The underdog life of Josh Butler

JOSH BUTLER CAN hear the crowd roaring from the tunnel, and so can his dogs.

He's worried they'll get scared or confused or even mad at the sight and sound of 51,366 Michigan State fans screaming when they run out onto the field. This is a tough day for him, and he doesn't want it to be tough for them, too.

Sure enough, as soon as he walks out onto the Spartan Stadium field with them on a leash, both dogs have a big reaction. But it's not fear or anxiety -- they both turn into total divas. Roxy and Remi love every second of it. Jumping around, bouncing into each other ... they seem to have been waiting their whole lives for this. He knew they were total hams in smaller settings, but Butler kept laughing at how much they were Beyoncé-ing on the big stage.

Butler needs this moment. It's Nov. 30, 2019, and Michigan State fans are cheering every time a player runs out on the field with family members to celebrate Senior Day. Most of Butler's teammates go out with their moms and dads. But Butler lost both of his parents over a two-year stretch in East Lansing. So who could stand in for the two people he loved most in the world?

Enter Roxy and Remi. His pitbull and brindle boxer mix dogs are sisters who have become Butler's saviors during the most difficult time of his life. On days when he doesn't want to get out of bed, they take turns sinking their teeth into his sheets and blanket, pulling and pulling and pulling until he gets up. He needs a kick in the ass some days, and they provide it.

On Senior Day, Butler wants to put a jersey on both dogs. But he runs out of time waiting in the tunnel, so only Roxy gets to wear the green and white. But based on the way Remi is bounding around, she seems perfectly fine being naked and unafraid in front of the home crowd.

They're so happy hopping around on the grass, and so is Butler. The moment goes viral, and the world mourns the loss of Butler's parents with him. But Butler's smile belies a more complicated set of emotions; he also feels sadness, anger, frustration, shame and disappointment. The world only knows the barebones facts of the story, that his dad died of a heart attack and that his mom had terminal cancer.

Those causes of death are both accurate. But the whole story, the one that only his coaches, teammates and closest friends and family members know, is the ultimate testament to the healing power of pets.

UCLA HEALTH HAS a support animal directory similar to a college football roster. There's Bart, Beau, two Lolas and about 75 other dogs, plus four miniature horses, including Liberty Belle and Willow Blue. The support animals all live with their owners, who go through intensive training to be able to bring their pets into hospitals when needed.

The school's researchers have studied the remarkable physical and mental effects that a pet can have on someone dealing with a slew of issues like grief, depression and life-threatening injuries. Studies show that when someone pets an animal, both the human and the animal release oxytocin, a chemical that plays a pivotal role in social bonding. Pets have also been shown to lower anxiety, blood pressure and even the amount of medication that people in pain need. They can be a miracle cure for those in mourning.

"They are unconditional love and support," says Erin Rice, director of UCLA's People-Animal Connection program. "Who else is that excited to see you?"

In 2017, Butler had no idea that he would need dogs to work his way through grief. He just knew that his answer was yes when his teammate, Darien Tipps-Clemons, texted a few Michigan State players with a simple question: Does anybody want to adopt a puppy?

Tipps-Clemons, who was a linebacker at Michigan State, targeted friends who love animals. He'd watched Butler light up around animals in a way that would make him a great dog dad.

Butler threw up his hand right away, even before he heard the hilarious circumstances behind the birth of the puppies. Tipps-Clemons had an aunt who babysat another relative's pitbull, Flocko, for a few days.

Flocko seemed to get along with her dog, Bella. But apparently, they got along when she wasn't paying attention, and voila, a few weeks after Flocko left, his aunt realized he and Bella had been more than friends. Now, she had puppies, and Butler wanted to adopt one.

Butler named her Roxy, and she fit into his hand. He'd hold her and kiss her, and he loved that she smelled like banana chips. She was rambunctious, but then again, that's what Butler was accustomed to. He'd grown up in a turbulent household, where his mom and dad seemed to regularly be at odds and pets were the calmest part of his days. He was the middle kid of five, so chaos was around every corner.

"It felt like I wasn't there a lot of the time," Butler says.

For most of his final two years of high school in Mesquite, Texas, a suburb of Dallas, his parents were split up and the dysfunction got so bad that he had to live with friends and relatives. Butler's paternal grandmother had died, and his dad, Steven, had gone into a three-year tailspin after her death. Butler doesn't like to share details of this point in his life, other than he found solace away from home.

As high school wound down, he decided he needed to be far away from home for college. He loved his family and friends. But he'd seen too many kids stay close because it was easier, and they got sucked into choices that kept their ambitions small and local.

"I didn't want people to say, 'Dang, he could have been somebody,'" Butler says.

ESPN ranked him as the No. 28 cornerback prospect in the class of 2015. So Butler had offers from schools across the country, including Clemson, Texas A&M and Washington. He eventually settled on Michigan State, which had had an impressive run of producing good NFL DBs. It was the perfect distance from Dallas -- just out of arm's reach from home.

As a true freshman in 2015, Butler redshirted and focused on beefing up. Coaches liked him as a corner but also thought he had good special teams and nickelback potential. As a redshirt freshman the next year, Butler played in every game, primarily on special teams. Coaches thought he was smart and determined, and he could hit well enough that they considered him as a backup safety.

His sophomore season, 2017, was going to be the year. He'd worked his way up the depth chart enough that he had a real chance to start. But coaches and teammates worried about him. Butler seemed like he was holding in so much. Back then, Butler was kind but quiet, and it was the type of quiet that felt like a storm was swirling just beneath the surface. There was some anger inside, and coaches encouraged him to be more open. But that wasn't him. Not yet, anyway.

Butler would talk to his dad almost every single morning, and even though his dad was an early riser, Butler would often feel like Steven seemed a little off when they'd talk, like he'd either been drinking already or still recovering from the night before.

Throughout the 2017 season, Butler found his attention drifting back toward home as he began to have more and more concerns about his dad. He'd always been a rock of support, and he taught Butler how to be good with his hands. Steven Butler had worked a slew of different jobs over the years, ranging from a maintenance man to owning his own car wash. Josh's fondest memories are simple ones, like when him, his brothers and dad would rip around on four-wheelers.

Steven seemed to be falling deeper into the rut he was in about his mom. "My dad used to occasionally drink," Butler says. "But when he went into his depression, he drank a lot more. I hated to see him go through that."

After starting the first three games of the 2017 season, Butler got banged up and missed a few starts. When he struggled with the frustration of lost football momentum, he often turned away from what could have been a nice support network at Michigan State. His best friend was his dog, Roxy, and as much as coaches and teammates tried, Butler wasn't ready to share the hurt he had about the past few years with his family.

Roxy loved him and he loved her back with complete abandon. She made his life lively. There was almost nothing he'd ever done that was as soothing and therapeutic as a long walk with Roxy, and Butler would sometimes have AirPods in and be listening to music as they walked together when he realized he'd planned on a 20-minute walk and he'd already made it 30 minutes away from his house. It would always end up being the best hour of his day.

He celebrated with her later in the season when he found out coaches wanted him to start during a crucial road game at Penn State. On the morning of the game, though, coaches got a horrible phone call: Butler's dad had died. The official medical report said it was a heart attack. But everybody who knew him thinks heartbreak was the true cause of death.

One of Butler's old West Mesquite High School coaches, Kyle Ward, had remained Butler's closest mentor after graduation. Ward got in contact with the Michigan State staff and said that he thought the best thing to do would be to not tell Butler about his dad until after the game. The Michigan State coaches debated it but ultimately agreed -- the biggest factor was that all involved thought that's what Steven would have wanted. His DBs coach, Harlon Barnett, hustled down to the team's meeting room at the hotel to try to grab Butler's phone before anybody reached out to him to let him know what happened.

But when he burst into the room, his heart sank. Butler was in the corner with the other DBs, sobbing. A relative had reached out already with condolences. Barnett went to him and gathered up Butler into a big hug. Butler was so distraught that he handed Barnett his phone when he asked, and they just spent a few minutes fondly remembering Butler's dad.

"It felt like we hugged for a half hour," Barnett said. "We just cried. I tried to comfort him. That was one of the toughest days of my coaching career."

Now everybody involved had a difficult decision. Did Butler want to play? And even if he did, was that a good idea? The last thing the Michigan State coaching staff wanted was for Butler to get burnt for the winning touchdown against Penn State on top of the grief he already was trying to move through. They were fine waiting a week to get him back in the lineup.

Butler sat with it for the first part of the day and ultimately concluded the same thing Ward and the Michigan State coaches did: his dad would have wanted him to start the Penn State game. So Butler suited up and played for most of the first quarter before reality started to overpower him. He was sad, and no amount of bump-and-run in a football game was going to distract him from that.

The universe stepped in at that point, with a bizarre lightning storm that caused lengthy delays in the middle of the game. During those stretches, Butler found himself sitting in the locker room, ruminating on life without his dad. He and the coaches eventually made the wise decision to pull Butler from the game and let him go home to Roxy.

Butler probably would have benefited from more football that winter. He took some time away from the team for his dad's funeral and didn't play in the final three games of the regular season. He did go with the team to the Holiday Bowl at the end of December. But he was suffering. Coaches and teammates worried about him and checked in constantly during the offseason, so Butler didn't totally disappear. School started up again in January, and winter workouts kept him from never leaving his apartment.

But when he looks back at that period, Butler says all the stuff that was so important to him in life -- family, friends, school, football -- felt a little less important. Like, he'd get back to them when he was done mourning his dad, and he planned to do that without much human help.

The one thing he had, though, was the secret weapon he wished his dad had after his mom died, the thing that was present every day, happy every day, loving every day, needing him to get up and get moving every single day, was the little furball that begged to play all day. God bless Roxy Butler. She was his best hope, his most hope, sometimes his only hope.

He had developed an incredible bond with her. He talked to her constantly, and she seemed to understand. He'd even tell her to close doors and bring something to him, which she would often do. In videos he recorded, Roxy responded like a little kid might. Her energy illuminated Butler. Play. Walk. Play more. Nap ... but not for long. Play again. Butler loved her so much that he let his schedule become hers, and dark days got lighter. A dog's life can be the best life, so he tapped into it.

By the spring, he was ready for football again. For life, really. Coaches and teammates noticed a more open college kid, more vulnerable. To everybody's surprise, Butler began to share what happened with his dad. He was honest with everybody about how much the loss of his dad hurt, and also about how much credit belonged to his dog for pulling him through. He was a new guy.

"As he noticed that it affected people, he became more comfortable sharing his story," said Mike Tressel, who was Michigan State's defensive coordinator at the time. "People going through struggles would come to him to share with him."

But that's about when he got terrible news about his mom, Ladrida Bagley. First, he found out she had cancer. She'd had cancer once before and beat it. So he felt optimism about her chances.

But the second piece of news was something that rocked him, his family, his entire community: In February 2018, just as Butler was getting back on track, news broke that his mom had been arrested. The charge: capital murder.

THERE ARE WILD rumors about the circumstances around how Ladrida Bagley ended up as the ringleader of a horrific botched robbery. There are the more forgiving theories, that she got sucked into the basic plot of "Breaking Bad" and became desperate for money to pay for her medical care. Then there is what the prosecution ultimately came to believe, that she was the cold-blooded organizer of a small group of much younger former football players from Butler's high school. Either way, she was a direct participant in the death of someone.

Here's what police say happened. Detectives believe Bagley, 48 at the time, organized the robbery of a convenience store owner, 56-year-old Ahmed Omar. She had gone to Brandon Davis, 24, and suggested Omar would be an "easy mark" because he was thought to leave the store every night with cash in a briefcase. Davis pulled in a former West Mesquite High football player, Wilbert Scales Jr., and they all gathered on the night of Feb. 15, 2018, to go to the convenience store.

The plan was to rob Omar as he left the store. But the trio got nervous when they saw a police car nearby around the time Omar was leaving. So they decided to follow him almost 30 miles home to Plano instead.

When Omar arrived at his house at about 1 a.m., Davis lept from the car and approached Omar. He told police later that he thought Omar began to reach for a weapon. So he opened fire on the man, hitting him four times. Davis grabbed the briefcase and ran to the car. Bagley was behind the wheel and backed the car into a neighbor's parked car, which eventually was a critical piece of evidence connecting the three to the crime.

Police say they made off with somewhere around $2,000. Omar died in his driveway before police arrived, a laptop and cellphone strewn on the ground. Bagley and both men were charged with capital murder. In Texas, the death penalty is on the table for capital cases.

But before her case could be adjudicated, Bagley's cancer got dramatically worse and she died in April 2018. Butler felt a blizzard of complex emotions -- sadness, anger, shame, appreciation. He was devastated that a man had lost his life. She was given a normal funeral. But the pain was in the air for all the people who loved her and yet were wrestling with the idea that she helped kill a man. Talking about his mom this August, Butler would only say, "I was hurt. That's the only way I can explain it. I was sad. That's between me and my mom. She passed, and I don't really want to speak about the dead."

His friends and family now began to worry all over again about Butler as he entered the most important part of his college career. "You can't even imagine how you would handle it as a 40-year-old man, let alone a kid his age," Tressel said. "He's certainly someone with his circumstances that you wanted to help."

The one big difference between when his dad had died and when he lost his mom was the way Roxy had changed him. It'd be too tidy to say she had helped him heal, because she did more than that. She helped him become a different human being, more open, more plugged into other people.

This time around, as Butler tried to get his head around what his mom had done, he shared how he was feeling in an infectious way. Teammates saw how Butler talked openly now about the pain and confusion he was feeling, and they felt the same oxytocin bond that Butler had felt with Roxy and suddenly they felt like it was OK to put down their defenses, too.

"It took a long time -- it didn't happen overnight," Butler says. "I wasn't able to be vulnerable and let people know what I was going through for a while. But I started to trust and believe in the people in my life, and you realize that being vulnerable with those people has no negative consequences. Only positive."

Then the universe intervened once more. Tipps-Clemons called him in early May 2019, just after Butler's mom had died, with something that made him laugh for the first time in a while: Flocko had struck again.

IN APRIL 2019, Tipps-Clemons' aunt had gotten another call to watch Flocko for a few nights. This time, though, she vowed that she would try to keep a close eye on Bella and Flocko at all times.

Didn't matter. "Good ol' Flocko," Tipps-Clemons said with a laugh.

The second batch of puppies would be brothers and sisters to the first batch, just two years apart. He went back to Butler, who was still rocked by his mom's arrest and recent death. Tipps-Clemons hadn't even finished the question when Butler interjected with, "I'm in."

When he brought the new puppy, Remi, home, the two dogs sniffed each other and immediately went wild. They seemed to realize, "Holy Flocko, we're siblings!" They look very similar, with about 90 percent thin white fur and then adorable black blotches popping up in random places. The biggest distinguishing mark is that Roxy has a giant black circle on her back that looks like a helicopter landing pad.

They also have similar personalities. Roxy just turned 7 years old and has grown out of some her younger rambunctiousness. Remi is 2 years younger, so she still has an extra gear she can get to. Butler says Roxy would be a cornerback like him -- smart, agile, physical. Remi, on the other hand, is a big, sturdy linebacker, with 10 percent more aggression and willingness to engage. Roxy has figured out how to tell Remi to leave her alone, and Remi seems to understand her older sister remains the queen of the palace.

And if the scene in front of Michigan State's home crowd wasn't a big clue, they're both total leading ladies when the camera comes on.

Butler had been on social media before his dog-aissance. But once he started posting videos and images of the dogs, often in elaborate outfits doing fun stuff like laying on his back while he does pushups, his profile started to blow up big enough that he began a Roxy and Remi Instagram account. That one now has 685,000 followers; Butler's profile lags far behind at 370,000. Butler's TikTok, which is basically the Roxy and Remi show, has an incredible 3.3 million followers.

The two dogs saved Butler as he grieved the loss of his parents. On tough days, they both would yank on his bed sheets together, and Butler would have no choice but to get moving for the day. That usually began with a walk to get the girls outside, and Butler would inevitably soak in some morning sun, play with the dogs and get pulled out of his rut, all while posting it for the world to see. Sometimes he'd bust out some home exercise, and he taught the dogs to both sit on a foot when he did sit-ups.

Butler couldn't stay down. The dogs wouldn't let him, and he was getting to the point when football was either going to happen for him as a career, or he'd have to move on.

Somehow the answer ended up being both.

THE 2019 SEASON was Butler's best year. He started seven of 13 games, with a career-best 25 tackles. He'd gotten his bachelor's degree in media and information in December 2018, and he finished up his master's degree in media information a month after Senior Day, when Roxy and Remi went viral.

A few weeks after Senior Day, the season was over and Butler had exhausted his eligibility. Butler hoped an NFL team would look at him in April's draft, but he never got the call, even as an undrafted free agent. Football seemed to be done for him.

"So what now?" he thought. He's a gifted musician and had an interest in acting, too. People were gravitating toward him on the interwebs for his personality and his dog life. Maybe he could go full-bore into influencer territory? And he kept reaching out to various football leagues to keep the gridiron dream alive. But no bites. For players like Butler, COVID kept him on the fringes of the sport. And life on the fringes, especially when large amounts of in-person tryouts and visits are wiped out, actually means it's unwanted retirement. Butler was pretty sure it was over, but he never officially gave up.

His persistence was rewarded in early 2023, with an unexpected phone call. "Josh," a voice said, "this is Steve Kazor from the Michigan Panthers of the USFL. Are you still interested in playing football?"

Kazor is one of those football lifers who specializes in resuscitating hope. He's a former scout and coach with four NFL teams (Rams, Bears, Cowboys, Lions), and took over as GM for the then-USFL (now UFL) Michigan Panthers. His dream scenario is to find a UFL player who plays so well that the NFL comes calling.

Butler's answer was, of course, yes, he still thought he had some football left in him. Butler loaded up the dogs and hopped in the car. A day and a half later, he was in Detroit and signed a contract with the Panthers. He'd get paid $5,500 per game, plus a stipend of around $1,600 for housing allowance. He probably would have paid them at that point.

From day one, Butler was shot out of a cannon. He'd waited for two years for a call, any kind of call, and he knew he was living on the outskirts of football by that point. So he played and practiced like he was on fire, and he emerged as an immediate starter in 2023. Butler's game isn't explosive and he's not a lockdown-type island corner. But he's strong and steady, with the smarts to jump routes and bat down balls. He also has the versatility to slide into nickel corner duties and is physical enough to fill in at safety.

"Josh is never afraid to stick his nose in there and make a tackle," Kazor said.

Butler ended up being one of Kazor's proudest projects. He plucked him out of Nowhereville and Butler became a key cog in Michigan's 2023 team that finished second in its division. Then Kazor got that dreaded/hoped-for call: The Dallas Cowboys had scouted a Michigan game and were interested in trying out Butler.

Butler again jumped at the opportunity, but he did spend some time contemplating moving back home. He'd gone 12 hours away to East Lansing because he wanted to have a safe distance between then and now. Now he'd be back in the then place, with all the family memories, good and bad, again in the forefront of his daily life.

His tryout went so well that he was offered a practice squad contract less than 24 hours later. They'd put him through a workout and some drills, and already had watched his USFL tape enough to think he'd be a great option as a practice player with upside. He ultimately didn't spend too much time wrestling with the decision to take the offer and live in Dallas again. He'd grown so much in the years since he left, in football and in life, and he'd accepted his family history enough to feel like he could thrive in Dallas.

Plus, he had his MVPs, Roxy and Remi, in his life now. They would ground him in Dallas the same way as they would in Los Angeles or East Lansing, or anywhere else he might go.

"Dallas has a lot of tough memories for me," he said. "But it also is home. And now I have a chance to make some new, good memories here with the Cowboys."

IN JULY, BUTLER sits down for a Zoom call to tell his life story. He put some food down to keep the dogs occupied in a nearby room. They typically all have lunch together at the same time. So before he starts talking, he laughs when the dogs skip their meal to lay down beside him on the floor. They'll wait for their dad. "We're pretty much on the same eating schedule," he says.

It's a few weeks before camp opens for the Cowboys. Butler goes through his incredible underdog story for an hour, and he has no idea that this fall is about to be yet another blur of complicated events and emotions.

Butler plays well at camp, with one popular clip of him making an impossible interception. His teammates and coaches go crazy after he makes the play, and it's a good example of how Butler impacts people -- from the moment he began opening up about himself in college, he has become a locker room favorite everywhere he goes. The world wants to root for people like him.

Camp is a grind in normal circumstances. But without Remi and Roxy around, he's hurting for his best furry companions. He had to leave them with family members, so nightly FaceTime will have to do. "I miss them all the time," he says. "All the time."

Dallas ended up with a logjam of strong defensive backs, and Butler probably sat about sixth overall among cornerbacks. So the Cowboys waived him and prayed nobody would swoop in, so they could re-sign him to the practice squad. Which they did.

He spent the first half of the year grinding away on the practice squad. A rash of secondary injuries made it seem more and more likely that he might accomplish his biggest goal for the year, which was to be active on a game day as a Dallas Cowboy.

He accomplished that in Week 9, suiting up but barely playing against Atlanta. The next week, he played some special teams. Entering Week 11, his position coach, Al Harris, pulled him aside late in the week as they prepped for the Eagles and gave him news that floored him: Butler was going to start at cornerback that weekend. He had a solid game, finishing with five tackles.

Then an even wilder thing happened. In one of the most bonkers games of 2024, Dallas clipped Washington 34-26, and Butler was one of the game's MVPs. He led all tacklers with 12, and he had one sack and batted down three passes. At times, he was everywhere on the field, looking like a guy who's going to stick around the league for a while.

"I can't say enough about Josh Butler," Dallas coach Mike McCarthy said after the game. "He's earned it. He's had to wait a long time. And you just love it when young guys get opportunities, and they're rewarded with this type of win. I'm just happy for him."

But just when momentum had swung his way, Butler made his next start on Thanksgiving against the Giants. Late in the first half, he went down with a noncontact injury -- he tore an ACL. Trainers helped him walk off the field. But his season was over.

He was crushed that day, and even a week later, he was subdued. "I'll be back," he said. "But I'm devastated. Devastated."

One shining light in the devastation: Roxy and Remi. On their first walk, both dogs jetted out in front of Butler and he couldn't keep up. They'd look back and stop. Then jet ahead. Then wait for Dad. They seemed confused at first as Butler limped behind them. But as so often has been the case for the three of them, they ultimately synced up. The dogs are as energetic as ever when he takes them toward his front door. But they then dial it down and walk, step-for-step, for their hurting dad.

It's not the ultimate warm-and-fuzzy conclusion to a roller-coaster season. And Butler isn't in a headspace yet where he is handing out rousing quotes about the comeback ahead. But there is a big comeback ahead, because with Josh Butler, there always is.