Part 1: The Morning My Dog Wouldn’t Stop Scratching at the Door

I could lift it, Baxter scooped it back up and took a step away from me.

“Where did you get this?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Give it to me.”

He didn’t move. Instead, he turned his head toward the backyard, eyes focused, intent. Then, without hesitation, he took off.

“Baxter!” I called, scrambling to slip on my shoes.

I didn’t stop to grab a jacket. continue reading …