Self-Care Is Tobby's Love Language

Some dogs love balls. Some love sticks. Tobby loves water.

Any water. A lake, a river, a bowl, a sprinkler, a hose someone forgot to turn off. Rain. Snow. If it’s wet, he’s interested. If it’s very wet, he’s in love.

So you can imagine what a rainy day means in our house. For most people, rain is a reason to stay in. For Tobby, rain is a reason to live.

The puddle inspection

It always begins the same way.

We step outside, the rain is falling, and Tobby stops at the first puddle. He looks at it. He looks at me. He looks back at the puddle. You can almost see him thinking: is this allowed? Is this a trap? Is this the best day of my life?

He puts one paw in. Carefully. Like a lady testing the water at the beach.

And then he remembers who he is.

From that moment on, every puddle is an adventure, and the deeper the better. He doesn’t walk around them. He doesn’t step over them. He finds the deepest one on the street and walks straight through the middle, slowly, proudly, like a ship leaving the harbour. If there is a puddle somewhere I didn’t see, Tobby will find it. If there is a bigger one two streets away, we are going there.

By the end of the walk, he is soaked from nose to tail. Mud on his paws, mud on his belly, rain dripping from his ears. And he is the happiest creature on the planet.

The doormat ceremony

Then we arrive home, and the second part begins.

At the door, I say the magic words: “Clean your paws.”

And Tobby performs. He steps forward, places both front paws neatly on the doormat, and then he bows. A deep, slow, theatrical bow: chest down, front legs stretched out on the mat, bottom high in the air, tail still wagging above it all like a flag. He holds it for a moment, then rises again with great dignity and looks at me.

In Tobby’s language, this means: paws cleaned. Ceremony complete. Permission to enter, please.

Whether a single grain of mud actually left his paws is another question. The other half of the street is still on his legs. But the bow is perfect every time, and I have learned to respect the bow.

The spa client

The moment the door opens, he doesn’t run to the sofa. He doesn’t run to his bowl. He goes straight to the bathroom.

Because Tobby knows the routine, and Tobby loves the routine. He stands there like a regular client at an expensive spa, waiting for the service to begin. Warm water on the paws. The towel. The rubbing of the ears, which he leans into with his whole body, eyes half closed, as if he has waited all week for this.

And on days when the rain is truly heavy, there is the final touch: his bathrobe. Yes, Tobby has a bathrobe. He stands perfectly still while I put it on him, and then he walks out of the bathroom wrapped up and warm, like a retired gentleman on his way to read the newspaper by the fire.

The pedicure

Not every time, but now and then, there is one more luxury: paw balm.

To keep the soles of his paws soft, we rub a little balm into them. And this, I think, is Tobby’s favourite part of all. He lies down, rolls slightly onto his side, and offers his paws one by one, with the patience of a queen at a pedicure salon. I half expect him to ask for cucumber slices on his eyes.

His love language

People talk about love languages. Words, gifts, time, touch.

Tobby’s is clear. Tobby’s love language is self-care.

He gets completely, gloriously dirty, and then he gets completely, gloriously cared for. He never apologizes for either part. He doesn’t feel guilty about the puddles, and he doesn’t feel guilty about the bathrobe. He simply lives both, fully, with his tail going the whole time.

And I sometimes think he knows something the rest of us forget. That you’re allowed to jump into the deepest puddle. And that afterwards, you’re allowed to be wrapped in something warm and looked after. Both. Not one or the other.

A small note: after rainy walks, a quick rinse of the paws also washes off whatever the city leaves in its puddles, and drying between the toes and inside the ears keeps everything comfortable.

What is your favourite small act of self-care, the one you’d defend as seriously as Tobby defends his bath? You can tell me. Tobby is taking notes.

With love, and a wet nose from Tobby

If this story touched you

Dr. Tobby, Dental HygienistWho Was Walking Whom?

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