LIST OF SHORT STORIES

1. A Tale of Two Retrievers--by Doverstar

2. Fang's Teenmare--by Doverstar

3. Romancing Ariella--by Doverstar

MORE SOON! THIS IS ONLY A PREVIEW! SCROLL DOWN FOR THE STORIES!

Story 1:

A Tale Of Two Retrievers

Short Story by Doverstar

“I don’t know about you,” Afghanna growled, “But I’d be happier if you didn’t push us face-first into the lake next time, okay pal?”

Fang trotted alongside her. They were on their way out of the Park, their favorite place on the Streets, to get some breakfast at Tony’s Italian Restaurant. “Hey, y’were askin’ fer it.”

“All we said was that we wanted to eat somewhere besides Tony’s for a change,” Skip growled. He shook his short, light-yellow ears, which were dripping wet like the rest of him.

“An’ I gave you my opinion, shorty,” Fang curled his lip at Skip. “Deal with it.”

“Who said you were in charge anyway?” Afghanna arched a brow at him as they walked, fur soaked.

“Uhh, me.” Fang snapped to her. “The one who brought us all t’gether in th’first place, Affy.”

Afghanna stuck her nose in his face, halting everyone’s light-stepped walk. “Do not call me Affy. How many times do I have to say it?”

“And don’t call me shorty.” Skip flapped his tail up and down, back and forth, drying it and splattering water everywhere.

Rose twisted her muzzle and pulled the fake rose from behind one orange, frame-her-head ear, dropping it on the sidewalk and nudging it with her nose. It was floppy; dripping wet from Fang’s little push into the lake.

“I-I don’t think anyone chose you to be leader, Fang,” she said nervously. She hardly ever got mad at her hero, but the Golden Retriever had been acting so unbearably obnoxious lately, it was hard not to disagree with him more than once.

“Yeah?” Fang snorted, not looking back at her. “Shows how much you know.”

“Hey, lay off, Fang.” Afghanna stood in front of him and glared. “Y’know, you’ve been acting like a jerk a lot nowadays.”

“More than usual…” Skip muttered.

Fang jerked his head to growl in Skipper’s direction. “Shut up, smallfry, who asked you?”

“If the collar fits…” Skip began hotly, going nose-to-nose with the Golden Retriever.

“A’ight, look, if y’feel that way, y’buncha boneheads,” Fang snarled, “Why don’tcha jus’ go on without me?”

Fang lowered his eyelids and smirked at each of them in turn, ignoring the anger and hurt in their eyes. Obnoxious? Him? No way. They’d see soon enough. He was their leader, after all, and he wasn’t about to be ganged up on by his…well…his gang. He knew they wouldn’t actually go to Tony’s without him. They’d fall apart halfway there!

“I think that’s a good idea,” Afghanna muttered furiously.

Fang jerked his head back, corners of his mouth open, eyes wide, ears swinging backward with his head. “Huh?”

“You heard her.” Skip snarled over his shoulder as he and Afghanna turned to walk away.

Rose stood, staring at Fang and back to the other two. “Um…yeah…” she murmured softly. Finally she turned and scampered after Skip and Affy—but not before repositioning her fake rose behind her ear.

I don’ b’lieve it. They’re sick o’ me! Fang thought to himself, watching them go until they were out of sight. His pride wouldn’t allow him to ask them to reconsider. He eventually turned and walked the opposite way.

They’ll come crawlin’ back soon enough. They ain’t getting’ rid o’ me. We’ve ‘ad lotsa fights. This one ain’t changin’ anythin’. So what if I’ve been a little… He gritted his teeth as he walked, trying to think of the right word. A little hyper lately. None o’ them ever had an excuse for actin’ out!

Fang found himself strolling along a little street—much like Snob Hill, but the houses were smaller, and the trash cans didn’t have lids.

“Get the ball, Sammy! Come on, buddy, get the ball! That’s right! Good boy!”

Fang’s ears pricked up. A young child’s voice. The sound of paws hitting the grass. Laughter. He trotted to a very-short cement wall, standing on his hind legs and placing his front paws on the top of the wall, peeking over the side into a mowed yard.

He jerked his head back in surprise.

There was a Golden Retriever pup, about Fang’s age—who looked remarkably similar but with duller-gold fur, shorter ears that seemed to frame his face, and his hair-fur on the top of his head was smoothed and stroked to neat perfection. Fang curled his lip. The dog’s eyes were orange-red, and the collar around his neck was tangerine-colored.

Fang snorted. The dog was running back and forth, chasing a small red ball around the grass. A little girl, about nine or so, was sitting on the front porch of the yard, giggling. Around her mouth were brown stains, and Fang sniffed the air in her direction, detecting a hint of chocolate. Ice Cream. Fang licked his muzzle.

“Good dog, buddy, good boy!” the girl was giggling. “Come ‘ere, Sammy!”

The Golden Retriever House Pet—“Sammy”—trotted obediently to the young child and laid his puppy head on her lap, rolling his orange-red eyes upward to gaze at her adoringly. The girl stroked him gently, as if afraid to mess up his fur.

“Sweetheart!” came a voice from the open screen-window in the house. “Lunchtime!”

“Coming, Ma!” the girl called back. She patted the Golden Retriever pup on the head. “Gotta go, boy.”

Then she retreated into the house, shutting the door and leaving the pup alone.

An idea had begun to form in Fang’s mind. He immediately leapt over the wall and trotted care-freely toward the Golden Retriever double.

“So!” Fang sat down and scratched an ear with his hind leg.

The House Pet Retriever whirled around and stared, horrified, at Fang. He started trembling. “Wh-wh-what do you want?”

“Who, me?” Fang lowered his eyelids and flashed a superior smile. “Just a favor—I do you one, y’do me one.”

“Who are you?” The dog looked confused, no longer startled or afraid.

“Name’s Fang.” Fang stood up again. “How’s picking’s, Sammy?”

“It’s Samwise.” The Retriever sat down. “Only Jamie calls me Sammy.”

“Jamie?” Fang scoffed.

“The girl. You saw her, right? I thought I caught your scent.”

“Scent?” Fang repeated. He snorted a half-laugh. “House Pets’re dull in the sense department, pal, or haven’t y’heard?”

“Do you have something you need, or can you just go?” Samwise glared at Fang.

The two Golden Retriever pups faced each other.

Fang shrugged. “A’ight, Sam, I’ll spell it out fer ya.” He wagged his tail a bit. “You notice somethin’ about us two pups?”

Samwise cocked his head. “We’re both Golden Retrievers.” He panted, grinning. “Am I right?”

“That’s the beginning, Sam, yer gettin’ there.” Fang rolled his eyes. “Look.” He led his fellow Retriever to a puddle nearby. “Check it out, pal.”

They both looked into the puddle.

Sam blinked. “We look alike, if that’s what you mean…”

“Bingo! Give the dog a bone!” Fang raised his front paws upward in the air, half-jumping in mock excitement. “Look, House Pet, my Street Dog gang think they’re better off without me. So I gotta show ‘em they’re wrong. Y’with me so far?”

“I-I guess.” Samwise was still panting a doggie grin. “Wait, wait, I got it. You wanna switch places for a day.”

Fang blinked very slowly. “Y’sure yer a House Dog? You may actually have a brain, champ. All I’m askin’ is that y’pretend t’be me. If they call y’Fang, go with it!”

“I see what you’re saying—what’s your name? Fang—but I can’t switch out.” Samwise was shaking his head rapidly, making his ears swing.

“Listen, it’s just fer a day.” Fang persuaded. “I’ll slip on that—ugh, collar, an’ I’ll give ya a wardrobe change, an’ bada-bing-bada-boom, we got a plan.”

“What do I get out of this?” Samwise asked, looking suspicious.

Fang’s eyes popped open and a surprise beginning-of-a-smile grew on his muzzle. “Boy, you’re good. Y’could practically be related t’me, pal!” He shrugged. “Y’get to spend a whole day with my gang, and learn th’ropes o’ the streets. Hey, it might come in handy.”

“Well…okay. But there’s one problem.” Samwise glanced toward the house and back to Fang. “How will I know your ‘gang’?”

“Easy. Soon as you go down this street, turn right an’ cross the tracks. Follow yer nose to a li’l Street Dog haven called Tony’s Italian Restaurant, an’ they’ll be there. Yellow Lab called Skip—always a stick-in-th’mud. Affy, the sens’ble one, all white with spots, an’ Rose. She’s gotta rose, you’ll know where t’look.” Fang blinked. “Don’t forget, pretend yer me.”

“And to them, you would be…?” Samwise tilted his head.

“Their leader. The coolest pup out there—king o’ the Streets, guy with a plan. Remember that, an’ you’ve got it made.” Fang nodded.

“What about what you have to remember today, huh?” Samwise trotted in a circle around Fang.

“Me?” Fang arched a brow.

“Yep. You’ve gotta play with Jamie. As much as possible. No goofing off, no getting dirty, eat everything in your bowl, and don’t stay out after sunset.” Samwise grinned. “Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Fang grinned tactfully back. “Now fer your makeup time. Lose the collar, Sammy, I ain’t the license type.”

Samwise managed to get the collar off and Fang, with much complaining, slid it onto his own neck.

“Okay, now—” Fang picked up a stick and stood sideways in front of Samwise, making one end of the stick poise over the top of the other pup’s head. Fang lowered it, and shook it back and forth as fast as his mouth holding onto it would allow.

“Ih-hey!” Samwise gritted his teeth.

“There y’go.” Fang dropped the stick. “Perfect hair.”

Samwise’s head-fur was messy and ratty-looking. Just like Fang’s.

“If this’s your idea of perfect…” Sam began, crossing his eyes as he looked up and tried to see his hair-fur.

“Yer eyes’ll work like they are,” Fang observed, “They’re mostly red.”

“What about you?” Sam lifted a paw and smoothed Fang’s hair down as best he could.

“Hey-hey-hey, knock it off, Sammy, that’s my—” Fang started to say angrily, squeezing his eyes shut.

Sam grinned. “Now that’s a perfect hairdo.”

Fang groaned. “If this’s what it takes…” He paused. “Okay, now let’s work on yer look. The whole innocent act ain’t workin’ on my face. Do what I say, Sammy.”

Sam blinked.

“Okay, now lower the eyelids.” Fang ordered.
 

Sam did, eyelids drooping halfway.

“A’ight, good. Eh, shake yer fur out, pal.”

Samwise shook his fur until it was good and matted.  “Now are we done?” Sam asked.

“One more thing.” Fang took a step back. “Lift yer left eyebrow.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.

“No, no—jus’ one.”

Samwise raised one eyebrow, the one on the right, and sunk the left one low over his eye.

“Other left, Sammy.”

Sam obeyed.

“Now act like yer bored—put yer eyelids down, but only a little.”

Sam lowered his eyelids.

“Okay, okay, good. Now, ah, show me some fangs, pal.” Fang raised his chin.

Sam bared his teeth, letting out a submissive growl.

“Nah, nah, like this—think ‘cool’.” Fang showed only the corners of his mouth open, teeth gritted and showing clenched.

Sam copied him.

“An’ now, tilt the head up.”

Sam lifted his head.

Fang stood back and closed one eye, observing Samwise. The other dog looked almost exactly like Fang, with a few details different.

Fang grinned. “Okay, yeah, y’can go, but remember my directions, Sammy. Made it as clear as I could fer ya. Oh, an’ make it back here by sunset. I ain’t sure I can hold out with the life of a House Pet very long.” Fang winced as Sam hopped over the wall and down the street, Samwise’s collar dangling from his neck. “B’lieve me, I’ve tried.”

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

“I’m stuffed,” Skip groaned.

“I’m guessing there won’t be dessert,” Afghanna grinned at him.

Skip stretched out further, yawning on top of a crate, on his back. “Boy, it feels good to finally get Fang off our backs, huh?”

“Say what?” Rose raised her head from where she lay inside a sideways-overturned empty crate.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Afghanna commented.

Skip rolled over onto his stomach. “Y’know what I mean.” He rested his chin on his paws.

“I don’t think so.” Rose stood up. “We need him!”

“As if,” Skip snorted. “We can take it from here.”

“And who’d be leader?” Afghanna challenged. “You?”

Rose snorted.

“As a matter o’ fact—” Skip began angrily.

A crash sounded from the entrance to their back-alley of Tony’s.

Afghanna, Skip, and Rose all swung their heads to the right.

A Golden Retriever’s head poked out from around the corner.

Afghanna cocked her head, one eyebrow arched, the other sunk low, both eyes scrunched from the bottom, the picture of confusion. “Uh…Fang?”

The pup emerged.

Skip’s head jerked back. Funny. It looked like Fang. But something was different.

Rose noticed it too. But she was too excited by his presence to think about it. “Fang!” she squealed, bolting toward him.

Samwise took them all in at a glance, recognizing them by their reactions and looks. They were exactly as Fang had described him. But the orange one with the fake flower behind her ear…Rose, wasn’t it? She was breathtaking! Fang mentioned her, but he didn’t say anything about being drop-dead gorgeous! Samwise felt light-headed as she hurtled toward him.

“Um, hi,” he said carefully.

Rose skidded to a halt in front of him. “Fang, you’re back!”

“Sure I’m back,” Sam lied. “Depends on where I’ve been, actually.”

 Rose giggled and bounced on her paws.

Samwise smiled. She was beautiful!

“Hey, uh, you okay?” Afghanna padded forward, sniffing him.

Samwise was staring at Rose with a drippy look on his face.

“Fang?” Skip trotted forward, trying to rouse the Golden Retriever. “Fang? …Fang!”

Sam blinked twice. “Wha—who, me?”

“That depends.” Afghanna’s voice was suspicious. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah. Sure. Couldn’t be better. Uh, why?” Sam scratched an ear.

“You seem…a little bit…different.” Skip sniffed ‘Fang’.

Sam drew back. “Uh…uh, what d’you mean?”

That’s weird. Afghanna thought. She cocked her head, staring at him. He doesn’t even sound like Fang.

Rose trotted in a circle around Sam. “Fang, I’m so glad you came back! What’re we gonna do now?”

“Do?” Samwise blinked.

“Don’t you have a plan for the rest of the day?” Skip asked, arching a brow.

“Well…” Sam gritted his teeth and looked to the left and right. “We could go to…uh…to…”

“How ‘bout the Park?” Rose asked, bouncing on her paws.

Sam turned to her and flashed a handsome grin. “Yeah, sure.” He paused. “How about you lead the way?”

“Me?” Rose jerked her head back, astonished. “Are you sure?”

“Just for a change of pace,” Sam or ‘Fang’ assured her.

“Wow!” Rose grinned and turned, prancing down the alley toward the entrance. She looked over her shoulder at Affy and Skip. “You guys comin’?”

Afghanna looked at Skip. Skip looked at Afghanna. They blinked and turned their heads toward Rose, saying at the same time, “Nah.”

Sam arched a brow. He was ecstatic about the chance to be alone with Rose, but he’d made a promise to Fang to spend the day with them—for whatever reason. “Why not?” he asked.

“Don’t feel like it.” Skip again glanced at Afghanna. “But, uh, we’ll catch up.”

Sam wrinkled his eyebrows into a puppy-dog-pout without lowering his bottom lip. “Ah, man. You sure? I’d love to have you come.”

Afghanna was sure her mouth dropped open ten inches. Skip sucked in and his eyes popped.

“I’m sorry, what?” Afghanna slowly circled the Golden Retriever. “You’d love to have us?” she lowered her eyebrows. “Are you sure you’re Fang?”

Rose glared at Affy. “Of course he is!”

‘Fang’ or Samwise cleared his throat nervously. “Wh-who else would I be?”

“I dunno.” Afghanna continued to circle him, looking him up and down. “You don’t act like Fang.”

“Duh! He’s Fang, of course!” Rose repeated indignantly. “And if you guys won’t come with us, we’ll go off alone.” She smiled dazzlingly at Sam.

Samwise blinked slowly at her. “Uh, yeah, okay. I-If you guys are sure you don’t—”

“Oh, we’re sure.” Skip growled.

“O-o-okay,” Sam stuttered. “See you later, then.”

And he followed Rose out of the alley.

When they were gone, Afghanna turned to Skip and curled her lip. “What,” she said, disgusted, “was that?”

“That can’t be him,” Skip scoffed. “It can’t!”

“It isn’t.” Afghanna muttered. “But who else could it be?”

“He was being…” Skip choked on the word. “Being…polite.”

They stared at each other for a heartbeat, and then turned their heads away from each other with a jerk, sticking their tongues out, eyes scrunched. “Eeghh!”

Afghanna shook her head, making her short-framed ears flap. “We’ve gotta figure out what’s going on.”

“Ditto.”

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

“Come on!” Sam laughed. “You can do it!”

“Wait for me, Fang!” Rose giggled. She leapt up another rock.

They were in the park, climbing a mound of rocks.

Sam grabbed Rose by the scruff gently, and hauled her up to his rock.

“Thanks, Fang,” Rose shook herself and gazed at him adoringly.

I’m not Fang, Sam thought. But if I want her to keep treating me like this, I’ve gotta let her call me that. It was a sad thought that she was in love with the dog she thought he was— not with him, not really.

“We made it,” Sam announced.

“Yep.” Rose flopped down. “I’m beat!”

“Same here.” Samwise flopped down beside her.

“You know something?” Rose spoke up suddenly.

“What?” Sam asked, panting.

“They’re right. You’re different.”

Sam felt a pang.

“But in a good way, don’t worry,” Rose nuzzled him.

Sam practically melted.

“You’ve never treated me like this before, right?” Rose questioned. “It’s great. Maybe Affy and Skip finally got through to you.”

“Through to me?” Sam asked, surprised. Wait, she thinks I’m Fang. So what did Fang do so badly that Afghanna and Skip had to ‘get through to him’ for?

“Yeah. No offense, Fang, but you were kinda being…um…” Rose looked away.

“What?” Sam nudged her shoulder with his nose.

She turned to look at him. “A jerk, I guess.”

Samwise felt anger rise within him. “A jerk? I was?”

Rose looked confused. “Uh, yeah. Hello! You pushed us in a pond, Fang.”

“I did?” Sam’s eyebrows lowered.

“Yes!” Rose said, exasperated. “Don’t you remember? Then you let us just walk away like that.”

Samwise glared at the ground, picturing Fang’s smug little grin on his face as he asked Sam to trick the gang into thinking he was that prideful, arrogant Golden Retriever they all looked up to. It sounded as if he never paid Rose any attention! How could anyone not notice her? There was so much more to her than her looks.

“I gotta tell you something,” Samwise began, feeling sick.

“Okay. What’s up?” Rose asked, smiling at him.

“I’m not—”

“There you are!” Afghanna and Skip appeared. Afghanna panted. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“You found us.” Rose stood up. Sam did the same.

“Rose, that’s not Fang!” Skip burst out angrily. “His name’s Samwise.”

Sam stiffened.

“What?” Rose looked confused.

“Look.” Skip dropped something he’d been holding in his mouth.

It was a license, like to a collar. It was diamond-shaped and golden. It had these words on it:

Samwise

If found please call:

990-423-758

“Whoops.” Samwise blinked.

“Yeah, it fell out of your fur in the alley behind Tony’s.” Afghanna went nose-to-nose with Sam. “Care to explain?”

“What’d you do with Fang?” Rose asked, still looking confused and a bit hurt.

“I-I didn’t do…I mean…” Samwise backed away from Afghanna. He fell backward off the flat stone and down into the grass and a pile of leaves.

The gang leapt from rock to rock down to Sam, Afghanna in the lead.

“Okay, okay.” Samwise sighed. “It was Fang’s idea. He wanted to switch places to show you how much you wanted a dog like him, not me.”

“And you let him drag you into this?” Afghanna said disbelievingly. “Of all the gullible—”

“Cut it out, Aff’, he’s not so bad!” Rose barked in defense of Sam.

Sam was surprised.

“Ever think maybe we do want a dog like him?” Skip muttered dryly.

“Skip?” Afghanna said sweetly.

“Huh?”

“Two things.” Afghanna sat down. “Shut. Up.”

Rose giggled.

“Okay, look, I’ll take you to my home and bring Fang out to you.” Samwise sighed.

“Wai-wai-wait,” Afghanna held up a paw. “You’re a House Dog.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And Fang and you switched out?” Skip asked.

“Yup.”

“So he’s in a human household right now…” Rose began, eyes crossing instantly.

They all looked at each other.

“Shall we?” Afghanna asked, standing up.

“Let’s do,” Sam woofed nervously.

They bolted for the Park entrance.

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

“Wait here, I’ll switch back with him.” Sam whispered.

He leapt over the incredibly-short wall that surrounded his house. The gang peeked over.

Rose’s tail was drooping as they watched.

“What’s wrong?” Afghanna whispered.

“It’s Sam,” Rose hissed back. “I thought he was Fang that whole time. I really liked him.”

“No worries,” Skip grumbled. “Fang’ll be out in a minute and you can drool all over him. Not that he’ll notice—oof!”

Afghanna had elbowed him in the side with a paw.

Suddenly Fang appeared. He flung himself through the front porch’s dog-door, tangerine collar tight around his neck—without a license, and dripping wet, bubbles floating from his soaked fur.

“Do not ever squirm when they put y’in fer a bath!” Fang wailed to Sam. “It gets ugly!”

Sam just smirked at him, eyelids lowered. At that moment, he looked like the mirror-image of cocky Fang.

“Okay, here, take yer collar, take yer smooth fur, take it all,” Fang growled. He slid the collar off of his neck, flinging it at Sam’s paws.

Sam pushed his nose through the collar, sliding onto his neck. “Good to be home,” he muttered.

“Yeah? Prepare fer a broom-lashin’, buster, ‘cuz I ain’t gonna be here when the ol’ lady brings it out.” Fang shook his fur and scraped his paw along his hair fur, messing it up and making his fur look grimy and ratty again.

“What? What’d you do?” Samwise groaned.

“See y’later,” Fang sprang over the wall.

“Fa-ang!” came Sam's shout from the house.

“Good to have you back,” Afghanna trotted alongside him as Skip and Rose walked along behind.

“Yeah? I knew you’d miss me.” Fang held his head high.

For the first time since she’d met him, Rose curled her lip at him and rolled her eyes. But of course, he never noticed.

“Great. Now I can chew you out.” Afghanna leapt on top of Fang, bowling him over and pinning him onto the sidewalk with one paw on his chest.

As she and Skip ranted, Rose could feel someone watching her.

Rose turned to look over her shoulder. Samwise had his front paws on the top of the wall surrounding his house, staring at her with a small smile on his muzzle, tangerine collar glimmering.

She blinked, eyelids lowered, and smiled back. He disappeared over the wall and into his house.

“…Ow, Affy, cut it out!” Fang was growling.

“Don’t…”

The sound of gagging came.

“…call me…”

“Gakk!”

“…Affy!” Afghanna took hold of Fang’s ear in her mouth and tugged it playfully.

“Ow-ow-ow, knock it off, ow!” Fang cackled.

“Let me teach you a thing or two about trickin’ your friends!” Afghanna did a little paw-dance on Fang’s stomach, making his eyes bulge comically.

Skip and Rose laughed.

“Lemme up! Agh! I’m sorry, a’ight? Uncle, Affy, uncle, leggo!”

 The End

Story 2:

Fang's Teenmare

Short Story by Doverstar

“Wha’s’a mattah wit’ you, Joey, I break-a you face!” Tony shouted for the millionth time in a row. “Spotty, she wants-a best in-a house!”

Joey nodded. “Okay, Tony, you da boss!”

Afghanna sat in the back alley of Tony’s Italian Restaurant, scratching at a flea by her ear with her right hind leg, corner of her mouth open, teeth gritted, one eye scrunched.

“I don’t mind if they call me Spotty,” she grumbled to herself. “Just so long as they serve it up good.”

A plate of spaghetti was brought out for Affy, set in front of her, and sprinkled with little bits of meatball-meat. She dug in, tomato sauce splashing her muzzle, noodles flying everywhere as Tony and Joey went back into the restaurant.

“Yo, Afghanna!” Fang slid into the alley, bolting around the corner, moonlight glittering on his Golden Retriever fur.

Afghanna, her back to him, jerked her head up, eyes widening. Tomato sauce all over her face. Noodles hanging from her ear.

“Uh, hey Fang,” she replied coolly, swallowing the mouthful of spaghetti. “Not a good time, okay pal?”
 

“But y’gotta hear this!” Fang stopped behind her. His eyes fell on her plate of spaghetti. “Tony servin’ it up nice again?”

Afghanna didn’t answer, but nodded instead, trying frantically to secretly dislodge the noodle hanging from the top of her ear, where it met with her head.

“Y’know, if y’don’t mind sharin’ while I—” Fang came around to face her, and then stopped abruptly, seeing her face.

Afghanna smiled sheepishly, muzzle still red with sauce.

“Hmmmmmm…” Fang arched one brow, eyes wide, and cocked his head, mouth tightly pressed. “Y’wear yer food well, Affy.”

Afghanna swallowed the last of the spaghetti in her mouth, shaking the noodle to the ground from her ear, licking her muzzle clean.

She laughed. “I’m not the only one. Steal some kid’s chocolate again?”

Fang crossed his eyes to look at the brown smudge on his nose. It was dark enough to be noticeable instead of blending in with his caramel-colored nose.

He licked it off expertly. “I borrowed it.”

“Uh-huh.” Afghanna ate a bit more spaghetti. “So, what’s your big news? Skip got a girlfriend?”

Fang blinked. “Nah, why?” He leaned in close, teasingly adding, “Y’know somethin’ I don’t?”

Afghanna chuckled. “Have a bite and tell me the truth, Sherlock.”

He took a bite of the spaghetti submissively and swallowed it. “Okay, yer never gonna b’lieve this.” Fang sat down. “I had a dream.”

“A dream? No!” Afghanna gasped sarcastically. “Say it ain’t so!”

“Cut the jokes, Affy, this’s serious!”

“Must be. And don’t call me Affy.” Afghanna scratched at her ear again. Darn flea. “You’re shook up about this, aren’t you?”

“No kiddin’.” Fang shuddered and shook his head to clear it, making his ears flap wildly. “Okay, here’s what it was about. It had me an’ the princess—”

“You mean Rose?” Afghanna asked dryly, no emotion in her voice, eyelids lowered, mouth small and not smiling.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I was in it, an’ so was she an’ some other mutts we know, but we weren’t us.” Fang blinked his big, red eyes at her.

“Then who were you?”

“I dunno, but we weren’t Fang an’ Rose anymore, I’ll tell y’that!” Fang hunched his shoulders, head lowered. “It was like we were in some book, an’ she was this uppity gal—oh, an’ we were older. Teenagers!” He drew his head back and gritted his teeth, eyes wide and staring straight ahead, corner

“Go on,” Afghanna urged, getting interested. “Tell me more.”

_____________________________________________________

Fang’s Dream:

“Lily!” A startled voice said. “Get away from that window! It’s nasty out there!”

It was storming outside the big, blue mansion of a house. The orange teen-pup was at the only window not curtain-closed. She had a purple star-barrette behind her ear and a purple-blue ribbon around her neck. Her large, attractive blue eyes gazed at the rain and wind outside.

 Lily (Rose, to those of you who know her better) turned from the window and hopped down from the cushion-chair, onto the carpet.

Her best friend a Cocker Spaniel with a red collar (Some of you know this alternate character as Collette, Scamp’s sister) was sitting by the fire, staring at her with wide eyes.

“What’re you doing?” the Spaniel asked worriedly. “You wanna get wet?”

“It’s not like it’s open,” Lily scoffed, sitting down next to her.

Scarlet (Collette) shook her ears, making them fluffy. “We have to go to the Dog Park again tomorrow,” she informed her. “Our owners said so.”

“Ugh, really? Again?” Lily groaned.

“Every day.” Scarlet sighed.

“I hate that!” Lily flopped down on the carpet next to her friend and watched the rain hit the window. “The Dog Park is for pedigreed pups.”

“Aren’t you pedigreed?” Scarlet pointed out. “I am.”

“Of course! At least,” Lily added, “I have a pedigree. But some dogs there don’t, and they’re really weird. They fight a lot.”

“Puh-leeze,” Scarlet rolled her eyes, tail wagging. “You sound like you’re about to throw up just thinking about it.”

“It’ll be our second week in a row. Why do they take us there so much?” Lily sighed.

“They think it’s like training or something,” Scarlet explained, who seemed to know more about these things than her friend did. “They take us to a place where a bunch of owners let a bunch of teenage dogs off-leash so they can run around.”

“Why?” Lily grunted.

“So we get used to other dogs.” Scar curled her lip. “They think at our age we’ll tear each other to ribbons. Yeah, right!”

“As if!” Lily agreed.

“But seriously,” Scarlet added, face growing long, “there are some weirdos our age. If you wanna keep from getting really torn up with these mutts—” she looked Lily in the eye “—avoid the freaks at all cost.”

“So what do we do if we want to fit in?” Lily shrugged. She actually thought Scarlet’s rant made sense—but it seemed rude to leave the ‘freaks’ by themselves.

“Fit in?” Scarlet arched a brow. “Get popular. Let our owners put this fashion-dog stuff on us. It’s what all the Dog Park pups like.”

“Check.” Lily looked down at her purple-blue scarf/ribbon and raised her eyes to see her purple-blue star barrette behind her orange ear. “Does what I’m wearing now qualify?” she teased.

“Definitely.” Scarlet nodded. “And I’ll try to get our owner to put that red bandanna around my neck.”

“Yeah,” Lily nodded half-heartedly. Did they really need to go to such prissy lengths to impress a couple of teen-dogs? It was only the DogPark! You were supposed to have fun!

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

“Oh no,” Lily moaned as the leash was clipped off of her purple ribbon.

Scarlet, now wearing her red bandanna successfully and with her leash off in the huge Dog Park, sprang into a playful pose, legs and paws stretched to either side of each other, panting. “What’s wrong?” She giggled. She seemed excited.

“There are more dogs here than usual,” Lily wailed quietly to her friend.

“Stick with me,” Scarlet assured her. “I’ve been here loads of times. Remember, you’ve only been here twice. It’s natural to feel nervous.”

“Yeah, right.” Lily mumbled. She followed Scarlet to a group of dogs that looked familiar.

“Hey, Aussie,” Scarlet strode up to the group casually, coolly. Lily copied her.

Aussie, the Australian Shepherd mix, a female teen-pup with one blue eye and one brown eye (You know her as Afghanna in a former world) turned around and grinned wolfishly.

“Hey, Scar', how’s pickings?” Aussie lowered her eyelids, smirking.

The group in the little circle made room for Lily and Scarlet to join them.

“Hey, guys,” Scarlet greeted the other dogs. There was a brown-and-gold pup, and twin YorkshireTerriers who giggled at nothing in particular.

“I know you,” the brown-and-gold pup (Some of you know this dog as Bachelor, Kali’s character, but here we’ll call him Chiko) smiled at Lily. “You came with Scarlet a couple weeks ago. Remember me?”

Lily wanted to say yes, to be sweet and fun and cool like Scar was being, but she couldn’t find the words. Finally she just nodded. “Uh-huh,” she stated lamely. “I remember you.”

“Don’t expect much, Chiko,” Aussie reassured the smiling brown dog. “Newbies are a little rusty in the…” she winked, “…uh...speaking department.”

The Yorkshire Terriers snickered, the bows on their identical heads bobbing. Lily was really starting to loathe them.

“You guys hungry?” Aussie asked suddenly, glancing at Scarlet and Lily. “My owner brought a great picnic lunch.”

“You think she’d let us share?” Lily gasped.

Aussie shrugged. “Sure. She’s a good human, but it took a lot of training to get her that way.” She winked again, something she seemed to love doing, and trotted toward an old-fashioned red-and-white-checkered picnic blanket in the grass, by a grove of bushes.

Lily ate the dog food and treats with the rest of them, laughing and teasing each other. They really seemed to like her, especially Chiko. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

A commotion suddenly erupted from the other side of the grassy clearing.

“Come back here, you mangy beast! Stop!” The cry of a chubby woman, middle-aged, sounded throughout the large forest-filled DogPark. Her Chihuahua-teen-dog hid behind her, trembling and letting out ear-splitting barks.

“Catch that brute!” called another owner.

Barks rang out through the Park, some of the bolder dogs bolting after a yellow-streaked blur that shot across the grass and over a pile of huge boulders, as if an expert. It appeared to be carrying something. The smell of raw steak reached Lily’s nose.

“What’s going on?” Scarlet asked, cocking her head. Her fur was standing on end.

“Stray alert,” Aussie stated simply, and went back to eating. The rest of the group followed suit. “It’s probably him again.”

The group scoffed as one.

Lily and Scarlet exchanged a glance, confused. Him? Who was ‘him’?

“Shouldn’t we do something?” Lily murmured nervously.

“Us?” Chiko looked confused, but sympathetic. “Nah. That mutt’ll be long-gone if it knows what’s smart around here.”

Lily cocked her head. She decided to investigate. “Uhm,” she mumbled, “I’ll be right back.” She elbowed Scarlet. “Cover for me,” she whispered in her friend’s ear, and took off toward the mound of rocks.

Aussie and the group watched Lily go, and then turned blankly to Scarlet.

Scarlet swallowed awkwardly. How could she explain this? “Uh…”

Lily skidded to a halt by the rock mound, picking up a faint trace of dog-scent. She began climbing the rocks, hoping no one was watching and intending to follow her. She finally made it to the top, and then paused. She cocked her head, seeing the culprit below, in the grass, safely hidden on the other side of the rock mound, back pressed against the boulders of it.

There was a Golden Retriever male, a teen-pup like the rest of them. He had wild hair-fur, the fur on the top of his head, and his nose was caramel-brown. His eyes were scarlet-red, and he looked ready to bite someone.

Lily continued staring at him, then she thought she should show herself. She wasn’t one to spy, of course.

She went down from the rockpile off to the side, going in a circle around the Golden Retriever, until she hid behind a bush in the grass, a bush facing him.

The Retriever teen stood up. Lily noticed now that he had a sort of doggie-bracelet around his left front paw-ankle, a black one with white spikes jutting out of it. The same think, collar-like, was around his neck, the spikes a bit larger there.

Yikes, Lily thought. Those things could cut him if he’s not careful.

“Come out,” the dog growled, his voice youthful but scratchy, like he hadn’t used it in a while. “I know you’re there, okay?”

Lily stiffened. Was he talking to her?

“Look, I’m givin’ you till the count of three.” The Golden Retriever bared his teeth—revealing two rows of the sharpest canine-teeth lily had ever seen on a dog—or on anything else, for that matter.

(As you may have guessed, this dog represents Fang, our beloved Golden Retriever leader!)

Lily swallowed hard.

“One…” The Golden Retriever pup circled once, prowling toward Lily’s bush.

Lily looked around wildly, knowing she was hidden by the bush, but still trembling, terrified. He was a stray—who knew what he’d do to her for spying!

“…Two…” The Golden Retriever let out a half-bark-half-growling-roar, snapping his jaws in the air.

Lily bunched her muscles, crouching, preparing to spring away…

“Three!”

Too late!

Lily froze.

He immediately jerked his head back, staring at her, surprised.

“Uh…” Lily blinked twice, giving him a nervous, terrified, sheepish grin. “H-Hi.”

The Retriever snorted, and then sniffed her. He grunted. “What d’you want?”

“Who me?” Lily stood up, sensing the danger had past. “Just…um…j-just passing through.” She paused. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

He scoffed. “Yeah. Whatever.” Then he turned and went back to his rock pile.

“Uh…uh, you okay?” Lily followed him staggeringly, standing in front of him as he again took up his position with his back against the rock mound.

The Retriever glared at her, eyebrows lowered, from the bottom of his eyes.

“I mean…” Lily began again. “Didn’t you, um, steal that?”

She nodded to the steak at his paws.

The Retriever stood up. He glared at her, still spookily from the bottom of his eyes, and then turned around and pointedly sat down, his back to her.

Lily felt rejected. She was always friendly, and this dog had some serious issues.

“Um, look,” she started. “Maybe you should give it back. Then they wouldn’t think so…” she paused, looking for the right word, trying to sound intelligent. “…so poorly of you.”

The Retriever didn’t turn around, just said in such a low voice she could barely hear him, “Do I look like I care what people think?”

Lily didn’t take it as a rhetorical question. “Um…no.”

He grunted softly.

“But you really should take it—”

He turned around, standing up, and circled her, eyebrows still so low you could barely see his eyes, and barked, “Why don’t you go join the groupies, okay? I got bigger things t’worry about. Shove off.”

Lily blinked. “Okay,” she sighed. Then she turned to the right and around him, up the side of the rockpile. She paused on the first rock she came to, hopping onto it. She looked down at him. He turned to the left, keeping his back to her.

“I’m Lily,” she offered.

He didn’t answer. He flopped down on his stomach and rested his head on his front paws.

Lily waited a moment longer for him to answer. He didn’t. She heaved an even louder sigh and hopped down the other side of the rockpile, only to find Aussie and Scarlet at the bottom, waiting in the grass of the Park’s main clearing for her.

“Er, hi,” Lily grinned sheepishly at them.

Aussie arched a brow. “Uh…what were you doing back there?”

“Me? Oh—well—I was just…trying to…you know, see who took the meat.” Lily tried not to lie.

“Really?” Aussie didn’t sound convinced, or impressed. “See anyone?”

Lily stiffened.

On the other side of the rockpile, the Golden Retriever leaned his head right, trying to hear Lily’s answer.

Before Lily knew what she was saying, she blurted out, “Nope, nobody. Who’d be back there anyway?”

Aussie looked at Scarlet. Scarlet looked at Aussie.

“No one.” Aussie cleared her throat. “C’mon, let’s go see if the Chiko and the twins left us any food.”

Lily followed, only stopping once to look over her shoulder—just in time to see the Golden Retriever teen-pup jerking his head back out of sight behind the rock wall.

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

“You shouldn’t have gone after that stray in the first place!” Scarlet growled.

Lily and Scar were in their house the next day, arguing over bowls of kibble in the living room next to the fire.

“It’s not like I saw anyone,” Lily rolled her eyes.

“No?” Scarlet immediately grew quieter. “You mean there really wasn’t anyone there?”

“Honest, there wasn’t.” Lily bit her lip at the lie. She hated lying.

Scarlet pushed a long, brown ear away from her face with a cream-colored Cocker Spaniel paw. “Well,” she scoffed, “don’t do that again. I was gonna die of embarrassment.”

“Are you telling me you want to be in Aussie’s group?” Lily moaned. “She’s a hippie! She’s so bossy, and—and—rude!”

“What about Chiko?” Scarlet nudged Lily’s side with her nose. “You know he likes you.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but so what? I don’t wanna hang out with that group. They’re just not…uh…my type.”

“You have a type? Gimme a break!” Scarlet curled her lip.

“Who did you think I’d see behind those rocks?” Lily snorted.

“You really wanna know?” Scarlet arched a brow.

“Sure.” Lily swallowed hard.

“There’s this stray, no owners, who joins all of us at the DogParksometimes.” Scarlet blinked. “He’s got spikes on his collar, his fur’s a mess, and his head-fur sticks out everywhere. He’s a freak!”

Lily froze. That was exactly who she saw. But there was just one thing she needed to know.

“So, um,” she cleared her throat. “Who is this…uh…freak?”

“They say his name’s Cody. He breaks all the rules—he 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 owned the pastry shop was shrieking in Skip’s direction. “He is getting away! After him, rapidement!”

(You may not need translation for these words, but just in case, ma fille means “my girl” in French, and rapidement in French means “quickly”.)

Skip heard the sound of click-d’a-patter-click-click-click-patter, indicating a four-legged animal was behind him. Chasing him. When I get my paws on Fang!

He didn’t get a chance to finish the thought, ducking into an alley and springing on top of a pile of wooden crates, panting hard. He looked up. A brick wall was in front of him, the crates stacked against it. A dead end!

“Arrêt!” Came the French-accented female voice behind him, sounding ferociously angry. (Again, for translation, arrêt in French means “halt”.)

Skip turned around and found himself staring into the bluest pair of eyes he had ever seen. Bluer than the sky, bluer than the rivers at his home, the town’s Park. They sparkled with fury, but were nonetheless beautiful beyond compare.

“Uh…” Skip swallowed hard. He was in trouble. Big, big trouble. Aw, man.

It was a breathtaking female pup, white with long ears and dark, chocolate-brown spots with a light blue collar and golden license, aforementioned dazzling blue eyes, and a sky-blue bow behind her right ear—the bow was wilted because of her chase after Skip.

“Quevoulez-vous dire, venir ici et de voler les pâtisseries de mon propriétaire?” The French pup spat out angrily, with feeling—and a cute little accent.

Skip cocked his head. “Uh…say that again?”

The French pup glared at him, growling out her words in a repeat, this time less garbled but still in her native, foreign tongue.

Skip shook his head hard, eyes scrunched shut, eyebrows lowered, annoyed. He opened his eyes and continued to glower at her. “English, lady, English!” he growled, scowling.

The French pup looked confused, still furious, then her eyes lit up and she snarled, in perfect English—still with an accent, “What do you mean by coming here and stealing my owner’s pastries?”

Skip glared at her. “Don’t get your tail in a twist, okay? I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, got it?” He lowered his eyelids. “The Retriever’s the mug you want.”

The dog looked at him, mouth open in an O and looking as if she still hadn’t understood a word he’d just said. Then she shot back, with her accent and sharp voice, in—again—flawless English, “Where is this Retriever?”

Skip found himself gazing at her pool-blue eyes again.

He shook it off. “Look, I hate to tell you this, but I know him, and if I get him in trouble like this, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

She narrowed her eyes, taking a step toward the box crates. “Mon propriétaire m'a chargé de disposer de vous.” Although it was garbled with barely-contained fury, what she said was still incoherent to Skip.

Skip shook his head. “Alright. Time out.” He hopped down from crate to crate landing in front of her. He leaned in close, avoiding those endlessly-blue eyes. “I speak English,” he snarled in a loud voice. “English, got it? Just English.”

She blinked.

“Talk normal,” he practically shouted at her. Skip blinked right back at her, curling his lip.

The girl pup sighed and rolled her eyes. She looked at him again, saying in English, “My owner has instructed me to dispose of you.” She bared her teeth and took a step forward.

Skip backed up against the crates. “Hang on, pastry pup, it wasn’t me—you got the wrong dog.”

She looked at him a long moment, then said, “Désolé, my friend—I apologize. I was mistaken.”

Skip looked at her blankly. Then, frowning, eyebrows still lowered in the bad-mood pose he usually wore, he muttered, “You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?”

She cocked her head at him, blue bow behind her right ear swishing with her body’s movement. “Piecedetravail? What do you mean?”

Skip shook himself, edging away. “Ah…nothing. I gotta go.”

“Attendre,” she cried.

Skip stopped.

The pup blushed apologetically. “I mean, wait,” she stammered. “What do they call you?”

Skip blinked at her. “Huh?”

“Your name.” The pup nodded to him expectantly. “What is it?”

“Uh…Skipper.” Skip lifted a hind leg and scratched an ear with it.

“After him!” came the cry from around the alley’s entrance corner. The pastry owner woman was screeching again. “That thief has stolen my chocolate éclair!”

“Gotta go,” Skip repeated. “They’re on my tail. Later.” He sprang up the crates again, to the top, and scanned the alley. Maybe he could get on top of the roof to his left if he jumped—yes, that was looking better all the time. That’s what he’d do.

“I am Ariella,” the French pup with the blue collar and blue bow—and very, very blue eyes called up in her sounding-more-pretty-every-minute accent. “Venezà nouveau!”

Skip, in a hurry and angrier than ever, glared down at her and hissed, “What?”

“Come again!” Ariella whispered up in her French accent. “I will lead them away.”

Skip blinked twice. “Er, thanks. See you.”

Ariella smiled prettily up at him. “Vousêtesla bienvenue—”

Skip rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah, whatever,” he growled. He bunched his muscles and sprang onto the roof to his left.

“What I meant to say—you’re welcome!” Ariella called up. Skip looked down over the edge of the roof. She had watched him leap up, admiration written all over her facial expressions.

“Uh…sure…fine. Bye.” Skip turned on the rooftop and skidded away as quickly as he could, mind foggy. The image in his brain wouldn’t go away—blue, blue eyes.

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

“Lay off, Affy, it’s mine—I stole it fair an’ square, ‘kay?” Fang sprang up his mound of cardboard boxes. That was where he lived, basically, in an alley that was—to a bird’s eye view—shaped like an upside-down L, and to the right his pile of cardboard boxes lay.

“You made quite a scene, I heard,” Afghanna snorted. “You could’ve shared, y’know.”

“He probably meant to,” Rose defended the Golden Retriever. “Didn’t you, Fang?”

Fang looked up from his chocolate éclair. “Huh?”

Afghanna snorted. “Yeah, Rose, he’s a real saint.”

“What d’you know?” Fang scoffed between bites. “No offense, but yer girls. How does my dog Skip feel, eh?” He raised his eyebrows down at Skip, who was curled up with his back to the group in the corner of the alley.

Skip didn’t answer.

Afghanna and Rose exchanged a glance.

Afghanna, always with a soft spot for the young Labrador, trotted over behind Skip, clearing her throat. “Uh, Skip? You okay?”

Fang stopped eating and blinked. Rose looked at him. He looked at Rose. They both turned back to Skip.

“Skip?” Afghanna coughed.

Skip didn’t make one move.

“Maybe he’s asleep,” Rose suggested, dropping her voice to a courteous whisper.

“Only one way t’find out,” Fang nodded.

He ducked into his cardboard box mound and came out—with his mouth full of puddle-water.

He spat it out onto Skip’s head.

The Yellow Lab pup shot up, yelping, “Fa-ang! Aw, gross!” He shook himself, and then rounded on Fang, growling.

“Y’know, Skip, I never thought it’d rain with the sun out…” Fang bobbed to an invisible beat that only he could hear, apparently, as he strolled coolly back to his cardboard mound, hopping up to the top box and scratching at a flea with his hind leg.

“Shut up,” Skip snarled. “What’d you do that for?”

Rose half-laughed nervously. “We, uh, we thought you were sleeping.”

“That’s how you’d wake me up?” Skip shook out his fur again, furious. “I wasn’t asleep, for crying out loud!”

“My mistake, shorty,” Fang put one front paw over the other as he lay down on top of his cardboard box mound. “Ain’t you gonna answer when a pup—”

“Just leave me alone.” Skip trotted out of the alley.

His friends watched him go.

As soon as Skip disappeared around the corner, Bachelor’s head poked out from behind it. “Hey, 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 his blue eyes up at Fang.

“Me? Nothin’.” Fang flopped down on the highest cardboard box and rested his head on his paws.

“That’s Fang,” Afghanna nudged Huck. “Always the take-charge type.”

Fang yawned.

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

Skip kicked a pebble down the sidewalk. Once, just once, he’d like to wring Fang’s golden-furred neck for his stupid show-off attitude. Everyone else went with it, but Skip despised being called ‘shorty’, and then getting written off as the stick-in-the-mud. Someone had to be the serious one in their dumb little group.

“Skip! Tu es venumevoir—you came back to see me!”

Skip stopped cold. “Huh…?” He turned to the right, spying—good grief, those eyes were blue!—Ariella trotting happily down the sidewalk towards him.

Skip immediately felt self-conscious. “Uh, well, I didn’t—I-I mean…”

Ariella sat down in front of him. “C'estmerveilleux! I am happy to see you!”

“Er, yeah, sure.” Skip looked away. He had a sudden, panicked thought. “Where’s your owner?”

She looked at him, baffled, cocking her head as if asking him to repeat it.

“The lady who takes care of you? Your human, your person? The pastry woman?” Skip jerked his head toward the pastry shop to their right.

Ariella’s eyes lit up. What a sparkling sky-blue they were, Skip couldn’t help noticing for the umpteenth time. “Ah! Mon gardien! Oui!” She giggled—it reminded Skip of the sound of those sleigh bells humans tied to their horses on Christmas Eve in town. “She is not working today. She puts moi—me—inside the shop.”

“How’d you get out?” Skip asked. Images flashed through his mind’s eye—broken window, a hole dug through the wood floor of the pastry shop, signs of a certain pretty French pup scooting underneath the door through the hole. He might be blamed again!

Ariella looked confused. “I walked.”

“No, no—I mean, didn’t she shut you up in there?” Skip was beginning to get impatient.

Ariella finally understood what he was trying to say. “She does not lock the dog door.”

“Oh. Y 've a dog door?” Skip scoffed.

Ariella looked worried. “Quel est le problème?”

“What?”

“What is wrong?” Ariella cocked her head again. Her bow tilted to the side with it, making her look sort of…cute, Skip supposed.

“Nothing. You’re a House Pet, that’s all.” Skip curled his lip.

“What do you mean?” Ariella asked.

“You live in the pastry shop, right?” Skip questioned.

“Oui. It is my home.”

“There, see?” Skip nodded, eyebrows lowering in disgust.

“No.” Ariella shook her head hard. “I do not ‘see’.”

Skip heaved a very loud sigh. “I’ll show you.”

With a final glance back at the pastry shop, Ariella immediately—as if willing to leave her post as guardian of the shop—fell in step beside Skip, smiling at him and asking so many questions he decided to finally change the subject—frequently. But nonetheless, she was being nicer to him than any other dog had ever cared to be. She listened to him, as if he were revealing secret by secret to her with every word that came out of his mouth. Before long he had stopped scowling. His eyebrows rose to a normal height. His eyes brightened. He was enjoying himself!

Finally Skip led her to Snob Hill, home of the prissiest House Dogs around.

“Lid on every trash can, fence around every tree.” Skip pointed out the demeaning neatness of the little street-town.

“Oui—elle est belle—it is beautiful, no?” Ariella commented. She had kept up with his quick trot the entire way, long, spotted-brown tail high in the air with barely contained happiness, content to walk along on territory she’d never seen.

“That’s what I mean,” Skip muttered. “House Pets would think this is—well—good-looking. But it’s not.”

“No?”

“No.” Skip almost actually chuckled then. Her speech was somewhat funny to him. “I mean…look over here.”

He led her to a fence and they poked their heads through an opening.

“Okay, see that?” Skip nodded.

Ariella followed his gaze.

A male Irish Setter, a reddish-brown one with a white collar was running in circles, chasing after a ball.

“Purquoi?” asked Ariella, eyebrows lowered as she tried to understand. “Why does he chase the toy?”

Skip grunted. “Because he’s a House Dog. He’ll do whatever it takes to please his human.” He gestured with his nose toward a lanky teenage boy with dark hair, tossing the ball over and over for the Setter.

A smell hit Skip’s nostrils.

“Check it out,” He said, pulling his head out from the fence opening. Ariella copied him. “Over here.” He trotted to the house across the street which had a very short, puppy-tall brick wall with a small cement top on it.

They stood on their back legs, placing their front paws on top of the wall and peeking over it.

Ariella cocked her head.

“There, see? Look at the human.” Skip ordered.

Ariella complied, turning her gaze thoughtfully to the overweight man with a chef’s hat on in the mowed-grass yard.

“What is he doing?” Ariella asked.

“Don’t you know anyth—” Skip stopped. He backtracked. For some reason he didn’t want to hurt Ariella’s feelings with his usual sharp tones and barbed words. “I mean…well, he’s grilling. Look, he’s got burgers going.”

Ariella sniffed the air and licked her muzzle. “Bonnes odeurs—it smells good!”

“Yeah, but don’t go getting any ideas. Look, there’s a House Pet on guard.” Skip curled his lip.

Sure enough, a slender Dalmatian female dog with a blue collar and golden license was sitting at the grilling man’s feet, also licking her lips in anticipation.

“Heel, Francis,” the man ordered to the Dalmatian. “Sit.”

Francis, the Dalmatian, immediately sat up next to his heels.

“Roll over.”

Francis rolled onto her belly, then back, then her belly again, sitting up.

“Beg.”

Francis sat on her hind legs and raised her front paws in the air.

Ariella gasped. Her eyebrows lowered. She rattled off an angry spew of French. “Comment puis-que l'homme de sa volonté?Elle ne le mérite pas!Elle obéit sans poser de questions et ne reçoit pas de récompense!”

“Ariel—” Skip began.

“Pourquoi at-elle agir de—”

“Ariella!” Skip snarled.

Ariella stopped and stared at him.

“What are you talking about?” Skip moaned, frustrated. “From now on, only English, okay?”

Ariella nodded vigorously. “Oui, monsieur Skip!” she stopped. “Oh—I mean—yes, of course.”

Skip finally grinned. His first grin in a while. It felt weird, but not unpleasant.

“Now do you see?” He asked. “House Dogs are like little tools for humans.” He walked closer to her. “And the mark of the trade—” He held a light-yellow paw under the golden license of her collar. “Your collar.”

Ariella blinked down at it. “But—my owner—human—she loves me. I am not her tool.”

“Course not.” Skip scoffed. He was getting frustrated. “But your collar gives it away. You’ve got the mark of a House Pet.”

“Do you not like House Dogs?” Ariella asked as they turned and both began walking again, side-by-side, back in the direction of where the came—toward the pastry shop in town.

“You could say that.” Skip muttered.

Ariella looked at him sideways as they went. Skip didn’t meet her very-blue gaze, avoiding it. He realized how that had sounded. Maybe he should’ve rephrased it. Too late now.

“Do you like me, Skip?” Ariella checked.

Skip felt his fur heat up. “Er, sure. Yeah, I guess. You’re fine.”

Ariella smiled, seeming satisfied. “Where are we to go now?” she asked in her French accent.

“Uh, well, I’ll take you back home. Is your owner back yet?” Skip asked. He turned a corner, heading into town on the sidewalk past a neat row of trees.

Ariella stopped walking. “No.”

“She’s not?” Skip stopped too.

“No!”

“What do you mean no? She’s back?”

“Non,” Ariella said firmly.

“No what?” Skip barked, exasperated. His eyebrows lowered again, his telltale scowl returning. It felt bitterly at home on his muzzle.

“No—I do not want to go back.” Ariella spat. She looked determined.

Skip faced her. “If it’s what I said about House Pets and their humans, I didn’t mean—”

Ariella interrupted his awkward ramble with a shake of her head. “No! I do not want to go back—yet.”

Skip blinked three times. “Oh. Uh—why?”

“Je veux rester avec vous—I want to stay with you.”

Skip was taken aback. “With me? Well, uh, that’s great and all, but you gotta get home soon.”

Ariella took one step back, a cute little smile on her muzzle, and shook her head.

Skip felt a crooked grin spread over his face. “You’re stubborn, I’ll give y’that. Okay—let’s go to the Park.”

Ariella’s ears jumped. Her gaze fixed on something just behind him.

“Wha…” Skip turned around and flinched.

“Ariella, ma fille!” the French owner of the pastry shop shrieked. “What are you doing here with this stray?” She scooped up Ariella and kicked at Skip.

“Non!” Ariella barked—but of course, her owner didn’t understand a word.

Skip yelped as the woman’s high-heel shoe caught him in the ribs. He stumbled to the ground, rolled over and over, then got up, panting, glancing at Ariella, and backed slowly up until he turned and ran down the alley. 

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

“This is ridiculous!” Afghanna hissed to Fang. “Why can’t we just leave him alone? He doesn’t need us badgering him.”

“We ain’t badgerin’ ‘im. Just askin’ a couple of questions.” Fang whispered back, eyelids lowered, a toothy grin appearing.

“Whatever you’re gonna do, blondie, do it now—here he comes.” Huck sneered.

The gang, including Rose and Bachelor, were all in Fang’s home alley, standing there and trying to look casual as Skip entered, panting hard and looking over his shoulder frequently, as if he had been running.

“How’s picking’s, shorty?” Fang strolled up to Skip and circled him.

Skip panted. “Whatever.”

“Have a good walk?” Huck asked, twitching an ear.

Skip looked at him, as if just noticing he was there and realizing he was out of his mind. “Where’d you come from?”

“Forget big-ears,” Fang stood in front of Skip, blocking his view.

Afghanna came up beside him and whispered in Fang’s ear, “Ask him gently, if you’re gonna ask at all.”

Skip cocked his head. He hadn’t heard Afghanna, but sensed something was up. He scowled, eyebrows lowering.

“I’ll handle this, Affy,” Fang whispered back. He turned to Skip. “Got yer eye on the pastry pup, do ya?”

Rose groaned from behind. Bachelor shook his head. Huck smirked.

“Real smooth, bigshot,” Afghanna snarled to Fang, rolling her eyes. “That was so gentle you could barely tell you were even trying.”

“What?” Skip asked, jerking his head back, confused and angry.

“We hear you’ve got a new friend,” Rose came up on Fang’s other side, glancing at him before continuing. “That puppy from the pastry store?”

“Ariella?” Skip asked, and then wished he hadn’t.

Fang exchanged glances with Afghanna first, then Rose. Huck looked at Bachelor, who blinked right back at him.

“Yeah, sure, her.” Fang circled Skip again. “What’s she like, eh, Skipper?”

“She’s…well...” Skip cut his eyes from one pup to another. Then his eyebrows lowered even more, and he growled, “Look, is it any of your business?”

Afghanna elbowed Fang. “No. It’s not. You’re right.” She glared at Fang. “Come on; let’s get some lunch at Tony’s.”
 

“Not hungry.” Skip informed them coldly.

“Ah, c’mon, buddy, we were messin’ with ya.” Fang came up slightly behind Skip and nudged him with his nose.

“Step off,” Skip ordered.

“We didn’t mean for you to get upset,” Rose commented worriedly. She looked at Bachelor with nervousness in her blue eyes.

“I’m not upset,” Skip snapped.

They all stared at him.

“Good!” Fang nodded. “Then, ah, let’s eat, huh?”

Skip blew air through his mouth in a scoff, eyes pointing upward, still scowling. “Fine.”

“Alright!” Rose cheered.

“I know you’re dying to have me join you guys—” Huck began.

“I’m in the grave,” Fang sneered sarcastically, glaring at him.

“No, no,” Afghanna nudged him playfully. “When you die, we’re cremating you.”

Rose giggled. “We’ll put your ashes on the box pile.”

“Nah, he’s too good for that,” Skip chimed in, an evil grin on his face, still lowering his eyebrows so he looked teasingly angry, “His ashes are goin’ in Tony’s dumpster.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Fang cut in. “I think I deserve better!” He closed his eyes, placed a front paw on his chest, and said in a fake British accent, “My ashes belong with the great Street Dogs of old—”
 

“Yeah,” Huck snorted. “Underneath the Kennel.”

Fang’s eyes popped open. “You wanna go, big-ears?” He bunched his muscles.

“As I was saying,” Huck interrupted him. Fang straightened. “Castro’s got this big break-out for the dogs at the Pound, so I can’t come with you.”

“That’s breakin’ my heart,” Fang smirked. “I’ll think of you when I got spaghetti sauce all over my mug.”

“This is making me hungry,” Rose cut in. “Let’s go, Fang,” she nudged him with her nose.

He acted as if he barely felt it. “I’ll handle this, princess,” he informed her. “Let’s go, gang.”

Afghanna rolled her eyes at Huck as they passed him, heading out.

Huck lowered his eyelids and shrugged, winking at her as he turned and hopped up a few crates onto the roof, disappearing over the edge in true Street Dog fashion.

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

“So there I was,” Fang swept his right front foreleg across his gang’s vision line as they sat around an overturned barrel with four plates of Tony’s finest spaghetti. Bachelor had gone home; it was getting late. Fang continued, “Outnumbered. The dogcatchers were everywhere. Had me cornered. So what did I do?”

“Do tell,” Afghanna muttered, swallowing a meatball.

Fang continued the story, Rose listening intently as if she hadn’t heard this one a million times.

Afghanna tuned the Golden Retriever pup out, and glanced at Skip, who had hardly eaten anything.

“You okay, pal?” Affy asked him. She nudged a pile of her own noodles toward him. “Don’t tell me you’re still not hungry. It’s dark out—you haven’t touched your—”

“I’m fine, okay?” Skip hissed. “I’m just not hungry.”

“…Raced ‘em through an alley…” Fang was saying. Rose’s tail wagged.

Afghanna rolled her eyes and looked back at Skip, whispering in courtesy of Fang’s story-telling, “All I’m saying is that you’re acting weird today.”

“Am not,” Skip protested, lowering his voice. “Chill—I’m just…tired.”

“Yeah. Right.” Afghanna scoffed, looking away and lowering her eyelids.

“Skip! Skip! Il vous—je l'ai cherché partout pour vous! I have been looking everywhere for you!”
 

Skip stiffened and squeezed his eyes shut, groaning inwardly. Not here.

Ariella came trotting into the alley, moonlight hitting her fur in such a way that it made her very-blue eyes sparkle like sapphires.

Fang and Afghanna turned, eyelids half-lowered, and looked right at Skip.

Skip opened one eye and looked back at them. He opened both eyes sheepishly.

Rose blinked, completely confused.

“Heya, dollface, welcome t’the party,” Fang winked at Ariella.

The fur on Skip’s neck rose, and he growled lowly.

Ariella stopped in front of them. “I am interrupting?” she asked, cocking her head.

“No,” Rose answered sweetly. “Fang was telling us a new story. Join us!”

Skip winced.

Afghanna elbowed him and muttered in his ear, “Her definition of ‘new’ must be different than ours.”

Skip didn’t even nod.

Ariella sat down right next to Skip and turned to smile at him. “I have finally gotten away from my owner—my human. She is, how you say, overprotective, n'est-ce pas?”

“You guys met before?” Fang arched a brow and grinned wolfishly at Skip.

Afghanna glared at Fang. He didn’t get it.

“Oui. Skip is my ami très proche.” Ariella gave Skip another gorgeous smile.

Skip tried to look the other way, cheeks burning.

Rose titled her head at Ariella. “Huh?”

“Define,” Fang ordered dismissively to Ariella.

“He is my very close friend,” Ariella was happy to translate.

Skip gave a soft groan, half-hoping Ariella wouldn’t take it the wrong way. Something about her being here, acting like this was okay in front of the gang, made his paws tingle with embarrassment.

“And your names are…?” Ariella nodded to the gang.

“I’m Afghanna.” Afghanna nodded right back at her.

“My name’s Rose—pleased to meet you.”

Ariella turned expectantly to Fang.

“Name’s Fang—King Fang,” Fang wiggled his eyebrows and lowered his eyelids at her.

Skip curled his lip.

“King?” Ariella looked puzzled.

“King ‘o the Streets, that’s me.” Fang dipped his head to her.

“You look…familiar.” Ariella tilted her head at him.

“You prob’ly heard ‘o me.” Fang grinned.

Ariella stood up. “Non—I have seen you before.”

“Uh, not likely,” Fang was beginning to get her meaning. “Y’know, doll, I just remembered I gotta…”

“You are the Retriever that stole my owner’s éclair au chocolat!” Ariella glared at him, baring her teeth.

“Never heard of it.” Fang informed her, backing up. She advanced on him.

Skip moaned.

“I think she means the chocolate-bread thing you stole from—” Rose began helpfully, only to be silenced by Afghanna’s sharp looks.

“Oui—the chocolate éclair!” Ariella snarled. “I must pay you back for what you have stolen.”

Skip cut his eyes from Fang to Ariella nervously.

“We can talk this out, y’know,” Fang began edging further backward. “Hey, I was a desperate, hungry stray—get the picture yet?” he chuckled anxiously.

“Non!” Ariella barked, growling as she bunched her muscles in a crouch.

“Look, doll, I ain’t about t’get into a scuffle with ya—y’might get hurt with these things,” Fang displayed his razor-sharp teeth, his namesake.

“Fa-ang…” Rose warned worriedly.

“Don’t do something stupid, guys,” Afghanna swallowed hard, standing up firmly.

Skip dug his claws into the cobblestones of the alley’s flooring.

Ariella sprang at Fang. Surprised, the Golden Retriever wasn’t about to bite a girl. He stiffened as she slammed into him, with more strength than he’d thought she had as she pinned him down, baring her teeth in his face, digging her claws into his creamy-yellow belly fur.

Ariella lunged for his throat.

That did it. In self-defense, Fang threw her off. She skidded on the alley’s ground, leaping to her paws immediately.

The ‘King of the Streets’ and the pastry pup faced off, circling each other. Fang showed her his fangs and she growled at him.

“You will pay for stealing from my human!” Ariella snapped.

Fang crouched.

Skip froze.

Fang flew at Ariella, the light of battle in his scarlet eyes.

Skip, without hesitation, slammed into Fang’s side and the two male puppies rolled over and over until crashing into the pile of crates next to the restaurant’s back door. The crates toppled over, spilling their vegetable contents onto the pups.

Ariella, Afghanna, and Rose rushed over to see if they were okay.

Fang emerged first, bucking like a donkey and flinging a smaller crate off of himself, tomatoes squashed messily onto his golden pelt.

“What’d ya do that for, shorty?” he snarled to Skip.

Skip staggered to his paws, coughing. He too was covered in mushy tomatoes. “Quit calling me shorty,” Skip growled.

“Je suis désolé—êtes-vous blessé?” Ariella spewed out a worried stream of French as she rushed to Skip’s side.

“What’d she say?” Rose asked Afghanna, who shrugged.

“I am sorry, I said,” Ariella translated for them politely. She turned to Skip. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Skip muttered, walking a few steps forward and shaking his pelt clean.

“I’m okay too, thanks fer bein’ so concerned,” Fang mumbled irritably as he sauntered past Afghanna and Rose, shaking himself so that he was also tomato-free.

“Let’s get out of here.” Afghanna answered nervously. She nudged Fang with her nose, and then turned back to Ariella. “Sorry about the chocolate éclair thing. It won’t happen again.”

Rose lowered her tail and followed as Afghanna led Fang, who was glaring daggers at Skip, out of the alley.

“You were very brave to protect me from your friend,” Ariella said in perfect English, with her French accent slurring the words. “But I did not need it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Skip growled. “Have you seen him fight? Those fangs are his biggest, most unfair advantage. How could you be so stupid? Now he’s gonna chew me out whenever I see him—they’ll never leave me alone about this—” He stopped, looking at Ariella.

She was gazing at him, looking hurt. “You are in trouble?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Skip softened his tone. “Ignore Fang, okay? He’s really the only jerk in the gang.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence between them.

Skip coughed. “So, what’re you doing here?”

Ariella’s eyes lit up as if she’d just remembered. “I have been looking everywhere for you! My owner does not know I have gone.”

“Gone?”

“I am leaving her for a while.” Ariella looked sad for a moment.

“What? Why?” Skip asked, horrified.

She acted as if he should have already known. “To be with you! You have taught me so much about life outside my pastry shop—I want to try it out!”

Skip blushed for a few minutes, and then cleared his throat. “Uh, well, y’know, you can try it tonight—spend a night out on the streets—but…how about this? If you don’t like it by tomorrow, go back.” He scratched at his ear with a hind leg.

“Oui, that sounds fine.” Ariella trotted in a circle cheerfully around him. “I will go!”

“Go where?” Skip scoffed.

“Wherever the strays go at night,” Ariella informed him, blinking prettily. “But first, I have one thing more to do.”

“Which would be….?” Skip arched a brow.

In seconds Ariella’s blue collar lay on the ground before him.

“I am now looking like the Street Dogs, non?” Ariella smiled.

“Not even close,” Skip snorted, trying not to grin. “You’ve still got that bow behind your ear.”

“Oh—I will take it off.” Ariella twisted her muzzle upward and to the right, trying to snag the blue bow with her teeth in order to yank it down.

“No—keep it. It looks good on you.” Skip looked away from her after blurting it out. Clumsy compliment.

Ariella gazed at him for a moment, and then smiled wider. “Merci, mon cher ami,” she closed her eyes, then opened them again slowly, still grinning.

“What’s that mean?” Skip asked, panting with the beginnings of his own wide smile.

“My dear friend.” She nuzzled him.

Skip’s paws tingled. He closed his eyes and smiled. Then he stepped back, smile disappearing, and opened his eyes. “Um, yeah, so…” he shrugged, blushing. “Have fun at the Park.”

“I am going there?” Ariella asked. Her eyes sparkled.

“If that’s where the Street Dogs hang out most—which it is—then, yeah, I guess so. Good luck.” He turned to go, paws still tingling.

“I do not know my way there, Skip,” she suddenly said, sounding shy.

“Then how’re you gonna get there?”

“You will guide me, no?” Ariella batted her eyelashes teasingly.

“How do you rope me into this stuff?” Skip groaned, but he grinned.

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

“Mon dieu!” Ariella exclaimed.

Stars were reflected in the lake at the Park. Skip and Ariella stood on the shore, gazing at the glittering reflections on the water’ surface.

“It is—magnifique!” Ariella breathed.

“It’s what?” Skip lowered his eyelids dryly at her, arching a brow in confusion.

“Magnificent—wonderful!”
 

“Oh.” Skip took another look. “Yeah, it’s okay.” He shrugged. “Haven’t you ever been here before?”

Ariella shook her head. “My life has been only the pastry store. Nothing more. You have given me something new. Merci!”

“Mercy? Mercy for what?” Skip scoffed, eyebrows sunk low.

“Non—no—en Français…in French—merci means ‘thank you’.” Ariella laughed.

“Oh. Well, uh, you’re welcome. Whatever.” Skip looked away, down at his paws, shuffling them.

“Where do we go now?” Ariella asked excitedly.

“I could show you Firefly Fountain.” Skip suggested, sighing.

“Pourquoi? What is this place?” Ariella asked, following as he led the way.

“I guess you could say,” Skip said without turning around, a sly look on his face, “a lot of dogs have been there.”

He led her over the red bridge, heading west, into a patch of purple-flowered weeds. When he emerged, fireflies flickered everywhere—the air was literally filled with them. His paws hit dirt-grass ground, lush and cool. He watched the fireflies dance around.

Ariella came up behind him, shaking purple flowers from her head, and then bumped into Skip. “Apologies,” she said at once, then stopped.

Ariella gasped out loud, jaw dropping.

A firefly flickered down toward her face and landed on her nose, glowing brightly. Ariella sneezed.

The firefly, startled by the sudden jerk of her snout, fluttered off and landed on the ground, flickering again.

Ariella’s eyes widened. She immediately flung both front paws on top of the firefly, leaning her head down and keeping the back part of her body in the air. She sniffed at her front paws, where the firefly was trapped. Its light still shone through somehow.

Skip chuckled, a rare sound coming from him.

“What are they?” Ariella squealed, staggering backward, away from her trapped firefly, bumping into him again.

Skip stepped to the right, sliding in next to her. “They’re fireflies—lightning bugs, whatever you wanna call them. They’re harmless, they just glow.”

Ariella smiled brightly. “Let us follow them!” she cried.

“Follow them? But why would—”

Ariella shoved him from behind, making him stumble forward, and shot past him, following a large band of fireflies, giggling with her French accent. Skip staggered to keep his balance then rolled his eyes and went after her in a full trot.

“Venez, Skip—come, you are slowing up!” Ariella laughed from up ahead.

Skip gritted his teeth and sped up, passing her easily. “Who’s slow now?” he called over his shoulder, grinning mischievously.

Ariella was suddenly in front of him, winking. “Still you!”

Skip skidded to a halt and panted, grinning. Then he stopped. “Ariella—wait, watch out!”

Ariella didn’t appear to hear him…and tripped over a fallen log, flying through the air and plunging into the pond. The two pups had apparently run in circles and ended up back at the star-reflected lake.

Skip bolted to the red-wood bridge and stuck his head between the railings. “Ariella? Ariella!”

No reply.

Bubbles suddenly rose to the surface. That was all the proof Skip needed. Moonlight reflecting on his light-yellow Lab fur, turning it silver-white, he crouched and leapt into the water.

The pond was pitch-black at first, not to mention freezing cold. Skip felt his paw snag on something. He opened his eyes underwater, ignoring the pain that came instantly after doing so. He caught a flash of silk-sky-blue in the moonlight hitting the pond’s below-surface waters. Ariella’s bow!

He dove further, pulling his hind paw free of the bow, and located Ariella’s scruff-fur. He grabbed onto it with his thorn-sized teeth and pulled, dragging her upward.

Skip didn’t even take a breath when the broke through the water to the surface, just doggie-paddled to the shore. He pulled Ariella’s body a safe distance from the gentle, lapping little waves on the shore of the pond. The night was quiet and clear, as if nothing drastic had just happened.

Skip looked down at Ariella. “Hey—hey, you okay? Wake up, wake up!” He made an animalistic noise, frustrated. “Oh, c’mon, you can’t do this now! Get up!” He was more worried than angry, but the fact that nothing was happening was a little bit antagonizing to him.

Ariella coughed up water and groaned. Then she quickly regained her strength, rolling over onto her belly and opening her eyes, spluttering. She blinked and stood up on trembling paws, shaking her fur off until it was dry, and her bow also bone-dry and perking up.

“What happened?” she asked in her French speech.

“You sorta took a dive.” Skip shook himself off. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

He took her out of the Park, letting her lean her side against his shoulder for support as they walked the cobblestone streets of the town.

“I am fine,” Ariella answered, coughing again. “You saved me, no?”
 

“I-I guess. I mean, I helped.” Skip looked the other way, uncomfortable.
 

She came close to him and nuzzled him. “Merci, mon cher ami!”

Skip closed his eyes briefly and opened them once more. “Remind me what that means?”

“My dear friend.” Ariella smiled. “My dear friend Skip.”

Skip grinned. “You’re okay for a House Pet,” he murmured.

“Oui—and perhaps, after tonight, I will no longer be a ‘House Pet’,” Ariella answered, giggling.

Skip smiled.

“Ma fille!” cried a woman’s French voice, all too familiar. “I have found you once more!”

Skip flinched. “Of course, I could be wrong.”

Ariella barked sharply at her owner, growling and scooting behind Skip. “Non!” she snarled. “I will not go with you!”

But the human pastry-shop-owner couldn’t understand a word. “Come, Ariella,” she snapped, scooping her puppy up. “You will no longer be led astray by that filthy animal.” She glowered down at Skip, and then carried Ariella off.

“Non!” Ariella was yapping, struggling in her owner’s arms the whole way, trying to look over her shoulder to see Skip. “Non, non!”

Skip’s ears wilted. He turned and stalked off.

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

“You look down, shorty,” Fang nudged Skip the next morning. “Still sore from that little thing back at Tony’s?”

“Shut up,” Skip mumbled, laying down and resting his head on his paws.

“Are you okay?” Afghanna was gentler.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Skip snarled. “I am fine, got it?”

“Can’t you tell us?” Rose murmured
They were in Fang’s alley.

“It’s no big deal,” Skip snapped. “I told you already.”

“Did he?” Fang glanced at Afghanna.
“Weren’t you listening?” Afghanna hissed. “Ariella got taken away last night.”

“Ah, right, right.” Fang scratched at an ear. “If yer so blue about it, Skipper, ain’t you gonna visit the gal?”

“Yeah, right!” Skip stood up and turned, glaring at Fang. “If her owner catches me, I’m dead!”

“Then you’ll need backup,” Fang grinned. “Who’s up for some pastries?”
 

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

“She should come out any minute now,” Skip informed the gang as they crouched, pressed against the brick wall of the pastry shop underneath the window.

Suddenly, muffled barking erupted from above them, somewhere inside.

Skip darted out from under the window and turned around to look inside it.

Ariella caught sight of him, her paws pressed against the window. She pawed at the glass, practically digging at it.

“Ariella!” Skip shouted. “Can you hear me?”
 

A pause, then Ariella nodded. “Oui, certainement, I can hear you!”

"Come out, then,” Skip answered.

The gang came up beside him.

Ariella hung her head. “I cannot. My human has locked me in.”

“Isn’t there a back way?” he asked desperately.

“Oui,” Ariella replied, and then looked away from the window. “But I cannot—will not—use it.”

Skip felt a pang of foreboding. “Why?” he murmured.

“I do not belong on the Streets. It is not for me.” Ariella sighed.

That was when Skip noticed she was wearing her collar again.

“Is it…because…of the thing in the pond last night? You turned out fine!” Skip protested.

“Oui, yes, I did,” Ariella nodded vigorously. “But my owner needs me here. I belong with her. I am her only family. I cannot be with you.”

“But—” Skip broke off. Didn’t this just figure? Why should he have something like this in his life? He lowered his eyebrows. “Fine. Forget it.”

“I will not,” Ariella answered. “Not forget mon cher ami, my dear friend Skip.”
 

He stopped.

Skip turned to look over his shoulder at her, smiling once, then sighed and began walking away. “Let’s go home,” he said to the gang.

And they did.

(THANK YOU FOR READING THESE FIRST THREE SHORT STORIES AS A PREVIEW OF WHAT’S COMING! THERE WILL, IN FACT, BE TWELVE MORE COMING IN ADVENTURES IN FANG’S GANG: PART 1! WHEN THAT IS PUBLISHED, PLEASE GO TO BLUEWOLF2222’S FANFIC PAGE (WHEN IT’S READY) TO SEE THE REST OF THE STORIES! I HOPE YOU LIKED THESE!

P.S., Please tell me in your comment which short story was your favorite and why you liked it—and what you liked best ABOUT it. Detailed as you can, please, I’d love to know exactly what you think! And if you want, tell me what you want to see more of or WHO you want to see more of in Part 2! THANKS! This was a lot of work! I EXPECT TO SEE FANART!

Just kidding, I honestly don’t expect much for this short fanfic. 

~Doverstar)