I woke up at 4 to my baby crying.
Her room was in a horrifying mess, and my dog Max was there, barking.
I feared he’d become too dangerous for my baby, so I gave my beloved dog away.
2 nights later, I froze while checking the baby cam.
My poor dog was actually saving her.
It was around 3:58 AM when I first heard the cry. It wasn’t the usual hungry or wet diaper kind of cry. It was shrill. Panicked. I shot out of bed and ran to Mila’s room.
Max, our 6-year-old Labrador mix, was barking like crazy, circling the crib. The room looked like it had been tossed—blankets on the floor, her stuffed giraffe half-torn, and Max’s fur scattered everywhere. He was growling low when I walked in, and instinctively, I yelled at him.
“MAX! OUT!”
He flinched, like I’d hit him. I’d never seen him like that. Aggressive. Unpredictable. And near my baby?
Mila was crying but unharmed. Still, I didn’t take any chances. By sunrise, I’d made the hardest decision I’ve ever made—I called my cousin Arden, who lived out on a farm, and asked if she could take Max. I told her he needed space. That maybe city life wasn’t for him. I didn’t say the full truth because even admitting it out loud felt like betrayal.
Max had been with me since my early twenties. Through my divorce. Through Mila’s birth. Through postpartum nights when I cried and he just lay beside me, warm and silent.
But I couldn’t risk him hurting her.
Two nights later, I checked the baby monitor on my phone during a bathroom trip.
And that’s when my heart stopped.Read More Below
