“You know how to cut to the core of me Baxter”

Wow. You know how to cut to the core of me Baxter. You’re so wise. You’re like a miniature Buddha covered in hair.

As many of you know (or maybe you don’t know), I have a dog named Baxter. Before I left for the Czech Republic, I got him because I was hoping to get a companion to be there for me in Oklahoma. He is basically a therapy/service dog without the licensing… yet. He’s a terrier of sorts, and my best guess is that he is a westie mixed with dachshund or corgi. The first image is the westie and dachshund mix, and the second image is the westie

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and corgi mix. As you can see, they are very similar, but I think that the dachshund mix is closest to how Baxter looks. Baxter’s pictures are the ones after the first and second pictures. I made sure to name them on the bottom. I also have no idea how to edit the size of that slide show, so it is gonna be huge for now.

I got Baxter at the dog shelter, and they told me that he was found as a stray. They estimated that his age is 2 years old. He honestly looks like an old man in my opinion, but he has the energy of a pup. Most nights, when I see him sleeping on his back huddled up next to me, under the covers, I think about his past. He seemed to be house broken, and would effectively play fetch. If only he could talk to me, I would ask him so much. At night, I think about his life before me, and this is what I would say:

Baxter, I love you bud. You are full of energy and enthusiasm. You see a dog, and you want to instantly go and play with it. You see a squirrel, and you instantly dash out to get it. I bet you think its another dog, and all you want is to play with it.

Child, I adopted you off the streets, and you have been a blessing to me. Yes, I am always scared to leave you alone in my room because you might poop in it. It has happened before, and I am confident it will happen again. I understand, though, that you are from the streets. I can see it in your eyes when I ask you to go into your kennel when I leave. You dislike being alone, but I try to comfort you by telling you I will be right back. What happened to you? Were you a gift that the receiver could not take care of? Did your previous owners drop you out on the streets hoping to get rid of you?

Did you love another family before you met me? What happened to you son. I know I will never find out. I hope you know that I will never leave you. I love you. You cheer me up when I am down. When you freak out about a ball you make me laugh. When you share my laziness, I am humored. Bud, you are loved.

You bring joy to my family. My nieces and nephews love you. My mother would always laugh at the quirkiness you had. She would laugh when I would tell her you were sleeping under my sheets. You’d poke your head out as if you knew that we were talking about you. She’d laugh and call you “sinvergüenza” or having no shame. You cheeky child. My father would take care of you as if you were like a son to him. He’d be there for you when the kids would terrorize you. You would find safety under his chair, and you would come dashing at his command. These are people that never believed in having a dog inside, but their hearts were softened.

How surprised I was when I saw you still remembered me. I knew you for 1 month, and then I left for 3. I remember you running up to me as if I was a soldier that came back from years being at war. You refused to be still. You remembered the man that hoped to rescue you from a bad life.

But every time I look at you, I wonder what you have seen; who have you loved; why did they leave you; did they even want to leave you; how long you were without a home. My heart breaks for you, bud. I hope you know that you are home now.

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