Then came a very cold winter. Looking over the fence, I could see that Huckleberry’s doghouse was bare wood and, with his short beagle hair, he was cold at night. Our laundry room had an exterior door, so I made a bed of old blankets and invited Huckleberry to spend the nights there.[8] Since I had to leave the outside door open for him to come and go, the room was cold—so I began the practice[9] of covering him with one of the blankets each night before we went to bed.
Soon, however, I noticed that he would already be covered when I went into the laundry room. I assumed[10] that one of our daughters had covered him until, one night, I happened to look through the window in the door. There was Huckleberry deftly wrapping himself up in a blanket and settling down for the night.[11]
Huckleberry had other holes under the fence as well—unbeknown[12] to us or his owner. He soon began appearing at other houses in the neighborhood, one in particular[13] where a little boy lived.
One day as I drove home from work I saw Huckleberry and the boy playing in the boy’s front yard. I stopped and opened the car door, asking, “Huckleberry, what are you doing here?” As he leaped[14] into the car, the boy’s mother ran over. “His name is Huckleberry?” she asked. “My son loves this dog so much. Do you know who the owner is? Might he be willing to give this dog up?” I agreed to talk to our neighbor, who was delighted[15] that Huckleberry had found someone to love him.
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