This went on for four days. I was about to call the vet to get a duplicate rabies tag made. The law requires all dogs to wear this tag. The collar I could replace. It wouldn’t be as pretty as Holly’s purple collar, but any port in a storm.
I heard Mary holler, “The collar!” She had just let Buddy in from his trip to the pen. I rushed to the window. There it was, all covered with dirt, the purple barely distinguishable. I had searched that pen quite thoroughly. Apparently, Ole Buddy Boy had buried his collar (he’s quite the digger), and then dug it back up. He looked at us, with his tongue lolling out, real pleased with himself. St. Anthony always comes through.
Mary scrubbed the collar with hand soap, and the bright purple reappeared. There would be no “third-time-is-a-charm” with Buddy’s collar. It was obviously too loose. I tightened the collar down a notch and held it in front of Buddy. He extended his nose for me to slip it on, his tail wagging. He likes Holly’s collar. I checked the tightness. I can still put two fingers easily between the collar and Buddy’s neck, so he can squeeze out of it if necessary.
I often wonder what Holly Dog would think of Buddy. Their personalities are as different as night and day. Their “link” is the purple collar and, of course, me. Thank God for dogs.
Have a good story? Call or text Curt Swarm in Mt. Pleasant at (319) 217-0526 or email him at firstname.lastname@example.org.