28September2025
I was on a night shift when a colleagues phone rang nearby. I caught a snarl of his voice:
Take him wherever you like, do whatever you want with him, Im done!
The frustration made me wonder what he was talking about. I asked, and he told me he was giving away his German Shepherd.
Why? I pressed.
Because hes a nightmare, he shrugged. He howls all night, breaks free from his chain, sheds a ton of hair, makes a mess in the yard and never guards the house.
I felt sorry for the dog, so I rang my father, asking if he might need a guard dog on his estate near Salisbury. After a pause, he called back: Bring him over.
The day arrived. We packed the car, tossed in a strip of gauze just in case we needed a muzzle for the wild beast.
When we pulled up, the colleague was waiting with the pooch a gaunt, ragtag animal, matted fur, bloodstained wounds on his head, a torn pad on his front paw. His eyes were so mournful I thought he might burst into tears.
The dog hopped into the boot without a growl, calm as ever. Behind him settled my sisters husband, and the whole journey the dog lay quiet and still.
At home we first bought a sturdy leather collar and a lead, then gave him a proper wash. Mother and my sister peered from the doorway, half expecting a ferocious guard.
While we were driving back, Mother prepared a bowl of meatandoat porridge. She offered him a slice of crusty bread as a test. He lunged at it with a hunger that made my stomach twist it was harder to watch his wounds than to see him devour that tiny scrap.
A healthy German Shepherd should weigh about 35kg, but this one was down around 9stone. The moment we set down his bowl, he polished it clean and settled on the mat wed marked for him.
Mom lifted the empty bowl to rinse it, and suddenly felt something tug at it from behind. It was Baxter, as wed renamed him, gently snatching the bowl with his teeth and placing it back as if to say, Thats mine, Ill look after it.
We hadnt intended to keep a fiveyearold male dog in the flat we thought Mother would object. Yet her heart softened at his loyalty, and none of us could turn him away.
The next day we took Baxter to the local vet in Bath. They explained how to treat his wounds, prescribed antibiotics, and set up a vaccination schedule. I bought the meds and, over the next fortnight, gave him every injection. I didnt blame his former owners; perhaps he truly had run away and suffered on the streets.
After he recovered, we enrolled him in basic obedience classes. In the summer, Dad would take Baxter down to the family cottage in the Cotswolds, where he patrolled the garden fence like a true sentinel no stranger dared come within a few feet of the 40kg solid guard.
Eight years have passed since that first meeting. Baxter has endured two operations a hernia repair and a later complication and now battles arthritis in his hips. We give him joint supplements, gentle walks, and plenty of affection. Dad calls him son, and Mother spoils him like a toddler.
I cant fathom how anyone could have given up a dog so devoted and gentle. His endless loyalty and softness have taught us the true cost of caring for an animal: effort, money, time but also boundless love.
A couple of years after Baxter arrived, our longlived cat, Mrs. Whiskers, passed away. A neighbours tenant left a stray kitten in the stairwell; the whole block fed it until I realised I couldnt leave it out in a November night. We brought the cheeky orange tabby, whom we named Eve, into the house.
Animals sense our pain and our joy. If we choose kindness, they repay us in ways we never imagined.
Lesson: love animals fiercely, for their gratitude is quiet but lasting.
