“They never looked for you?”

            “I don’t know.  The last thing I remember was being taken in by my first human family.”

            “You want to go find them?”  Scamp said, with a mischievous grin.

            “Scamp, that’s not funny.  Are your sure you’re doing this to find my parents, or do you just want to run around the streets again?”

            “No, I’m serious,” Scamp said, eagerly running back to the window.

            He looked outside, imagined the world beyond the front yard’s white fence. 

            “I mean it,” he said.  Angel noticed the crazed, excited look in Scamp’s eye.  “Think about it, Angel, you’re one of the best street dogs I’ve ever seen.  If your parents are half as good as you are, they’re far from the pound and living large!  Maybe they’re even still looking for you.  Come on, Angel!  It’ll be you and me: Scamp and Angel: Strays Again!”

            “Stopping kidding yourself, house pet, you were never a stray,” she said, playfully whipping him across the muzzle with her fluffy tail.

            She left the window again.

            “Why not?”  Scamp whined.

            “They don’t want me, Scamp.  Don’t you think if they wanted to find me, they would have done it awhile ago?  I lived on the streets for a long time, this is a small town, if they really tried they could have by now.”

            “Well, that’s what we’re going to find out.”

            “I’m not going, Scamp; nice try, though.”

            “One week?”

            “One week?”

            “One week.  If we don’t find out anything, we’ll come right back home.”

            “I don’t know…wouldn’t your parents get mad that you ran off again?”

            “They’re always mad at me!”

            “I really don’t think we should.”

            “That doesn’t sound like the Angel I know!  Come on!  See, this is the reason we’re going, this place has made you loose your BARK!”  Scamp yipped loudly.

            “Scamp, stop that barking!”  Jim Dear called from downstairs.

            Scamp cringed a little and lowered his voice.

            “Lemme hear it, Angel!  Give me a good old grrrrrr!”

            “Grr?”

            “No, no!  Ggrrrrrr-ruff!  Ggggrrrr-ruff!”

            “Woof!”

            “That’s it!  Do it again!”

            “Woof!  Woof!  Woohoo!”

            “I’ll right!  Angel’s back!”

            Scamp ruffles his fur and with a good yank, he pulled off his collar.  Angel gasped as the blue collar fell at her feet.

            “What are you doing?”  Angel said.

            “I’m leaving,” Scamp said, half-running towards the front door.

            “Now?”

            “Now or never,” he walked out the doggie-door.   “Your turn!”

            Angel poked her head from the doggie-door, but didn’t go through.

            “One week?”  She said meekly.

            “One week,” Scamp guaranteed.         

            “Only one!  Got it, Scamp?”  She growled.

            “Yeah, yeah, hurry up, would ya’?  Someone will see you.”

            Angel looked at her friend spectically, then pushed her head back inside.  Scamp waited outside for two seconds, before Angel burst out of the small door, collar off.

            The two pups made a fast dash into the streets of London, as sunset came and suddenly the paved streets turned from grey to gold.

2: The New Junkyard Dogs

            As night fell, the very first place Scamp and Angel checked was a junkyard—a huge, piling ground filled with every knick-knack and item imaginable.  During their time on the streets, this was home base for Scamp and Angel.

            They decided to be careful, walking through the large, metal construction tube that lead inside.  The junkyard used to be home to Buster and his gang, a scruffy pack of dogs that used to oppose the idea of a home.  However, all of the dogs, except Buster, left to find their own humans and last the duo heard, they were living happily as family pets.

            Buster hasn’t been heard from since.

            As Scamp and Angel came to the junkyard, they noticed the dogs at inhabited the place, they weren’t Ruby or Mooch or any of the other dogs from the other pack.  They were new and they were bigger, scruffier and from the looks of it, meaner.

            “Geez, these guys look scruffier than Scratchy,” Scamp said.  His eyes quickly left the dogs and moved on to something that caused his eyes even more.  “Hats!”

            “Focus, tenderfoot.”

            “Oh, yeah, right.”

            Angel boldly jumped down from the pipe.  She felt the familiar dirt of the junkyard.  Even though she had wanted for so long to leave the place, she couldn’t help but smile at the memory of sliding down garbage pile on broken doors, breaking glass bottles just for the heck of it, howling at the moon.

            “Come on,” Angel said. 

            They walked up to the first dog they spotted, a large, dark-brown furry mastiff-mix.  He looked at them with yellow eyes, but as soon as they approached he smiled.

            “You two smell like soap, new around here?”  The dog said, listing his head politely from his paws.

            “No, we’re not,” Angel said.  The confidence in her voice told the dog she was telling the truth.  “We need help, I’m looking for my parents, do you know anything about them?”

            The brown dog looked at the golden pup.

            “I don’t recall knowing any parents, at all, Miss.  Sorry.  Ask Star, he gets around a lot,” the dog pointed his muzzle to the top of one garbage heap, sitting at the top of it was an old car.

            “Thanks,” Angel said, and the two made their way to the