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

only when something was wrong.

I unlocked the door and opened it.

Baxter stood there, eyes wide, chest heaving, ears alert. His tail was stiff, not wagging the way it usually did when he saw me.

And hanging gently from his mouth was something yellow.

For a moment, my mind refused to understand what my eyes were seeing.

“Baxter…” My voice trailed off.

He continue reading …