I couldn’t see anything but boxes, barrels, old trunks, and some rolls of barbed wire.
The kindly Stationmaster walked over to one of the boxes. “Do you want box and all?” he asked.
I told him I didn’t want the box. All I wanted was the dogs.
“How are you going to carry them?” he asked. “I think they’re a little too young to follow.”
I held out my gunny sack. He looked at me and looked at the sack.
Chuckling, he said, “Well, I guess dogs can be carried that way same as anything else,
but we’ll have to cut a couple of holes to stick their heads through so that they won’t smother.”
Getting a claw hammer, he started tearing off the top of the box.
As nails gave way and boards splintered, I heard several puppy whimpers.
I didn’t walk over. I just stood and waited. After what seemed like hours, the box was open.
He reached in, lifted the pups out, and set them down on the floor.
“Well, there they are,” he said. “What do you think of them?”
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