Sunday, July 29, 1945

Dearest Gee.

Almost forgot what date it was. I got your nice letter of July 18 today, (damn this typewriter anyway) also got one from big Harry, and one from Hilah. She told me all about Jack and his poison ivy. That really must be something. I guess he has it all over his lower extremities too — if you know what I mean, and I think you do. I feel for him but just can’t reach him. They have had their share of the tough luck too, haven’t they? I’ll bet Jack cussed Herman’s farm from one end to the other.

I your letter you were telling me all about the cocker spaniel of Orphas. They sure are cute dogs and I would like to have one sometime. We have a little wire-hair fox terrier now about five or six weeks old. We call him hammer-head and a few other choice names. I called him something else the other night when he slept in my bed and crapped all over my onliest blanket. Had to get up and wash the dang thing at five in the morning. That is the last time he has gone to bed with me. Most of the dogs in camp are police dogs. They range in size from six inches tall to four feet.

At least the Norwegian kids are our friends, kid they don’t know any better I guess. This place we have been going to for the sections of the building is full of kids. There is one noisy hound that talks the legs off of you. He chatters on for an hour about most anything and it makes no difference to him that you can’t understand a word he says. Just for the hell of it I throw in a ja or a nei now and then to keep him going. Of course, they all want “drops” or life savers. There is one cute little girl there that reminds me of Lindy. I have kept her pretty well stocked up on candy, but we don’t go out there anymore.

I’m enclosing the “Spearhead” again. Thought maybe you would like to read it. Gotta quit now. I sure love you and miss you honey. Hope I see you real soon.

So long now. Happy Birthday!


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