10/04/2026
The county deputy who came up behind Clyde Hollis’s riding mower on Highway 63 initially thought he might be dealing with a drunk driver—until he noticed the dog riding in the cart behind him.
It was a Saturday morning in May, outside Houston, Missouri. Clyde was 90 years old. His driver’s license had been gone for three years after his eyesight began to fail, and his old pickup sat covered by a tarp in the barn. His daughter drove him to church and medical appointments, but nobody was taking Buster anywhere.
Buster was a 13-year-old Redbone Coonhound—the last of the dogs Clyde had hunted with. That spring, a lump appeared on Buster’s side. A local veterinarian removed it on Thursday, and Buster spent two nights at the clinic. On Saturday morning, the clinic called to say he was ready to go home.
The problem was that Clyde’s daughter was several hours away at her grandson’s ball tournament in Springfield, and the veterinary clinic was closing at noon.
So at 9 a.m., Clyde filled the tank on his John Deere, hitched up the little utility cart he normally used to haul firewood, and placed an old army blanket across the bottom. The clinic was four miles away, most of the journey along the shoulder of the highway. Clyde drove at roughly 5 miles per hour, with an orange safety flag tied to the seat.
The veterinary technician who brought Buster out to the parking lot said she wasn’t quite sure what to do. She helped Clyde settle the dog onto the blanket and then waved goodbye as they slowly headed home.
About a mile into the trip, Deputy Rick Sutter caught up with them.
Clyde explained the entire situation without ever getting off the mower. The deputy looked into the cart and saw Buster resting with his head on the edge, his stitches still visible. Instead of reaching for his ticket book, the deputy put it away.
Then he switched on the light bar.
Deputy Sutter followed Clyde and Buster at about 5 miles per hour for the rest of the journey, escorting them safely to Clyde’s driveway as a line of cars formed behind the cruiser.
When they arrived, the deputy helped lift Buster out of the cart and carried him up the porch steps while Clyde held open the screen door.
Clyde’s daughter heard the story that evening from three different people before she even made it home. She told her father he could have been killed.
Clyde told her he had thought about that.
But Buster had already waited long enough.
Thankfully, the lump turned out to be benign. And these days, Buster is back where he belongs—sleeping on the porch in the afternoon sun, resting with his back against Clyde’s chair. 🐾❤️
