Toby and I have an interesting relationship. I like dogs, especially big dogs, but Toby is a one-of-a-kind dog. He has the stubborn temperament and downright haughty personality that Great Pyrenees dogs are known for, so he has the tendency of getting on my last nerve with his blatant disobedience.
What? You want me to go outside? But I don't want to. I'm going to lumber lazily into your bedroom as you watch me do it instead.
Don't get me wrong, Toby is a good dog. He's very patient with Noah and all his friends and he saved Stephan's oldest brother from a pit bull once. He even tolerates other dogs, should my sister or someone else have to leave their pooch in our back yard for a bit. And he loves being loved on. If you start scratching his head, don't expect to stop anytime soon. He'll poke/scratch you with his big, heavy paw until you resume scritching his ears. Heck, if Toby would stay clean and fragrant instead of dirty and crazy-stinky, and if he'd stop shedding for at least one week out of the year, I would have no qualms with him being an indoor dog.
To sum up, I consider Toby to be Stephan's dog who puts up with me because he has to and I feel the same about him.
That's why I thought it strange and sweet when Toby sought me out for comfort during the last thunderstorm.
The moral of this story: I guess that dog is okay.
Witten loves his daddy, by the way.