making his ear flap and drip with the rain that poured down on them in the lonely little alley.

"Here's a tip, junior, don't wander into the streets, alright?" Mutton shook his fur again. "It gets ugly. You don't wanna be roadkill, believe you me."

"Roadkill?" Fang blinked several times, confused.

"Boy, you've gotta lot t'learn about being a Street Dog, huh, kid?" Mutton rolled his eyes.

"Teach me," Fang demanded. He stood up and puffed out his chest. "I can learn."

"Look, I got bigger things to worry about. I can't be watchin' you all the time." Mutton curled his lip and turned to leave.

"Teach me!" Fang commanded again, running forward and blocking Mutton's path. "I'm not like other dogs. I-I'll listen, honest!"

Mutton looked down at him. "Sorry, What's-Your-Face, I can't--"

"Fang," Fang said.

"Huh?"

"The name's Fang." Fang arched an eyebrow, indignant now.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Mutton pushed past Fang, shoving him backwards with a hind paw. "I can't take care of you, I gotta take care of Number One."

"Who's Number One?" Fang got up, and stepped into the teen-mutt's path again.

Mutton gave him a wolfish grin. "Me."

"That's dumb!" Fang scoffed. "If you're too busy lookin' out for number one, who's gonna look out for them?"

"Them?" Mutton cocked his head.

"Them! Other dogs!" Fang sat down and explained patiently, as if he were the teenager and Mutton was the wet-behind-the-ear puppy. "I saw this oldie yesterday, all gray and limpin', and--"

"Save the sorrow-story, muttfuzz, I ain't moving."

"Well, if y'go, I'm gonna follow you!" Fang dragged out the F in 'follow' babyishly. He gave a half-smile, eyelids lowered triumphantly, and arched a brow, saying, "And I 'ain't' gonna quit."

Mutton grinned devilishly. "You got moxy, kid, that's good in a Street Dog." He sighed. "Alright, first thing's first, let's get you some food. Then we'll talk."

Fang followed as he tottered down the alley. "Great!"

FLASHBACK ENDS

___________________________________________________________

Fang shook himself out of the flashback-daze.

The last time he'd seen his faithful old friend, Mutton, the white-and-brown mutt had fallen into this same lake, when it had stormed so badly, little, baby Fang looked down as his dear friend had shoved Fang out of the way when a tidal-wave of muddy water washed over the bridge in the stormy weather, dragging Mutton down into the depths of the brown-black raging tide, meeting his fate in rushing rapids. Fang had howled into the night in memory of his lost tutor, the teen-dog that had taken care of him for two months straight, teaching him the ropes of being an honorable Street Dog, even teaching him how to talk like one.

How, you may ask, could one dog take so much heartache? He could barely remember his parents now, but Mutton's death was still an open wound in his heart. He couldn't bare to even mention Mutton's name without turning cryptically silent.

 "Did you hear that?" Afghanna suddenly cried.

"Hear wha--" Fang began, then turned at a barrage of furious growling.

"Hey!" came a scratchy, deep young voice. A pair of green eyes was glaring at them.

He was a Yellow Lab puppy, a bit younger than the two other dogs, with messy hair-fur and a cream belly. He was breathing like a locomotive, one eyebrow raised, teeth bared. He was also soaked, fur dripping.

"How's pickings, shorty?" Fang smirked.

The new pup stalked right up to him and stuck his nose in Fang's face. "Don't you know what you just did?"

"I gotta tell ya," Fang reared his head back, "that bath y'took didn't help." He nodded toward the pup's dripping fur, teasing him mercilessly. Fang's nose wrinkled at the smell.

"Shut up!" the dog growled.

"Hey, there's no need to get loud over this," Afghanna snapped, pushing between them. She glared at the newcomer. "Who are you and what are you talking about, if y'don't mind?"

The dog looked her up and down, green eyes softening only a little bit. "They call me Skipper--"

"Who does?" Fang whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Afghanna. "He ain't the friendly type, if y'get my drift."

"Shut. Up!" Skipper snarled.

"How about you take a hike, small fry?" Fang barged forward, shouldering Afghanna out of the way, angry with the younger dog for ruining his good mood.

"Both of you be quiet!" Afghanna barked. She turned to Skipper. "I'm still not clear on why you're here, pal."

"Because this knucklehead just soaked me when I was this close to catching a fish." Skipper growled.

"You can catch fish?" Afghanna snorted disbelievingly.

"And climb trees," Skipper replied smugly.

"So you're a cat, is that what yer sayin'?" Fang interrupted, smiling mockingly at Skipper with his eyelids lowered.

Skipper let out another low growl. "Don't push your luck, dude. This is my home, and you're trespassing, so whatever it is you're doing, back off."

"You musta been a real pleasure to take care of," Fang muttered. "Wher're yer 'rents?"

"Gone." Skipper answered curtly, deep voice vibrating.

"Look, Skipper--can I call ya Skip?" Fang didn't wait for an answer. "If this's anyone's home--" he stopped. He didn't need to go there. It hurt too much. He decided to try again. "We'll leave when we're good an' ready."

"Not if I can help it," Skip snapped.

"Y'can't." Fang shrugged. "So I suggest y'join in."

He turned to the bridge's edge and poked his head between the two rods that went from one end, making faces into the water.

Afghanna went to his side, and then looked into the river at his reflection. She laughed and stuck out her tongue, crossing her eyes, making her reflection do the same.

"What're you doing?" Skip asked, drawing his head back, mouth closed and curved downward, one eye squinting, one eyebrow arched.

"Come see fer yerself," Fang invited, still looking at his reflection as he smoothed his hair-fur back with a paw, eyelids lowered, crookedly smiling at his reflection as though comically checking his looks in a watery mirror.

"If this is some trick--" Skip began angrily, storming over and pushing his head through the wooden bars, looking down into the water. "Wha..." he stopped. He spluttered. Then he pulled his head back out through the bars and reared back in the middle of the bridge, head tilted skyward, cackling:
 

"You look like a racoon!" he laughed.

Fang looked over his shoulder at him, one eyebrow arched, eyelids lowered, squinting one eye and smiling. "Yeah, she's pretty scary, ain't she?" He elbowed Afghanna.

"Hey!" Afghanna shoved him. "You're the scary one. Look at those ears!"

"Ch'yeah," Skip snickered. "Surprised y'don't trip over 'em."

"Well, I'm surprised y'can see with eyes like that!" Fang shot back, laughing with them. "What'd they do, feed y'grass when you were a baby?" he chortled.

Skip's eyebrows lowered and he stopped laughing.

Afghanna nudged him. "Well, how about your eyes?" she defended the Lab. She giggled. "You look half-crazy with red eyes like those!"

"Yer one t'talk, dollface," Fang chuckled. "One brown an' one blue? It's like mismatchin' socks!"

"Now hold on a minute--" Afghanna said, but she was laughing too hard.

"What's your names?" Skip suddenly asked. He almost looked shy.

"I'm Afghanna." Afghanna sat down and gnawed at a flea on her shoulder.

"What about you?" Skip gave a pointy look at Fang. He wasn't smiling anymore, but at least he wasn't frowning either.

"I'll give ya a hint." Fang bared his teeth.

Skip cocked his head. "Uh..."

"No? Okay, how's this?" Fang growled as he displayed his teeth, biting at the air.

Skip lowered his eyelids and raised his eyebrows.

"What do I gotta do, bite you to get you to--" Fang stopped. A slow smile spread across his face.

"Wait a minute, now, don't--" Skip lowered his eyebrows and resumed his signature scowl, backing away as Fang crept toward him.

Afghanna, at his side, elbowed him. "His name's Fang." She muttered, grinning. "Run!"

The three puppies chased each other through the Park for the rest of the day.

And Fang thought that perhaps, after all he'd lost, maybe this wasn't so bad after all. He had two new best friends, even if one was a tomboy and the other was a stick in the mud. They went together. After a while, he began to refer to them as his "gang" which they greatly dissaproved of, even though they knew it wouldn't do any good to tell him so. Fang had lost enough already. This may work out, he decided.

Chapter 3

(One Month