Every single night, when the stars came out to play, Milo would flop in the yard and stare up at the moon. He stared, and he stared, with his big goofy grin. "Hello, Moon," he'd say. "Here I am again!"
The moonbeam wiggled. The moonbeam danced. It tugged at his nose like it wanted to prance. "Come on!" it seemed to say, glowing bright. "Come follow me, Milo — come out in the night!"
Then — Milo stopped. The beam led him here: a small sleeping lamb, all alone, full of fear. She shivered and shook in the cold, dark, damp night. Her eyes were so wide. She needed some light.
Milo lay down. He curled round the lamb tight. He gave her his warmth in the cold of the night. She stopped her shaking. She let out a sigh. The moonbeam above them glowed soft in the sky.
When morning came pink at the edge of the sky, a farmer found both of them — my, oh my! He carried the lamb home, safe, warm, and sound. And Milo walked home on his big happy hound feet, homeward bound.