One scorching July day my sister, Ruth, and I went to the cemetery to put flowers on our parents gravesites. We got busy pulling a few weeds and didn't notice a puppy crawling to us until he had crawled right up to me.
My sister said, "Mary" in a tone of voice that I knew something was up. When I glanced up to see what was going on—there he was. A mangy, starved little thing with almost no hair on his body. He was sunburned, and so pitiful we could hardly bear to look at him.
We scooped him up and headed for the vet. Our vet said he was a strong little dude, and with proper care in two weeks we wouldn't recognize him.
I bought infant size sleepers with snaps across the seat and put those on him to keep him from scratching—he was so cute! I couldn't find a photo of that. I named him after one of my favorite artist, Winslow Homer.
Mary and Ruth call me "Winslow."
It looks like fun out there...
I'm almost all well, I have hair again!
I help Ruthie feed the goats apple slices.