Baxter is a rescue dog. He’s part golden retriever and part chow; he’s a golden chow. We often refer to him as a “love” breed. He’s now eighteen years old and afflicted with many problems, from pancreatitis to high blood pressure to a thyroid condition to acute arthritis and chronic bronchitis, which give him his signature limp and cough, respectively. As a result, he’s great for therapy work, because patients can identify with him.

I got Baxter when he was about two years old. He was going to be euthanized because he had heartworms and his owners could not afford to treat him. A friend of mine saved Baxter but could not keep him herself, as she
already had too many dogs she had rescued. She called me and described him as adorable, adding, “Will you take him, please?”

It took about six weeks for me to make friends with Baxter. It was obvious that something had happened to him, that he had been abused in some way. He cowered whenever I had something large in my hand and became very fearful when he heard any loud noise, such as a bouncing ball or a book hitting the floor.

I loved Baxter for many, many years, never knowing that I was grooming and training him to become the world’s best therapy dog. I took him every- where with me; he was very well socialized. He slept with me, grew up with my cat, and was completely loved by all who met him. I even opened a doggie
store because of Baxter. Though it wasn’t successful, Baxter learned about going to work, greeting customers, and interacting with other dogs. When we closed the store, I had an auction and donated all the proceeds to the local animal rescue league in Jackson, Mississippi.

After that, Baxter and I moved to San Diego, where he found his raison d’être. Perhaps the same thing happened to me. When my husband, Dennis, and I went through the volunteer orientation program at San Diego Hospice and The Institute for Palliative Medicine, Baxter attended the three all-day Saturday sessions with us. There, the volunteer coordinators fell in love with him and were amazed at how well he socialized with the more than thirty participants in the program. In fact, on the final Saturday, when all the participants received certificates of completion, everyone stood and clapped when he walked up to receive his certificate. This was the first step toward his life’s calling.

One of the orientation organizers gave us the name of Therapy Dogs International, one of the companies that officially certifies dogs for therapy. We immediately investigated and several months later, after Baxter had aced the rigorous test, the three of us began volunteering at the In-Patient Care
Facility at San Diego Hospice, a 24-room facility where patients go when death is imminent. Everyone at In-Care knows Baxter, from the janitor to the CARE ambulance service that transports the patients. All these people know him as a real hero, the Angel of Hospice.

As you read these stories, you will witness the magical connection between patient and canine. We hope that you will be inspired to train your own dog to be a therapy dog. We hope that you will be motivated to become a volunteer at hospice or at another hospital or facility. We hope for these things
because these experiences have been the most rewarding of our lives, as well as being rewarding for those with whom we share them.

Volunteering at hospice has the added benefit of demystifying this phenomenon known as death. Yes, death is sad, but you will learn that it does not have to be feared. San Diego Hospice and The Institute for Palliative Medicine and all hospices
have a wonderful, reassuring motto that we love: “No one should die alone; no one should die in pain.” We, along with all the others who work there, do whatever we can to ensure that quality of life continues until the very last breath.

All proceeds from the sale of this book will go to charitable causes such as San Diego Hospice and The Institute for Palliative Medicine, Therapy Dogs International, animal shelters, and others.

HOW BAXTER BECAME A THERAPY DOG

One day, about four years ago, my husband, Dennis, came home with a suggestion. “Sweetie, we’re going to volunteer at San Diego Hospice. 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.”

Because I was interested in doing something more than teaching English and composition at a local community college, I agreed to explore this as a possible way to make a difference.

I was skeptical, though not of working at hospice. I’m one of those people who is not afraid to embrace the mystery of the dark side of life, and I seem to have a gift for bringing compassion and humor to it. My reticence was about the mandatory attendance at the orientation program, which demanded that I give up three Saturdays and attend a workshop at hospice.

In addition, I never like to leave Baxter home alone for long periods of time. Even at this time he was getting old, and I was trying to keep him as vital as possible. Then I found out that the gorgeous hospice facility where the workshop would take place is dog friendly, so of course I decided to bring Baxter.

For many years, Baxter has accompanied me almost everywhere I go. He is the most well-behaved, socialized, and compliant dog I have ever met. He never whines and rarely barks; he doesn’t even nudge me for attention. He introduces himself to those he senses are receptive to him, and ignores those who are not. He forms a unique relationship with every person he meets. He has never been formally trained and knows no commands, but he is always quiet, resilient, and obedient.

As he usually does, Baxter charmed each of the over thirty participants at the orientation, including the staff who presided over the meetings. When he was not in someone else’s lap, he waited patiently beside me on his mat. Toward the end of the orientation, when we were being photographed for our identification badges, one of the staff members suggested that Baxter be photographed for his ID as well. “You know, he is an incredibly special dog. You might want to look into getting him certified.”

“Certified, what do you mean by that?”

“Well, there’s this organization, Therapy Dogs International (TDI), where you can find out how to get Baxter trained and certified as a therapy dog. I believe he would be a wonderful volunteer here in the In-Patient Care Center.”

I was intrigued.

After the meeting, a veteran volunteer approached me. He had participated in a panel of well-seasoned volunteers both in homes and at the in-patient facility. He seemed to have found himself through giving at hospice. He, too, encouraged me to get Baxter certified. “There’s just something special about your dog. I am drawn to his calmness.”

“I appreciate what you’re saying. I do plan on following through in doing what it takes to certify him.”

As a grand finale to the orientation, each participant was presented with a certificate of completion, authorizing us to begin our volunteering. The last name approved was Baxter’s. Even though he had to get certified before he could volunteer, the organizers recognized his wonderful contribution to the group.

I was already getting excited, even though I had no clue what getting Baxter certified entailed. The next day I contacted TDI and began the process. I requested the appropriate packet, took Baxter to my local veterinarian for a complete physical, and
made an appointment with the certification officer in my district.

A couple of weeks later, Dennis, Baxter, and I arrived at the certification officer’s home for the test. If I had read the test questions in advance, I would have sworn to you that Baxter would never pass. Dennis, Baxter, and I arrived completely ignorant about what was required. Most dogs are trained to become therapy dogs. Most dogs rehearse the test questions before the actual test is administered. Not Baxter. His parents brought him to his test unprepared, unrehearsed, and unpolished.

How could I be so stupid?

I got Baxter out of the car and we made our introductions. The officer made a comment that eased my anxiety just a little. “This is perhaps the cutest dog I’ve ever tested.”

“Well, he may be the cutest, but he’s also the least trained.”

The test is very difficult. Baxter should have failed at the first question, but on this day he was accompanied by an angel.He got all the responses right, though I truly don’t know how he managed to do that.

Here are the questions and commands to which Baxter responded with grace and confidence:

• “Sit, Baxter.” This seems like a basic command, but I never make Baxter sit on the concrete. I always provide a soft surface. I didn’t know what Baxter would do. He sat, but I felt like we barely made it through question one.

• “Stay Baxter.”

• I was instructed to walk away 150 feet and call to my dog. “Come here, Baxter.” He came.

• He had to walk and heel.

• The certification officer brought in another dog, and Baxter had to ignore him. Baxter remained aloof and stayed by my side. I was amazed.

• Next, the officer brought out a bowl of food. Baxter was not permitted to go near the food. I mimicked a command I’ve heard in the past: “Leave it.” Ha, it worked! Baxter was still by my side.

• Then, the officer had someone in a wheelchair try to run over Baxter. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I mumbled to myself as I glared at Dennis. My eyes told him, “This is it. Baxter will never make the cut.” He seemed to understand what I was saying and nodded his head in agreement. To both our surprise, Baxter didn’t react. He was calm, stable, and stationary.

• Next, the officer threw commercial-size stainless steel bowls on the concrete. Baxter could not flinch, cringe, or run. He remained motionless. I mouthed to Dennis, “Go figure.”

• Then, someone tried to run over Baxter with an electric scooter. Again, Baxter did not react. It was as if he were meant to do this.

• Next, someone took a cane and whipped it all around Baxter. Since Baxter is a rescue dog who typically flinches when anyone is holding an implement or when he hears a loud noise, I have always assumed that someone once hurt him. He did not flinch today. I was really impressed now.

• Someone wailed and flailed. No response from Baxter.

• Nancy grabbed his tail, pulled his ears, smothered his face with her hands. Baxter was still, with no reaction. Perfect.

• All this wasn’t enough, however. Next she took her body and practically lay down on top of him. Surprisingly, he seemed to like it.

• “You both must leave Baxter with me now. I need to see if he has separation anxiety.”

We walked away and stayed out of Baxter’s sight for about twenty minutes. When we returned, Nancy had her arms around him.

“Did he pass?”

“He’s going to be one wonderful therapy dog.”

As soon as she said this, I began to cry and I hugged Dennis. He, too, was tearful. I hugged Baxter and said with an enthusiasm that he could understand, “You did it, Baxter. You did it. How did you know what to do? How did you understand
those commands? I’m so proud of you!”

I will never understand how an untrained dog could act so perfectly, instinctively anticipating how he should react and taking his place in each of those unfamiliar, challenging situations. I can only imagine that it was because therapy work is something he was meant to do.

DENNIS BUSSEY
This is my husband, Dennis. Without him, this book would not have been possible. It was Dennis’s idea that we start to volunteer at Hospice. Like Baxter, he helped to create each “moment” in the book. Then he captured each one with his digital camera.

Dennis approaches all his varied interests with unique vigor and passion. Whether it’s growing tomatoes in our backyard, debating global warming, or volunteering with Baxter and me, he will impress you with his compassion, discipline, and integrity. He’s the most stand-up man I know.

The pawprint seen throughout this book is made from an actual impression of Baxter’s paw.

MELISSA JOSEPH
When I’m at hospice volunteering, I’m like Baxter. I’m in the moment. Nothing else matters. And I’m enriched by the experiences I have because of that. I think that death, seeing death, seeing pain, puts life into perspective. It gives me the knowledge that all we have is right now and it’s essential to take that now and make it into something valuable. It’s all about moments. And death is one of those moments.

Baxter never thinks about death. He only knows the moment. Because of that, with each exchange he has with a patient, family member, or friend, Baxter is giving 100 percent of his
energy; and in return the love he receives nourishes his soul. At over eighteen, Baxter inhales and exhales love, moment by moment.

MOMENT ONE: LIMIT STAY TO 15 MINUTES

“Limit Stay to 15 Minutes.” The sign is taped to Mo’s door. I imagine that a nurse wheeled her to the art therapy table and helped her write this command on blue construction paper. Since Baxter knows no time limits on his love for a patient, I am
sure that he will not be intimidated by her sign.

Cherry, one of the nurses, approaches Baxter and me. Her attention is completely directed to Baxter. “You’re in great demand today. Mo is requesting to see you. She has already made a place for you in her bed. She’s moved over to give you enough space to cuddle with her.”

Baxter and I head toward the door with the sign.

“Hello, Mo.”

“I’ve been waiting for Baxter. See, I have a place all laid out for him. I’ve moved over, and I think he can be right here.” She points this out in a direct way by using both her eyes and her finger.

Baxter tries to fulfill her wishes, but she’s not satisfied with his position. “I want him to be looking straight into my eyes.”

“We’ve never had anyone choreograph Baxter’s position.” Dennis laughs as he says this.

Mo’s head is resting on the king-size pillow she brought from home. With her own flowered pillowcase, the room has a homier feel. She’s got this life-death connection all mapped out. Time with Baxter is like a get-together with one of her friends. He
is the highlight of her day, the center of her room.

“What do you think about the temperature of the room?” she asks Baxter. “Would you like it cooler? I know you dogs like it really cool.”

I proceed to turn down the thermostat. Anything for Mo, anything for Baxter. We all do this for our friends.

I put a pillow beside Mo as she instructs, and at last she’s not fidgeting with Baxter’s position. The whole process, though, is like an event. A friend named Baxter is coming over and she must get everything as she wants it. The arrangement is personal and the relationship is valuable. The sensitivity of being together is enhanced because death is so near. Much as with doing a hallucinogenic drug, each moment is highlighted and the words are bigger, more real, and more alive. I take each sound and
look that Baxter gives Mo and it all transfers to a love that enlarges my heart.

Mo speaks to all three of us as if we’ve know her for years. Baxter keeps moving a little closer on his own accord. It’s another day in Mo’s life, even though she knows her death is imminent. Baxter is the inspiration. All moments are precious
and worth living, even the last one.

“So, Mo, what’s the deal with the sign on the door?”

“People, some people—well, not many people—some people who visit, just a few now and again, well, I don’t want to outright lie, so I have the sign on the door for those who agitate, aggravate, or irritate, any of those “-ate” words will do. I don’t want to have to tell them, so the sign does it for me.”

We all laugh.

“I’m sure glad you guys have a sense of humor like I do. The doctor says that I have a great attitude and am witty. I’m hoping to piggyback on these two characteristics so that I can live at least until the eleventh. This is the day the new Harry
Potter book comes out. I’ve read them all. I’m so excited about this new one! I’ve pre- paid for it with my green discount card and it’s waiting for me at Borders. My niece will pick it up. I’ve already called over there to reconfirm they are holding it for me since I’m now at hospice and am dying. I told this
to the salesman. I called him the other day to let him know where I was and that I was anticipating it. He said, ‘Yes, Mrs. Thorne, I remember you. We’ll have the book right here with your name on it.’

“You know I’m going to have to change that sign when I get the book: ‘DO NOT ENTER, READING.’ I’ll be busy every day until I finish the book. I can’t wait. You know it’s a heavy book and I can’t hold it on my chest because of my pain there, so I’ve got my niece bringing me my little table with shiny legs that fold. That way I can read it comfortably here in bed.

“What I really want to do is see the movie before I die. It’s not about the new book, but about one I’ve already read. I’ve seen them all, read them all. I hope I’m still alive to see that movie, but I don’t know if hospice will allow me to go, and
how I will be able to maneuver myself to get into the stadium seating.”

“I have an idea,” I say. “I am sure that we can make arrangements with both hospice and the manager of the theater to allow both you and Baxter to view the movie. Dennis and I can manage you and your wheelchair, and the nurses can make you a pain package for your journey.”

“Too much liability,” Mo says.

Dennis laughs. “It’s about livability . . .”

“I like that word.” Mo smiles.

Mo responds with tears in her eyes. She’s ecstatic. She grabs on to Baxter with a newfound energy. “Oh, if get to go to that movie, I will have died and gone to heaven. Well, I won’t be dead yet, will I?”

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?”

“Oh, yes, knowing that all this is possible. I know you have to go, but I must tell you one story before you leave. My husband, Jack, was very romantic. We had a very good marriage, almost thirty years, twenty-seven to be exact.”

A wetness glosses over her small blue eyes but doesn’t fall to her chalky face.

“When we met, I allowed him to give me a kiss. Well, I kissed him back, so that makes two. You can’t go further than that at this point. Time went by, and we really loved each other.

“Jack was here at San Diego Hospice when he died five years ago. He had this idea that I take his ashes and spread some of them where we first kissed. Eighteen of my friends did this with me. Now, I have this idea to do the same with my ashes and I’ve planned for that. My niece, Kathy, will be in charge of this. Isn’t that romantic? This is all the truth.”

“Mo, I know you’re telling us the truth. It’s in your eyes.”

This is something you cannot deny. Just like looking into Baxter’s eyes. All that he is rests there: love, fear, and pain.

Mo did read the new Harry Potter book. And she did make it to the movie, with Baxter as her date. She remained in her wheelchair, and Baxter was beside her in his little red padded wagon. As Mo ate popcorn, Baxter watched her, knowing her dream had come true.