I remember during WW II when an Army Convoy came through Gettysburg. They pulled over by the side of the road in front of our house.

In those days there was no traffic to speak of. All of us along our road could leave our dogs run as they please. Everyone one knew our dogs name and we knew theirs. They were free. But, when the convoy left we couldn’t find Tippy. He was a Boston Bulldog. We asked our neighbors about him and no one had seen him. A month or so later while at the supper table we heard that old familiar scratching on the back door. Tippy was there. His feet were nothing but raw and bloody. He came home to us and died there that night on our backporch. We later found out that the convoy went to New York. He walked for many miles to find his home. I was maybe 5 years old at the time but I have remembered that all of my life. I am 68 years old now.

Terry from PA