I have a dog who loves everyone — and whom everyone loves. I would kill to be adored as much as Toby is.

Here are some glimpses of what I'm talking about:

A 60-year-old disabled man lies down on the living room floor — not to go to sleep — but to call Toby over and rub his belly until the dog falls asleep.

A child begs to take Toby for a walk, promising that if she can, she will follow behind and scoop up his droppings.

A woman gladly sleeps on the edge of her own bed so Toby can stretch out on his back — diagonally — next to her — on his back with his legs in the air "running" in his sleep.

Toby races into his "Aunt" Amy's house, barreling over the new kitty and beelining straight for this year's gingerbread house.

"Crunch, crunch!"

Whoops, there goes Rudolph. And for that his "aunt" doubles over in laughter, gives him a pat and tells him he's loved.

If I commanded half the love that Toby does, I would never have a moment of insecurity.

Each night when we tumble into bed (yeah, the one where he sleeps from corner to corner) I tell him goodnight, remind him that I love him and tell him to sleep well. Then I thank God for Toby and sense a gentle reminder creep into my mind — I am loved as much as Toby is — because this amazing yellow Lab has a heart the size of the Atlantic Ocean and he loves me with all of it.