Around his neck was a crude collar. On closer inspection, I saw it had been made from a piece of check-line leather.
Two holes had been punched in each end and the ends were laced together with bailing wire.
As I turned the collar with my finger, I saw something else.
There, scratched deep in the tough leather, was the name “Buddie.”
I guessed that the crude, scribbly letters had probably been written by a little boy.
It’s strange indeed how memories can lie dormant in a man’s mind for so many years.
Yet those memories can be awakened and brought forth fresh and new,
just by something you’ve seen, or something you’ve heard, or the sight of an old familiar face.
What I saw in the warm gray eyes of the friendly old hound brought back wonderful memories.
To show my gratitude, I took hold of his collar and said, “Come on, boy, let’s go home and get something to eat.”
He seemed to understand that he had found a friend. He came willingly.
I gave him a bath and rubbed all the soreness from his muscles. He drank quarts of warm milk and ate all the meat I had in the house.
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