佚名/Anonymous
March 18，1925. Though only fve years of age, I will remember the day the great tornado swept over“Little Egypt”，as the southern tip of Illinois is called. The little coal-mining town in which we lived lay directly in its path. The howling wind sounded as if a dozen locomotives were roaring past. We huddled in the kitchen as the roaring flled our ears and seemed to shake our very bones.
Suddenly it was over. The quietness felt unnatural and an eerie, uneasy feeling gripped us. Opening the door, my mother stood transfxed as she gazed upon the awful scene. Debris lay everywhere. The street was impassable. People, some obviously in shock, milled around like cattle, unsure of what to do. The strange silence was suddenly broken by a subdued, pitiful whining at Mothers feet.
Trembling violently, a wet and frightened little poodle lay wedged between the door and the screen.
“My stars，”my mother said, bending over.“Wherever did you come from?”
The bedraggled little dog timidly wagged his tail and began licking Mothers hand.
Jacky, as we named him, accepted our large family without reservation. We in turn lavished our love upon the displaced but lucky little poodle.
Almost immediately we realized Jacky was an exceptional dog-a very smart one. Surrounded by masses of curly hair, his dark inquisitive eyes sparkled with life.
The little dog had been a part of our family for about two years when a hobo knocked at the back door and asked if we could give him something to eat. The request wasn‘t at all unusual. In those days, many hobos stopped at our corner. Mother brought a plate of food to the porch where he waited. As he sat down to eat, we boys gathered around him. He began telling us all the places he’d been and the many things hed seen. We were spellbound by his tales.
All of a sudden he stopped. We looked in the direction he was staring, and there stood Jacky. For several moments they looked at one another. Then a huge smile came across the old hobos face.