here from Amarillo shortly after my dear bride, Kathy Anne, passed away.

Marlowe and Macy made themselves at home quickly. They and Toby reached an understanding almost immediately … which was that this is Toby’s house and he was the boss.

Well, since I lost Toby, Marlowe has become my latest bunk mate. He sleeps with me almost every night. He often will snuggle with me, pressing his brutish body against mine as he gets comfortable.

I have difficulty reading Marlowe’s mind the way I could read Toby the Puppy’s mind. But I am going to conclude that he is feeling Toby’s loss as much as I am. He is reaching out to his “grandpa,” telling me it’s OK, that I have Marlowe and his sister, Macy, to give me comfort.

Is this possible? Well, since I cannot prove that it isn’t, I am going to presume the best about my grandkitty.

Mom always advised me against “wishing my life away” by wanting a date to arrive sooner rather than later.

I am going to ignore Mom’s sage wisdom on one matter, in that I want this year to end as rapidly as possible. That means I will welcome the arrival of 2024 with ruffles and flourishes, perhaps even a whistle and a whoop.

The year 2023 has been one for the sh***er, at least in my house.

I have chronicled for you on this blog multiple tales of my journey through the darkness that began on Feb. 3, the day I lost my wife, Kathy Anne, to glioblastoma. I am happy to declare that my trek’s path is a lot brighter today than it was when it began. But the year has been nothing short of tragic for my family and me nevertheless.

Then, just this past Friday, I had to say farewell to the sweetest puppy God ever produced. Toby had contracted cancer this past summer and he fought it like hell until, well, he just ran out of strength. His doctor informed me that Toby’s quality of life had deteriorated beyond any hope for recovery. It was time to let him go. My sons and I did so.

My house today is eerily quiet without Toby the Puppy.

I always have followed Mom’s advice about wishing my life away. I have steered away, for instance, from phrases like “I can’t wait … “ for something to occur, remembering precisely what she told me. She knew life was too short to seek a quick arrival at the next destination. She was so very correct.

However, I am done with 2023. I want nothing more to do with this godforsaken span of time.

They’re going ban pots and pans on New Year’s Eve in my Princeton neighborhood. I might even join my neighbors in heralding the new year. More to the point, though, is that I will usher out the old one with relish and a hearty “good fu**ing riddance!”

Furthermore, while I am at it, I am likely to give 2023 what we used to call The Finger.

On this first full day in more than nine years without Toby the Puppy in our lives, I am left to ponder just why his passing has hit me so damn hard.

I figured it out this morning as I rolled out of the rack after a mostly sleepless night.

Toby the Puppy simply bowled us over almost the moment he entered our life in Amarillo in September 2014. It took literally no time for us to fall in love with him … and him with us.

His impact on our family was immediate and everlasting. We learned a lot of things about Toby right from the get-go.

• He loved riding in motor vehicles. All we had to do was mention to him, even as a puppy of just a few months old, “Do you want to go for a ride?” He was good to go. Right then! Right now!
• Toby’s big-dog bark was music to our ears. He used it sparingly. He was not a yipper-yapper. He would bark selectively, such as when someone would approach the front door. He knew that if both Mommy and Daddy were home, that the person who was knocking at the door might not be welcome. If it was our sons, he learned quickly to recognize them. Oh, and Emma? Well, that’s another matter. He loved our granddaughter wholeheartedly … and she loved him back.
• Toby was five months old when he joined us. He had precisely two potty mistakes in our house. We never had to swat him. We simply told him, “No, Puppy. You can’t do that in the house.” I’m telling ya, he understood what we said. He didn’t do it ever again.
• We showered him with expressions of love several times every day. And he knew what the words “I love you” meant. How do I know that? I just did, OK?
• Toby loved to travel with Kathy Anne and me. We must have driven more than 15,000 miles with him in our truck as we hauled our RV across the nation. He saw the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone National Park, the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, the Gulf of Mexico, the Great Lakes; we toured through the western half of Canada … all with Toby the Puppy. He could sit quietly and ride with the best of ’em.

After I lost my bride to cancer earlier this year, Toby the Puppy stepped it up some more by being by my side constantly. He grieved right along with the rest of us. However, he continued to make us smile every day.

He was a constant source of joy for all who met him, knew him and, of course, loved him.

I will miss my one-of-a-kind pal.

The year that is one month away from passing into history will be known in my house as the Year of the Broken Heart.

2023 has been without question the worst year of my life. Today it got even worse. I said goodbye this morning to Toby the Puppy. He had been battling cancer for the past few months. What started as a urinary tract infection this past July turned into cancer of the prostate gland, the bladder, and one of his kidneys.

I took him this morning for his second scheduled chemotherapy treatment and at 9:30 his doctor called to inform me that Toby’s “quality of life” has been compromised beyond recovery. He suffered pain in his left front leg, apparently from a nerve condition. He had suffered severe weight loss. His appetite had all but vanished. All the pain pills and medicine to stimulate his appetite weren’t working.

The doctor gave me all the options that lay before me. I collected myself and told her it was “time to let him go.” I called my sons, who rushed over right away to be with me. We all went back to the clinic and said our goodbyes to the best companion a grieving “daddy” could ever want. Indeed, my year began with the loss of my dear bride, Kathy Anne, to glioblastoma, a savage and aggressive form of brain cancer.

Now this.

Toby joined our family on Labor Day Weekend, 2014. It was love at first sight — for us and for him. We all fell in love with each other on the spot. Kathy Anne decided that we officially would call him “Puppy,” although he did answer to Toby, which was the name given to him by his previous family.

He went everywhere with us in our RVs. To both coasts and the Great Lakes, through the western half of Canada. To dozens of Texas state parks. Toby was a road warrior. He was smart. Toby would react excitedly to hearing Emma’s name, even though our granddaughter was not necessarily present when we mentioned her to him.

Toby had a bark that belied his small size. He sounded much larger than he was … and that made it all the more special when he did bark, because he did so only for a reason, such as when strangers would come to our door.

I sought to chronicle Toby’s life on this blog with the series I called “Puppy Tales.” A theme throughout the series was his ability to bring smiles to our faces. Indeed, he made us laugh every … single … day.

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I am not laughing today. I am saddened beyond all measure. I will miss Toby the Puppy for longer than I can imagine at this moment.