posted October 27, 2009
 Roy Exum |
There is a strong belief in San Diego that the dog, a lab-chow mix that came within a hair’s breadth of being euthanized at age two, was the world’s most heralded “therapy dog.” At the time he died there had been a book written about him, he had been “proclaimed” by the city of San Diego, he had his own website, and there were piles of newspaper articles, including a dandy obituary in the national editions of USA Today. Oh, and the videos on YouTube are unbelievable.
He was a quiet and unassuming creature, but his gentleness was gigantic. Baxter, you see, loved and comforted those at the San Diego Hospice and the Institute for Palliative Medicine right up until he died at a ripe age of what is only estimated as five months shy of his 20th birthday.
As a matter of fact, his owner, Melissa Joseph, wrote a widely-popular book about him, “Moments With Baxter,” that gave one heart-rendering story after another of how this dog would enter the hospital room of a terminally-ill patient, gently ease closer and closer on the bed, and then provide his unique comfort, be it a paw on an arm or laying his head on the patient’s chest.
When Melissa first got the dog, a combination of heart worms and bad teeth was the reason Baxter was set to be “put down” the next day. But in the six weeks that followed, Melissa helped Baxter overcome being abused as a puppy. He finally began to add weight, and after numerous trips to the veterinarian, there was hope the dog might live a little longer. When Melissa chased her husband and his new job to California where he teaches college today, Baxter went too.
One day Dennis Joseph, Melissa’s husband, came home to announce, “Sweetie, we’re going to volunteer at San Diego Hospice and Palliative Care. I just met a couple who volunteer there, and I’m convinced this would be a good experience for us. I have the proper paperwork right here. We can fill it out and send it in and get started.”
Well, Baxter went too. And that was the beginning of a wonderful story that has left one terminally-ill patient after another look at the once-discarded mutt and wonder aloud, “Baxter, are you an angel?” Only those he helped to die are sure, but there is overwhelming evidence as he’s now been reunited with the countless hundreds he comforted in their final days.
When the Josephs attended the rigorous 12-hour orientation sessions to become hospice volunteers, there were about 30 people attending the weekend classes. As the volunteers listened, Baxter quietly “worked the room,” nuzzling some and sitting in the laps of others. So overwhelming was this dog’s presence in just one weekend the doctors and staff, while greeting the Josephs warmly, admitted it was Baxter they really wanted.
People without dogs find the phenomena hard to understand but those who have felt a dog’s comfort, and seen the love in an animal’s eyes, know nothing can equal the snuggle, the tongue licking away the tears, or the warmth when a patient is unexplainably cold and fearful. Baxter was the best at it.
They say to train a therapy dog takes years. When Baxter went to become certified Melissa had not trained him at all for the rigorous ordeal – where the test includes somebody trying to run over you with a wheelchair and setting a tray of food right beside the dog which it must ignore, but Baxter made “a hundred.” Nobody, especially the Josephs, could understand or begin to explain it.
So Baxter went to work, oh did he ever, and therein the legend was born. Some patients swore he could reduce pain levels. Others, at the height of their last struggle, wanted nobody near them – except Baxter. There are not several stories; there are hundreds. And each is as individual as the hospice patients who became infatuated and deeply moved by Baxter’s near-mystical ability to say, “I am here. I am here with you.”
Tomorrow in San Diego the hospital will hold a special memorial service for – what? – a dog. Those the dog helped most obviously won’t be there, but Wednesday’s crowd will be huge because one family after another who saw, with their own eyes, the magic Baxter lend their loved one will never be forgotten.
Imagine, here is an animal that could not speak, that could not order more drugs for a patient, and could offer no more than its presence but, at the time he died, had helped hundreds with a heart the size of Texas. If you don’t believe a dog can do these things, and don’t believe in angels, countless thousands in San Diego who have watched Baxter beg to differ.
His legacy is a lesson for all of us. He never said a word. He could only snuggle and only make eye contact with the face of a mutt, but he taught us that in the end, all that matters is that “I am here. I am here with you.”
A dog named Baxter was the best at it.
royexum@aol.com
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