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NonDawg An Ode to a Good Boy: My Rex

Friends I apologize for the dog but non-dawg post.

Yesterday morning our sweet boy Rex (aka Kirby Rex) laid down for a nap, took a deep breath, and went to the big between the hedges in the sky.

Rex came to us from, essentially, death row. He was turned into the Atlanta Humane Society in February of 2017 after several days where he wasn’t able to go potty. It turned out he had bladder stones and needed an expensive surgery. He was picked up by the bulldog rescue, and had a procedure they call a urethrotomy which is really just a fancy way of saying they cut him a new pee hole (we jokingly called it his mangina).

For a year, Rex fought regular pneumonia and other issues that were no doubt related to a weakened immune system. He finally got healthy enough for us to foster fail and adopt him on Christmas 2017. He was our miracle dog that he’d made it that far.

All dogs are good dogs and I’m not going to insult yours and say that Rex was the best dog. But he was our best boy. We have a lot of dogs and people coming in and out of our house and he loved them all. He never met a stranger. Everyone got a wiggle and sometimes he’d even show off his pillow humping skills if you were lucky.

Last November, Rex was diagnosed with an enlarged heart and we didn’t know if our time with him was measured in hours, days, or weeks. Through great vet care and lots of love, our little guy made it 13 more months and to 2 more Christmas mornings. We were incredibly blessed to have him and we were lucky he chose us as his people.

Rex loved his two sisters, tail scratches, pillows, and the “happy birthday” song because he knew it meant he was about to get a doggy cake.

RIP Rex 2013-2024. A Damn Good Dawg with a big heart.

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Incredible Christmas Present

This year, I was fortunate enough to experience that there are still kind and trustworthy people in this world.

I grew up n Augusta, Georgia and I played lots of baseball, including t-ball and coach pitch at the YMCA on Wheeler Road. I grew up a huge baseball fan--particularly of the Atlanta Braves. I wanted to be a baseball player when I grew up and, for many years, dressed up as Chipper Jones for Halloween. As part of this intense interest in baseball, I amassed a decently large baseball card collection. I can remember trading them with friends at their houses, at Scouts, and even at school. A large part of my baseball card collection was Braves players, and I had a book dedicated solely to that team.

The collection was pretty robust and included rookie cards of Derek Jeter, Barry Bonds, Ken Griffey, Jr., and Chipper Jones. I had many other great cards as well, including an Atlanta Falcons Deion Sanders card. I was very proud of my collection. When the opportunity came to have my own baseball card made for my t-ball team by the photography company who did the team photos, I begged my parents to get me some. They did. I wrote "MVP" on the card, and it became one of my prized possessions because I thought it would mean something someday when I was a pro baseball player.

Going to UGA, and through various jobs and law school, I moved to many cities and my card collection always followed me. After practicing law in Augusta for a while, I moved to Houston to marry my wife and start and family. When I moved here, I rented a storage unit and put the cards in there, among other belongings.

About four years ago, my storage unit was broken into and the cards were stolen; although, at the time, it was not apparent that the cards were gone because the remainder of the unit was unremarkable. I wanted to show the collection to my boys and went looking for it. I couldn't find it and assumed I had lost them in one of my many moves, or perhaps misplaced them in my parents' house. I was pretty bummed about that and just wrote it off.

Fast forward to last Friday, I received an email on my work email address from a man in Dallas. He had purchased my card collection three years ago and hadn't done anything with it. He had been looking through the cards when the YMCA t-ball card of 7-year-old me fell out. Instead of throwing the YMCA card away and selling the collection, he endeavored to find me. Using only the card, which had a 7-year-old picture of me, my name, and my hometown, he found me on my firm’s website. He emailed me asking for some details about me and the collection.

After we talked on the phone, he realized they were mine. He shipped them immediately and I received them today—they were wrapped in Christmas paper with a personalized note wishing my family and me a merry Christmas. He asked for nothing in return, but I paid him for shipping plus some extra. The collection, as far as I can tell, is still complete and I'm excited to show it to my sons.

All I can say is I am truly blessed to have met someone with integrity and honesty in this world, and I am truly grateful.

TL;DR - Four years after my baseball card collection was stolen, a random man who had obtained the collection found me on the internet using only a 7-year old YMCA baseball card of me, and he returned the collection to me.
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