Remembering a Birthday

Yesterday would have been my father-in-law's 95th birthday. I thought about him this morning and the few stories he told about his service during WW2. As told by him, he walked across Europe, starting in Sicily and ending on a transport ship to Great Britain.

As a radio operator, he saw, and heard, much of the war. If he was in combat, he never told, although from his rather low opinion of General Patton, he was well aware of the carnage of his campaigns. All in all, he never had much to say and I never asked.

One thing that always stuck in my thoughts was his adoption of a dachshund during his time in Europe. Although I don't know where he found "Fritz", he was almost in tears when he described leaving him with a family in France before leaving Europe for home. They were companions for a long time, but Fritz couldn't go home with my father-in-law, so he did what was best.

So, I sit here with my thoughts and wonder about the events of war that led a radio operator to caring for a dog. I can imagine him sharing his rations and fussing over the small dog like he fussed over other dogs later in his life. While it seemed like he was spoiling his pets, I think it was much more. He was remembering and missing a friend he knew he'd never see again.