Max was one of five puppies, born in the country to a proud and happy mother. He was white with a brown right ear, and he was the one who got given away.
His new home was a city apartment — plenty of room, his new master said. But Max was homesick from the first day, and one afternoon, while being walked on his lead, he pulled free and ran.
He remembered the journey he’d taken to get here. A ferry across the water. Then a train. If he could find those, he could find his way back.
He ran until he reached the railway station, slipped through the gate when no one was looking, and jumped into the luggage car just as the train was pulling out. He rode until he saw water — a great stretch of it — and a boat, just like the ferry from before.
The train stopped there. Max got off. He found his boat. He crossed his water.
He found his mother.
Somehow, when he arrived home, his first master discovered room for him after all.
