This story was sent to me by a friend who doesn't wear mascara and thus
doesn't know the dangers of it running. It's a dog story, but this dog's
human companion tells us what loving our four-legged friends--and
two-legs for that matter--is all about.

Brief Encounter
By Joseph J. Gurneak

    Several Saturdays ago I was cleaning my car at a
do-it-yourself car wash.  As I vacuumed, I noticed a
few wisps of yellow dog fur.
    I stopped my cleaning.  I picked up the fur,
placed it in an envelope and put the envelope in the
glove compartment.  The fur belonged to Buddy.  As I
went about the rest of the day, I couldn't help but
think of the brief encounter with Buddy and his
"family" just a couple of days before.
    It was a Wednesday afternoon.  I had just gotten
off work.  As I passed a truck stop, I noticed a man
with a large backpack.  There beside him was a dog on
a leash sitting in the grass strip that separates the
entrance and exit to the interstate.  It was about
4:30 in the afternoon and quite hot.
    I stopped a few feet away and walked up to the
man.  "You and the dog okay?" I asked.
    I guess he was a little startled.  "I'm not
breakin' no law sittin' here, am I?" he asked.
    "No," I replied, "I just wanted to make sure you
and the dog were okay."
    "We're okay, just a little hot."
    I noticed a handwritten cardboard sign beside him
saying something about working for food.  My guess was
that he hadn't had a good meal in some time.
    "Look," I said, "here's a twenty - make sure you
and the dog get a good meal tonight."
    "God bless you, sir," he said as he accepted the
money.
    I walked back to my car.  As I turned around, the
pair were headed under an overpass to the westbound
side of the I-78 ramp.  Somehow I felt I should have
done a little more.  I went into the truck stop,
bought a large hoagie and soda for the man and a
couple of hot dogs and water for the dog.
    As I approached the ramp, they were gone.  I
figured someone had picked them up.  I got back on the
freeway intending to get off at the next exit.  There
were my two "friends."  I pulled over.  As we spoke, I
gave pieces of the hot dogs to the dog along with a
few sips of cool water.  The stranger wolfed down the
sandwich in two minutes.
    I asked the dog's name.  It was Buddy.
    I don't usually give strangers a ride, but I just
couldn't let them walk down the busy freeway at night.
I offered to give them a ride, and they accepted.  He
instructed Buddy to get in the back seat, but I told
him it was okay if Buddy rode in the front.  Buddy put
his head on my lap as though we had been friends for
years.  I knew he enjoyed the cooling breeze of the
air conditioner.  He very quickly fell asleep, as I
occasionally petted him on his head.
    Buddy was a beautiful, noble dog, some kind of
mixed breed although the man said he was a sheltie.
His fur was soft and surprisingly well kept.  The man
was a drifter.
    He told me bits and pieces about his life.  He
said he didn't have any sort of identification.  He
told me he had lost his wallet a few weeks back.  My
guess was he was about forty.  He was tall and lean,
with a beard.  His piercing blue eyes seemed to hold
pain, but he was a gentle person.  He was born in
Oregon and traveled around always looking for work, he
said.
    I asked him about Buddy.  He told me he found him
in Alabama as a puppy about a year and a half before.
From that day to this, they had always been together.
    There was a pause in the conversation and I asked
him whether the dog was ever a burden to him, with all
the traveling around.  I would have gladly offered a
great home to Buddy.  There was a long silence.  From
the corner of my eye I could see tears rolling down
the man's cheeks.
    "Sir," he said to me, barely above a whisper,
"old Buddy is the only family I got.  Some days, when
food is scarce, I'd gladly go without, so long as
Buddy has somethin'."
    There was no doubt he spoke the truth.  I felt
embarrassed that I would even think of offering to
take the man's only worthwhile possession.
    The ride was all too short.  I pulled over and
the man got his backpack out of the back seat.  Then
Buddy hopped out.  The man began to slowly close the
door.  Buddy turned, looked up at me and wagged his
tail a couple of times.  I'm certain it was his way of
saying "thanks."
    I turned around and headed east.  I had one last
look at Buddy and his "family."  As I drove off I was
disappointed in myself; I didn't even ask the man his
name.
    That night I was out late watering the flowers.
I looked up at the heavens.  I wondered why it is that
sometimes these brief encounters make such profound
impressions on my life.  I said a little prayer asking
God to please watch over them in their travels, and to
say thanks for just the few brief moments I was able
to share with them.
    Without their knowledge, the two "world
travelers" had enriched my life, touched my soul and
heart.  The wisps of fur will always be a reminder to
me of the summer afternoon that I encountered Buddy
and his companion.