He finished his coffee and climbed into the cab of his snowplow. Highway 285 was always a priority this time of year, so he headed in that direction. It was two o’clock in the morning as he turned onto the highway. He dropped his blade and began to plow the eighteen mile long stretch of highway. The visibility was poor as the wind whipped the snow into the windshield.

He was almost finished plowing as he came over the hill. Peering intently through the frosted windshield, he thought he saw the outline of a dead animal in the road. As he swerved to avoid crushing it with the blade, he realized that it was a small dog. “He had always loved animals but it was cold and the dog was probably beyond hope anyway,” he reasoned. “He couldn’t just drive away without checking the dog. That wouldn’t be right,” he thought.

The snowplow lurched to a stop and slowly backed up. He climbed out of the cab, shielding his eyes from the blowing snow with his gloved hand. Lying there in the road was a small, brown Yorkshire Terrier. “Poor Pup,” he whispered, as he gently brushed the snow from the dead dog’s face. As he looked closer, he realized that there were faint puffs of steam coming from the dog’s mouth. He tried to lift the dog from the road but its fur had become frozen to the ice beneath it. He retrieved a shovel from the snowplow and carefully chipped at the ice until he was able to remove the dog, along with the layer of ice that was attached to it.

“Try to hang on. I’ll get you the help you need,” he said, as he gently placed the lifeless body onto the seat beside him. He covered the dog with his coat, turned the heater on high and put the snowplow into gear. He was almost done with his route. If the dog could just hang on for a little while, maybe he could save him. He radioed his dispatcher and asked her to call local veterinarian’s offices until she found one who would treat the dog at this time of the morning.

As Ted finished his route, the dog began to shiver violently as he regained consciousness. Just then the voice of the dispatcher crackled over the radio,”Ted, take the dog to Doctor Foster’s office on Old Mill Lane. She’ll be there waiting for you.”

Doctor Foster arrived at her office and began preparing a hospital crate for the little dog’s arrival. Once the heating pad was in place, she went to the window and peered through the falling snow as she waited for her patient to arrive. This wouldn’t be the first time that she would treat a hypothermic animal and she knew the situation might be grim. “The temperature outside is minus four degrees. If this dog can be saved, that driver had better hurry,” she thought. Just then the snowplow lumbered into the parking lot.

It was almost five o’clock in the morning when Ted gingerly retrieved the shivering dog from the cab of the snowplow and rushed into the animal clinic. Doctor Foster ushered the man into a small room and began examining the icy bundle. The solemn expression on her face foretold the diagnosis: hypothermia.

She moved the dog onto the heating pad in the hospital crate and started a warm intravenous drip, explaining to Ted that she would use a warm solution in an attempt to warm the little dog’s body. “This dog might not live through the night but I will do everything that I can to save him,” she promised. After giving the veterinarian his telephone number, Ted reluctantly left the clinic, promising that he would check on the dog’s condition in the morning.

As Ted was getting dressed that Saturday morning, the telephone rang. It was Doctor Foster and she had encouraging news. The little dog was doing much better, his temperature was normal and he was able to take a few steps on his own. Exhilarated, Ted jumped into his car and rushed to the clinic.

When he arrived at the clinic, Ted was invited into the hospital area to visit the dog. The staff there were gathered around the crate. As they stepped back, he could see the dog standing in his crate, wagging his tail! Doctor Foster came in and explained that the dog’s temperature was normal now and he would completely recover. She went on to say that if Ted didn’t want to adopt the dog, the only other option would be to surrender him to the animal warden, adding that he would have very little chance of finding a home if that were to occur. Ted rubbed his chin and replied, “This little dog saved my life last night. I’ve always wanted to work with animals but I’ve felt trapped in this plow job. Last night I had a taste of what it feels like to save a life. I’m ready to find a way to make my dreams happen. This dog is going home with me.” The Doctor smiled. That was the answer she had hoped for. As she opened the crate door and gathered the dog into her arms, she smiled and said, “By the way, he’s got a name. When we were cleaning him up, we found a collar and a name tag.” As she handed the dog to Ted, she said, “His name is Toby.”

Ted placed the dog on the floor at his feet. The dog began to tremble with fright as he sniffed his boots. Ted kneeled down and brushed his hand gently over the dog’s head and whispered, “Good Boy, Toby.” The trembling stopped. The dog licked Ted’s hand and began to wag his tail. He felt a rush of happiness and amazement come over him. This kind man in the big boots knew that he was Good Boy Toby!