Hey Ted, I had no idea you guys were on MyBlogLog until I saw your avatar on Greg Cohn's blog. Welcome! Welcome! Welcome! Ian

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HI Dogster, Please allow me to write this true dog story to you, lest we forget......SAVED BY HIS DOG: In 1947 hundreds of Hungarian ex-prisoners were returned to Budapest, on cattle trucks, from POW camps in Russia. They were in terribly bad shape -all skin and bone; those who were too sick to walk were on stretchers. The arduous three-week journey during which they were fed once daily on potato soup and stale black bread, as hard as bricks, left most of them in even worse shape than when they set off. From Budapest, those who knew where they lived were taken there but the others were carted round from village to village to see if anyone recognised them. Amongst these poor wretched man was my uncle Janos who told me about the ordeal after he recovered. We lived in a small village in Transdnubia and the Red Cross used to bring carts loaded with some of these very sick men who’d forgotten where they lived, hoping to find their home. On Ash Wednesday three stretches were unloaded onto the pavement in front of the school and about eighty villagers filed round as usual, in an attempt to recognise a missing relative. No one recognised any of these men who were like bearded, living corpses, barely alive and clad in rags. Two were heavily bandaged and they were all so weak that none of them could speak or knew where they were or where they lived. I was twelve and joined the other kids who went home and brought warm milk for them, praying that Uncle Janos might be brought back one day. The time came for them to be carted to the next village and they were re-loaded to be taken away. Lots of dogs roamed the streets and just as the wagon was leaving, one of the White Comondor dogs jumped onto it and stood over one of the men, wagging its tail and licking him all over. The dog had recognised his old master, Uncle Janos! We were astounded because not even his wife, my Aunty, who sent me for the milk, had done. All eighty villagers cried for joy for the next many many hours... its 60 yrsago the war ended, & still when I see a large white dog....will never forget, namaste, papajoe