Street Chains

Chapter 3



Three small dogs wove their way in and out of the paved streets of Snob Hill; they quickly hid under a bench or tried to squeeze themselves behind a light post when a person walked by. They tried to keep quiet, but it had stopped raining a while ago and it was pretty hard to attempt avoiding a puddle. The youngest of the three, Dexter, trotted nervously under the yellow spotlight that a nearby light post cast onto the paved streets; he tried his best to keep up with T.P and Bruce, the two of them were about five and a half feet in front of him. They seemed to completely forgotten about their youngest comrade.                           

“H-hey, T.P, Bruce. S-Slow down!” Dexter’s ears were drooped as he tucked his nub of a tail between his legs and ran behind the other two dog and ended up bumping into Bruce’s back legs. The chow gave out grunt as he almost tripped and stepped backward, right onto Dexter’s front paws. It didn’t hurt much, but the weight on his white paws sent Dexter into a full panic attack; the young dog yelped loudly, withdrew his feet from under the heavy stones of Bruce’s, and ran away into the darkness, barking in pain.

T.P whirled around just in time to see his friend running off into the night. "Dexter!" he called and bared his teeth in annoyance. "Dexter, come back!”

------------------------------------------------------
                                                  
 As the young dog ran into the darkness of the small town, all he could see was blackness; he didn’t even know where he was going and neither did he care. Though his friends’ voices cut through the night clearly, Dexter knew that he didn’t have the guts to return to them; they would have to find Cross and rescue Iggy by themselves. I’ll never be a hero. I’m too weak, scared easily, and nobody thinks I’m smart enough to help....

Dexter ran until he felt as if his poor little heart would beat its way out of his heaving chest. His feet were killing him and so was his head, which ached with a throbbing pain. Finally, the mutt slowed down to a trot then to a limp. He sat down in the illuminating glow of a street light with a huff and tried to steady his breathing. “Jeez,” he said with a snort, “I dunno where I am..." He heaved a sigh. "Why do I always get lost!” Dexter hung his head and whimpered a bit as an abnormal frigid breeze whipped around him.         

“I-It’s the middle of summer!” Dexter cried out angrily. “There ain’t suppose to be cold wind blowin!” Another cool wind blew at him and he shivered again. “I...I need to find someplace warm,” he shuttered. Standing up Dexter’s legs began to quickly trot north, hoping that he’d come to a cardboard box or something. Anything would be good to keep the wind off him.

------------------------------------------------------

After about half an hour of walking underneath pale street lights, Dexter looked up to see a yellow glow coming from a tall, shingled house surrounded by a white picket fence that also enclosed the back yard. Though he was never too fond of Snob Hill, the place looked friendly enough. As Dexter trotted up to the gate, he got a déjà vu feeling from the house. Have I been here before?, he asked himself, a look of pure confusion spread across the dark features of his face. He attempted to step through the gate head first, but he was too big to fit between the bars. Struggling to pull his muzzle from the small space, Dexter yanked hard and flew backward. After landing in a heap on the sidewalk, the black puppy shook himself off and walked around the parameter of the fence; he padded to the western side of the barrier and saw a small hole that was crudely dug under the fence. His inner conscious told him to avoid the house at all costs, but the desperate need for shelter overrode Dexter’s senses.

“Here goes nothing...” The small dog slid, feet first, under the fence and into the grassy yard on the other side. The puppy exhaled noisily and took a quick survey of the yard: The large house had a back door with a doggie door , that was to his left; there was a tree near the back of the yard and in front of it sat a doghouse. Oh, and there was a rose garden by the-Wait. A dog house! Someplace warm for Dexter to sleep in. Dexter’s brown ears perked up to their full length and his stubby tail whirled around at top speed as he trotted to the dog house, poking his head in. Empty.

There was a very faint scent on the house's floor, but Dexter ignored it, thinking some squirrel or stray cat had made it's temporary home there; Dexter stepped into the walked around in a circle before lying down.

“I’ll just stay here until morning. Yeah, before anybody comes out that door,” the young dog mumbled through a yawn. His blue eyes locked on the back door of the mansion and Dexter was determined to keep them locked onto it.

“Then I’ll catch up with T.P and the others...So we can...we can go 'n save Iggy....” Dexter's eyes closed unwillingly, but he figured it was for the best. He was just going to spend a few minutes here at this dreaded Snob Hill house anyway.

------------------------------------------------------

“This is just great!”

T.P and Bruce were practically walking around in circles trying to figure out where their young friend had run off to, and, obviously, they weren’t succeeding.

“He just took off! I bet he wasn’t even thinking ‘bout where he was goin’!” T.P’s lips were turned up in a snarl as he lowered his head to the paved street, sniffing for Dexter’s sent. "Jeez, I'm gonna kill him when he comes back!" The young dog snorted when his nose made contact with a puddle of rain water and he sucked it up his nose while sniffing the ground.

T.P jerked his head up and snorted; shaking his head, the tawny male looked over to Bruce who had his nose to the ground as well. The chow chow felt his friend's eyes on him and glanced up.

"Er," he muttered and lifted his head. "Sorry, mate, but I can't find his scent." The older dog turned his eyes to the dark streets. "Chows aren't made fer tracking..."

"Never mind about him. Let's just get to Cross' house already. We've wasted enough time looking for the kid." T.P, with his head lowered again and his shoulders humped slightly, padded past his older comrade and down the street. "Are you coming or not?" he called out to Bruce, who only nodded as an unseen reply. "Yeah. Here I come."

------------------------------------------------------

About half an hour later, T.P and Bruce were finally in the area of the fancy, high-classed section of their New England home known as Snob Hill. All of the houses, with the exception of one or two on each block, were surrounded by either picket fences left in their natural wooden state or painted white, or by black wrought iron fences that stretched up to greet the skies above like the tips of spears. This is where Cross lived, but Bruce and T.P couldn't figure out why she adored the place so much.

------------------------------------------------------

Cross was, unlike most of T.P's gang members, a House Pet. A Prissy Pooch as most stray dogs called them, Cross wore a collar and loved her family of two. She usually stayed inside most of the time now that the hot summer was rolling in, but this night, the slender puppy was granted the chance to sleep outside where she could feel the occasional cool sea breeze of the Atlantic wash over her short fur. When she stayed out, Cross mostly heard the crickets preform their symphony that was burned deep down into their genes for generations; the puppy even heard the quiet chirps of nightingales and small owls housing in the trees around her place and sometimes heard a some barks from dogs a few houses down. But most of the night's sounds were quiet and part of the soothing melody of nature's natural rhythm.

When Cross was awakened by a hissing sound, however, this disturb her; never had she awoken by such a noise! The puppy leapt to her feet, bi-colored eyes wide with surprise and curiosity. "W...whose there?" she asked into the night, voice quiet and small.

"Psst! Cross? It's me, T.P." Out from the shadows cast by the glow of candles sitting near the window by her doghouse, Cross saw a small puppy step up to her iron gate fence. It was T.P alright. The self-proclaimed leader of her friends' band of puppies had a dead serious look across his face, so Cross knew he hadn't come here to play and joke around; T.P had business with her to take care of.

"What is it?" Cross asked as she sat down. She was more relaxed now that she found out that it was her friend making the noise. "And what are you doing here this late at night?" she added then her voice fell to a more of a tone of declaration. "Something went wrong..."

"Sure did," T.P barked, causing Cross to shush him. "You'll wake my girl up!"

The tan puppy scrunched his nose up at that; he really didn't care, there was a more serious matter at hand besides waking Lilly up. But then his face softened once he gave it a