In January 1945, I was a 14-year-old junior at Karns City School (FTRC). We had a snowstorm of 3 1/2 inches, or more.

I went to school as usual the day of the storm. When the school bus dropped me off at 4 p.m., the road in front of me looked sickening. I had two miles to go to reach home.

The second house I came to was the home of a dog called Dash, who joined me. A dachshund has very low legs, but it worked so hard and made a path for me.

It seemed to dive and dive again. When I was about 50 or 60 steps from home, I collapsed. But I felt a tugging at my clothes and the dog awakened me.

Somehow I got up and made it home. The pumper’s house never looked so good.

I had to go home because my mother was alone. My brother was in the service (Army) and dad couldn’t get home.

My mother gave me hot cocoa, and the dog received a meal.

Emma Weiland, 92,

Butler