guys,” he padded up to them, looking back over his shoulder. “What’s up with Skip?”

“Who knows?” Afghanna answered.

“Who cares?” Fang added.

Bachelor cocked his head at Rose. “What happened?”

“I guess he’s still mad at Fang for getting him in trouble with the pastry owner yesterday,” Rose shrugged at him. “Maybe we should go after him.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Fang came down from his box pile and landed in between Bach’ and Rose. “Lemme explain somethin’ here.” He sat down and leaned towards Bachelor. “When the Skipper checks out, he’ll be back.”

“And why is that?” Afghanna trotted coyly up to Fang’s side and arched a brow at him, wearing an amused little smile on her muzzle, tail wagging.

Fang flapped at his ear with a hind leg carelessly. “He’s got noplace else t’go.”

Afghanna laughed. Rose giggled. Bachelor looked at each of them, not getting it, but he chuckled along as if he did.

Fang suddenly stopped laughing. “Y’know what I heard?”

The rest of them stopped with him.

“What?” Afghanna asked, frowning.

“He got cornered by the pastry pup,” Fang informed them. “A real looker, but she’s got the brains of a cat. She don’t even speak English.”

“She doesn’t?” Rose tilted her head sideways.

“Nope. She tried to catch me when I snagged the chocolate-bread thing yesterday,” Fang panted, tongue hanging out of his mouth in a doggie grin, “an’ she was talkin’ gibberish. Lucky I got out alive—she’s got teeth on ‘er like a full-grown mutt.” He ran his tongue along his own lengthy, seriously-sharp set of fangs. “Trust me, I’d know.” He winked.

“I’ve seen her around,” Bachelor interrupted politely from his position sitting beside Rose. He glanced at her adoringly, and then went back to his tale. “Her name’s Ariella, but her friends call her Ariel. She speaks the same language her owner speaks—what’d Scamp call it?” He squinted one eye, thinking for a moment.

Fang bristled at the name of Scamp. Afghanna elbowed him in the side. He laid his fur flat.

“Oh—French.” Bachelor nodded matter-of-factly. Then he opened his eyes. “I think.”

“Whatever,” Afghanna stood up and walked in a circle around the group. “All I know is she must’ve put quite a scare in Skip, or he wouldn’t be acting like this.”

“Back the truck up,” Fang interrupted. “He always acts like this, Affy, in case ya haven’t noticed. He’s Skip.”

“No, it’s different this time,” Rose agreed with Afghanna.

“One—don’t call me Affy.” Afghanna narrowed her mismatched eyes at Fang.

Bachelor snickered.

“Two—I know a troubled pup when I see one, Fang,” Afghanna continued seriously. “And Skip’s got serious problems.”

“Finally you realize that!” came a gruff, young voice above them.

Fang squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, hanging his head in annoyance. “Ah, great.”

Afghanna rolled her eyes. Rose stiffened. Bachelor looked confused at them.

Down from the rooftop to their left, leaping from crate to trash can and onto the top of the cardboard mound was a scruffy-looking German Shepherd male pup, large, pointed ears twitching comically as he went.

Fang tilted his head back, closing his eyes and heaving a long, dramatic sigh. “Whaddaya want, big-ears?”

“I hear your Skipper’s got trouble,” the German Shepherd lifted a paw and turned it toward his face, studying his claws and wiggling the toes of his paw.

“Stay out of this, Huck,” Rose growled. She rarely got even close to angry, but something about Huck—Fang’s major rival on the streets—made her fur stand on end.

“Chill, Rose,” Afghanna murmured to her. She stood and said calmly to Huck, “What makes you say that?”

“I have my sources.”

“Wait a minute.” Fang got up and strolled toward Huck. “Yer mistaken, pal. Y’got words mixed up. Y’said ‘sources’,” he curled his lip at Huck, eyelids no longer lowered, but his eyes narrowed angrily, “but what y’meant was ‘eavesdropping’.”

Huck scowled at him. “Does the word ‘immature’ mean anything to you guys?” he glanced down at the gang, including Bachelor and minus Skip, jerking his head toward Fang comically.

“Shut up,” Rose snarled.

Huck reared his head back, looking surprised to see her show her fangs at all, but he was nonetheless unimpressed.

“Does the word ‘moron’ mean anythin’ t’you?” Fang sneered.

He hopped up onto the box mound onto the cardboard one just below Huck’s at the top.

Huck sneered. “Yeah, it means those pretty gold ears of yours are gonna be chew toys in about—“

“Huck!” snapped Afghanna, glaring. Huck glanced her way briefly and swapped the end of his previously interrupted sentence for a snort in Fang’s direction.”  

Fang growled and snapped at Huck, barely missing on purpose. It was a sign that clearly meant for Huck to get off. “Scram, big-ears, it’s my mound an’ you ain’t welcome. Beat it!” He snapped at him again, jaws still inches from Huck’s long, dark-brown nose.

Huck gave Fang a bemused smirk, and then calmly sprang to the ground. “Fine then, don’t take my advice.”

“We don’t want your advice,” Bachelor shot back. He could already tell why the gang disliked him so much—except, perhaps, Afghanna, who seemed to already know Huck better than the rest of them.

Huck turned to leave, passing through their little huddle and standing at the entrance to the alley. He stopped and lowered his eyelids, not looking back, when Fang called:

“Uh, but, jus’ fer, y’know, curiosity’s sake—what advice?”

Huck turned slowly around. “Oh, you wouldn’t want the moron’s advice, trust me.”

“That’s the point.” Fang jumped down from his cardboard mound and came around the corner, showing himself, in the alley’s ‘hallway’. “I don’t trust ya. Spill it.”

Huck grunted.

“Come on, and hurry, if you please,” Afghanna muttered dryly. “We’re kind of on a tight schedule.”

Huck shrugged. “Skip’s got it bad for that pastry girl.”

Fang and his gang all popped their heads out, eyes widening. All together, as if on cue, they practically screeched, “What?”

Huck strolled in a circle, eyelids still lowered, around the group, trotting, tail swishing back—then forth. Back—then forth, as he walked. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen her, and Wet-Behind-The-Ear over there’s right—for once.” Huck blinked his large blue eyes contemptuously at Fang. “She’s pretty cute, for a French Pointer-mix.”

Fang scratched an ear again—dang flea. “French Pointer?” he repeated, scowling. “I ain’t seen a Pointer look that good since—eh, ever.”

“Yup, and you won’t—ever.” Huck nodded matter-of-factly. “She’s one of a kind—guards those pastries like Reggie with his alley. No dog can get past Ariella.”

“Ariella, yeah,” Bachelor remembered her name instantly.

“No dog?” A slow smile crept onto Fang’s muzzle, eyelids lowered.

“None.” Huck blinked firmly into Fang’s red eyes; nose inches from the Golden Retriever’s caramel-colored snout.

“I know a dog who did it just yesterday morning,” Bachelor chimed in, arching a brow and smiling in Fang’s direction.

Rose followed his lead, panting in a large smile to match Bachelor’s.

Soon they were all grinning like lunatics at Fang.

Huck stared at them. “What, you got past the pastry pup?” He glared at Fang. “I don’t buy it.”

“Well, I’m sellin’ it, like it or not,” Fang shot back tactfully. “Course, I ain’t goin’ back to ask ‘er about Skip.”

“And why not?” Afghanna asked, indignant.

“B’cause, Affy, our dear source here,” Fang flicked his tail in Huck’s face, “informed us th’t th’pastry pup ain’t lettin’ anybody near her owner’s shindig, get it?”

Rose answered instead of Affy. “Got it.”

“Good.” Fang lowered his eyelids until they were almost closed, put his nose in the air, and strutted back to the top of his cardboard box mound.

“And just what are you gonna do about Skipper, Sherlock?” Huck snorted at the bottom of the box mound, arching a brow and narrowing