Baxter, the therapy dog we recently featured on a video, who visited terminal patients at San Diego Hospice & The Institute for Palliative Medicine, died on October 16. He was 19, and probably the oldest working therapy dog.

The hospice will hold a memorial service for Baxter on October 28 at 7 p.m. The public is welcome. The address is 4311 3rd Ave. San Diego, CA 92103-1407 – (619) 688-1600.

Author and Baxter’s owner Melissa Joseph visited end-of-life patients with him on a regular basis, bringing joy to people with no hope. Because of arthritis, Baxter couldn’t walk anymore, so Melissa brought him to patients’ bed every time they visited, so they could spend quality time together.

Here is an excerpt from Melissa’s book, “Moments with Baxter.”

“I was already getting excited, even though I had no clue what getting Baxter certified entailed. The next day I contacted TDI (Therapy Dogs International) 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 Nancy’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. Nancy 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.”

“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.

Nancy brought another dog on the premises, and Baxter had to ignore the dog. Baxter remained aloof and stayed by my side. I was amazed.

Next, Nancy 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, Nancy 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. [AU: Wouldn’t he have to move out of the way?]

Next, Nancy 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 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.

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Melissa, I’d like to offer my deepest condolences to you and your family, and thank you for the wonderful job you and Baxter did together. I’m sure Baxter is now in the company of the hundreds of people he helped.