steals food—he picks fights with other dogs—he’s a regular bad dog!” Scarlet wailed. “No one likes him. You’re lucky you didn’t run into him.”

“Yeah, heh, lucky.” Lily agreed nervously.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Hey Cody,” Lily called down sweetly.

It was a beautiful day in the DogPark, the day after Lily had first discovered the ‘bad dog’ of the Park.

She was on top of the rockpile again; making sure no one was watching, especially not Aussie and her group. She was looking down with her large blue eyes at Cody, the weird Golden Retriever teen-pup who was in his usual spot behind the rockpile, where no one would find him, back against the rock wall.

Cody (or Fang) jerked his head up to glare out of the bottom of his eyes at Lily, his signature look.

“How’s it goin’?” Lily sprang down the rocks, knowing no one was watching her. She wouldn’t want to risk Scarlet’s reputation.  “Uh, I mean, how’s pickings?”

Cody looked at her as she landed beside him. His red eyes told her he thought she was crazy.

“Whatcha doin’?” Lily tried again.

Cody stared at her.

Lily blinked at him, scoffing teasingly, “Don’t you answer back when a pup greets you?”

Cody blinked back, very slowly, eyebrows low over his eyes. He still didn’t answer.

Lily tried not to groan, scoffing again, letting out a huff of breath, exasperated. “Look, you’ve gotta gimme some answers here. Talk to me.” She lifted her chin and half-smiled, making her purple-blue ribbon’s end flip over her shoulder.

Cody didn’t.

“Okay,” Lily said, determined. “I’ll just sit here, then, until you feel like talking.”

So she did. She sat down, and tried to focus on him. Then she thought that was a bit much, so she watched an inchworm inching painfully slowly across the grass. When it disappeared, Lily watched a squirrel. Cody didn’t follow her gaze—rudely; he turned his back on her and refused to speak a single word. Lily grew tired of watching the squirrel, and spotted a butterfly circling her head just inches away from her ears.

That feeling dogs get when the sudden urge to drop into a play-crouch overcame her—the feeling that can only be described with one word: fun.

Lily crouched, tail in the air, and with a grunt that sounded a bit like this: “Rrrugh!” she bolted into the air, snapping at the butterfly with her dull jaws.

Cody didn’t turn around, but with his back to her so she couldn’t see, his ears raised a bit, blinking twice. He didn’t know what she was doing; he couldn’t exactly see her. What was it? Curiosity overwhelming him, he snuck a peek over his shoulder, and quickly turned his head when she caught him looking.

A minute later, Lily dropped the dead butterfly at his paws. “Pretty cool, huh?” she began. “I learned it when I was—”

“Look, what do you want?” Cody asked suddenly, an exasperated turn-up of the mouth, bottom of his eyes scrunched up, eyebrows pointed skyward. He tilted his head back, and then jerked it around as if he’d just about had it with her.

Lily blinked at him. “I just thought you might want some company.”

“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath,” Cody muttered lowly. He again turned his back on her.

Lily moved around to face him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothin’s wrong with me,” Cody answered roughly. “It’s the rest of the world who’s got a problem.”

“I beg to differ,” Lily replied dryly. “I don’t.”

He turned around finally, a smirk on his muzzle. “Oh, yeah?” He stood up and padded up to her, head sunk low over his shoulders. “You don’t wanna fit in?” he sounded disbelieving.

“Nope.” Lily lifted her chin.

Cody snorted. “Ch’yeah right.” He flicked his tail under the end of her purple-blue ribbon around her neck, the part that was hanging down, flipping it to the left in the air. He moved a couple steps to the right, away from her.

Lily lowered her eyebrows and frowned at him, eyes darting down to her ‘fashionable’ ribbon and the purple-star barrette behind her left ear. “I just want to help.”

“Ferget it.” Cody growled.

 “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll lose this stuff,” Rose looked again at her fashion items.

“What would make me feel better,” Cody snarled, “is if you’d just get outta here.”

Lily blinked. “O-Okay, fine. Sure. See you later.”

Cody rolled his eyes. “Don’t count on it.”

Lily went back up the rockpile from the side and hopped from boulder to boulder down to the grass—where she slid nose-first into Scarlet’s glaring face.

Lily froze, guilt washing over her. She’d been caught.

Scarlet drew back, eyes blazing. “What were you thinking?” she hissed.

“I-I-I was just—”

“You were just losing your mind,” Scarlet informed her. “He’s a freak! He’s dangerous! What did you think was gonna happen?”

She advanced on Lily. Lily took a step back.

Cody listened from behind the rockwall. Freak?

A freak?

End of Fang’s Dream

____________________________________________________

“Then I woke up,” Fang concluded. “It was weird, a’ight, lemme tell ya that.”

Afghanna stared at him. “That was it? You never finished the story!”

“Hey, what c’n I say, I woke up,” Fang shrugged. “I gotta say, though, Affy,” he took a deep breath and wiggled his eyes. “It’s good t’be me!”

Afghanna laughed. “Good to have you.”

The End

Story 3:

Romancing Ariella

Short Story by Doverstar

Skip glared hard at Bachelor. “If you don’t come down—right now—I’m sendin’ you back to your House Pet owners.”

Bachelor, the scruffy Scamp-like brown-and-gold pup from the Snob Hill side of town, hopped down from the trash can, arching a brow at Skipper.

“Okay, I’m down, I’m down.” Bachelor shook himself. “What next?”

“We’re finding Fang.” Skip turned and began padding out of the alley. Bachelor followed.

“Fang?” Bachelor looked excited. “Will Rose be there?”

“Who cares?” Skip rolled his eyes. “I gotta ask a favor of Fang, so no fooling around while we go, okay?”

Bachelor lowered his eyelids dryly at the Yellow Lab pup. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”

Skip muttered under his breath as he led the House Dog through the Streets.

When they passed a pastry shop, a screech came from inside. A golden ball of fur sprang from the doorway, out onto the sidewalk, eyebrows wiggling up and down, eyelids lowered, and muscles bunched, ready to spring again. In his mouth was a chocolate-bread ball of sorts, with vanilla icing dripping warmly from the steaming pastry.

Skip skidded to a halt and Bachelor bumped into him.

“Disgusting beast!” shrieked the French owner, a frankly chubby woman with a mop of brown hair that looked like a wig. She appeared in the doorway; eyes scrunched shut, mouth open in a flurry of screaming insults. Her fists were doubled at her sides, and she was actually stamping her foot.

“If anyone asks,” Fang ran up to Skip and Bachelor and winked at them, “Tell ‘em this chocolate éclair thing ain’t got the right price fer th’taste.”

“Gendarmes!” screeched the owner of the pastry shop, her head tilted back.

(Gendarmes is the word for “police” or “the law enforcers” in French). She was apparently calling the dogcatchers.

And here came the main dogcatcher on duty, his thick, black mustache twitching as he rode up in the signature green cage-in-the-back pound truck.

“Hey, ‘ere comes the army, boys,” Fang said around the pastry in his mouth, “book it!”

Skip and Bachelor, in a panic, scrambled around for a full minute before turning around and taking off after Fang.

Skip was a bit slow. The dogcatcher loomed over him. He growled, but it did no good. Down came the net. Skip flinched out of the way just in time, paws scrabbling for any sort of friction on the sidewalk as he tried to get away.

Swish!

Thunk!

Down came the net. Skip was under it. He was caught!
 

Skip immediately tried a trick he’d learned back when he was younger. He turned in circles, faster and faster, until he was so “tangled” the dogcatcher pulled as hard as he could—and found, as he was falling backwards, that Skip hadn’t been tangled in the net at all. Skip was free instantly.

He scrambled to get up, and then began running, stumbling really, down the sidewalk and away from the crowd that was forming.

“There is another one, Ariella, ma fille!” the woman who