Rivalry: Part 4

The Finale!

{Chapters 10-12}

Chapter 10

"Fang? Fang?" Rose continued nudging the lifeless Golden Retriever.

Afghanna fought back tears. They were all too young to go through this! How could Fang be...?

"Wake up! Please wake up!" Rose cried, the fake rose adorning her head swaying with her frame-her-head orange ears.

"This is my fault." Angel sniffed. She hung her head, sitting in between Afghanna and Skip.

"No argument here," Skip replied bitterly, shooting his most venomous glare at Angel.

"Wh--" Angel began, but a yelp from Afghanna cut her off.

"What's up?" snapped Skip.

"He--he moved!" cried Rose.

Angel looked frantically at Afghanna for confirmation. The Australian Shepherd nodded, swallowing hard, but she couldn't speak.

"He moved?" Angel pushed her way through to stand beside Rose, over Fang. "Where?"

Before Rose could reply, Fang let out a very soft whine, and his head stirred before he fell silent and still again.

"We gotta do something!" Rose yipped.

"Huh, like what?" sneered Skip, always the dark cloud. He was feeling hopeless and heartbroken. Being more unbearably gloomy and grouchy was the way he dealt with things like this.

"Uhhhm...uuhhhmm..." Afghanna squeezed her eyes shut, wracking her brain. "Uh, okay okay, I have a plan."

Skip and Rose stared at her. "You?" they asked.

"No offense, Afghanna, but you're not usually the one with the plans." Skip turned to look down at Fang's postrate body.

"Whatever. If she's got a plan, let's hear it." Angel ordered.

"Okay. Angel, you have animal-lovers for owners, right?" Afghanna asked.

Angel nodded, but she arched a brow. "Yes, but I wouldn't call them "owners" exactly..."

"Whatever. The point is, they'd help an injured mutt, wouldn't they?" Afghanna asked.

"They'd do more than help if they were given the chance!" Angel agreed.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait--help? From humans? Fang would freak." Skip shook his head, letting out low growls. "I don't like this."

"If it'll help him, let's do it!" Rose barked.

Rose turned and looked around for a moment, then spied a cardboard box, taking it in her teeth and ripping it from the pile. She dragged it over to Fang, tipping it on its side.

The other puppies stared at her.

"What're you guys standing around for? Move it!" Rose snapped.

Afghanna's eyes sprang open. Skip's lower jaw was halfway to Alaska, dropping so low. Angel blinked three times. They hadn't seen her act so sternly. There wasn't a hint of that dopey young smile from her anywhere!
 

Afghanna was the first to help, gently nudging Fang into the box.

"Careful!" Angel cried, coming up beside her.

Skip snorted. "If it weren't for you, he wouldn't be in this mess, now would he?"

"Cool it, Skip," Afghanna snapped.

"He's right, this is my fault." Angel sighed.

"Ignore him. He's just scared." Afghanna whispered into her ear.

"But he's right." Angel protested.

"Shut up and help us!" Skip snarled.

The female pups looked at each other, then down at Fang, a look passing between them knowingly. Then they nudged Fang once more, so that he was fully inside the tipped-on-its-side cardboard box.

"Arwp!" Came the yelp from Fang as the pups turned the box back to its original position, sitting on the sidewalk of the messy alley. Then he was unconscious again.

"Be careful!" Rose cried, rushing to the box and placing her front paws on its edge, not putting too much weight on it as she looked tenderly inside at the Golden Retriever pup.

"We are." Skip grunted.

"Prove it."

"Make me."

The pups began pushing the box down the alley, as quickly as possible, nudging it with their heads.

"Do it gently--he'll get hurt again!" Rose ordered frantically.

"How much more hurt could he be, meathead?" Skip growled. He grunted loudly as he pushed.

"Chill, you two." Angel snapped.

"He started it."

"Yeah, right!"

"You did!"

"Oh, cry me a river--and then build a bridge--and get over it!"

"Don't make me come over there," Afghanna warned.

The alley fell silent.

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

Fang opened his eyes. He was in a small room on top of a metal table. Obviously in some sort of building. He sniffed the air. It was stale and hot, and the room smelled putrid. He sneezed. An ache went through his body, starting with his left front leg, moving up his thigh and spreading from back to tail tip and then up to his nose. Scratches stung by his long, golden ears, and his fur was rumpled--more than usual--with dirt and dust. His left front paw felt wet and tingly, like it was asleep.

He sat up--and then collapsed back down again, letting out a yelp of pain. He looked down. His left front ankle was wrapped in a white, paper-like substance, but it felt itchy and rock-like from the inside. Fang staggered to his feet again, ignoring the pain.

He shook his head, ears flapping.

Tingle-ta-ling.

Fang froze. The fur around his neck suddenly felt misplaced.

His eyes traveled slowly downward. His muzzle. His chin. The place where his neck began angling downward, positioning his sore head...

His eyes fell on something he only dreamt of in nightmares.

No. "Ho no," he cried out loud. "No, no, no no no no no. No! Oh no."

A collar.

A bright scarlet collar dangled in a perfect fit around his neck.

"Holy kibble!" Fang shouted. He barked. He whined. He tried using his front paws as he bent down, trying to push the collar off of his neck.

A door opened. Fang tensed.

"Fang?" a voice called from the floor. Fang looked down.

"Angel?" he panted. "Wh--what's goin' on?"

"You're safe now, don't panic." Angel smiled up at him. "Your friends are outside. They didn't feel comfortable coming in."

"Where am I? How--how'd I get 'ere?"

Angel sat down. "You're at the vet's. It's like a hospital for dogs. We brought you here, me and your street friends."

"How?"

"We used a box."

Fang again looked around. "How'd you get in 'ere?"

"There's a doggie door. Look, you should rest. Stop asking so many questions." She chuckled.

Fang leaned down. "What's--this?" He held up his left front paw, still wrapped up.

Angel laughed. "It's a cast. It'll heal your leg."

"Heal? What's wrong with it?"

"It's broken, Fang. Those mangy mutts could've killed you. Why'd you come back to save me?" Angel's smile fell.

Fang circled around, flopping down. "No reason. I owed ya one."

"I--I've been a real jerk to you, Fang, and I'm so sorry. You wouldn't be here if it weren't for me."

"Hey, it's cool." Fang shrugged, not smiling.

Ting-tingle.

The liscense on that stupid collar was jingling as he moved. It reminded him of the last question he wanted to ask. He was already exhausted.

"What's the big idea with this?" he snarled, showing his famous fangs. He lifted his head, standing with his injured paw lifted off the table so as not to inflict pain, and presented the collar with a growl.

"Your new collar." Angel smiled hopefully. "You'll need it, where you're going.

"Yeah? An' jus' where d'ya think I'm goin', huh?"

"To your new home."

Fang's blood ran cold. "What?"

"With us. Me." Angel looked down, still talking to him. "I was hoping that would make up for my being so rude."

"This?" Fang spluttered. "This is the worst thing you coulda possibly done t'me! Get this stupid thing off right now!"

The door swung open. Angel's mouth dropped open and so did Fang's, and they simultaneously swung their heads to the left to look at the next visitor.

"How's that leg treatin' you, sport?" The Tramp bounded in, Lady right behind him.

"Are you okay?" Lady cooed gently.

Fang curled his lip. "I'm far from okay! I ain't staying here another second!" He crouched at the edge of the metal table.

"Fang, no!" Angel screeched. "You'll--"

Fang stumbled off the edge. "Yipe!" came his cry of agony. Lightning-bolt pain shot up his paw.

"--get hurt." Angel finished lamely. "Fang, are you okay?"

"Hey, don't I look okay?" Fang grunted, giving his head a savage shake, trying to loosen the collar.

"Woah, woah, hey, calm down there." Tramp stood over Fang, leaning toward him.

"What's your problem?" Fang snarled. "Back off!"

Tramp arched a brow. "Maybe I can help."

"Yeah? C'n y'get this stupid thing offa me?"

Tramp snorted good-naturedly. "Actually, I--"

The door opened. Jim Dear walked in, Scamp and the triplet Cocker Spaniel sisters, Danielle, Collette, and Annette following him.

Fang growled.

"Hey, there, boy, how y'doin'?" Jim Dear said gently, softly, bending down with one hand outstretched to stroke Fang's back lightly.

Fang growled, letting out an ear-splitting bark of distress.

Jim Dear slowly drew his hand back, straightening up.

"What did the vet say?" Darling's voice was sugared.

"This poor dog'll be out of comission for a while," Jim Dear scratched the back of his neck, mustache twitching as he spoke. Fang curled one side of his upper lip, revealing the teeth he was named for.

"Look at that, Jim," Darling exclaimed fondly. "What a sharp set of Fangs on the poor dear."

Yeah, an' come a li'l closer, lady, an' then I'll show ya what these "poor dear's" fangs c'n do. Fang thought menacingly. He was seriously considering biting these humans, just to distract them enough to get out of here. His gang was waiting outside. Forget his leg, he wanted out!

"Slow down, champ," Tramp whispered. "They aren't gonna hurt you."

"Yeah," Fang snarled. He snapped his jaws as the word came out, saliva dangling a bit from the puppy's fangs. "An' I guess you're gonna tell me they'll take me home with 'em next."

"Actually, they will," Lady replied happily.

Fang froze, shooting a tortured look at Angel, then kept his eyes on Jim Dear distrustingly.

"It's a great home," Scamp said nervously.

Fang curled his lip, revealing rows of sharp, pointy teeth to the mutt-pup. "You stay outta this, House Pet!"

"You can't--" Scamp began angrily, eyebrows lowering.

"Calm down there, whirlwind," Tramp murmured to his son, cutting him off.

A man in a white, flowing coat came in then...

...with a carrier. A cage.

Fang took off towards the door--or tried to. His leg shot agonizing pain through him. His front end slumped to the ground, his eyes srunched, eyebrows down in anger, his nose pressed to the floor, honey-colored ears in a jumbled at the sides of his head.

 Jim Dear picked him up and set him in the carrier. Fang didn't struggle, he was in too much pain. He flopped down in the cage, whimpering pitifully. He could see the house dogs looking at him sympathetically--even Scamp--through the bars of the cage door.

"C'mon, boy," Jim Dear murmured. "Let's go home."

As they carried him out of the office, the cage swaying with Fang inside of it, the Golden Retriever's vision became blurry, darkness closing in along with nausea, he thought: Home? Pssht! Yeah, right. What a nightmare.

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

Fang opened his eyes. He was in the Darling house. The kitchen floor below him. The staircase. At the landing was a large stained-glass window looking down into the backyard. He was in a cushiony, comfy little dog bed on the kitchen floor. Fang curled his upper lip and immediately tried to stand, but a jolt of pain shot through his injured, bandaged paw, and he slumped down again. He couldn't yet walk.

Suddenly Scamp shot through the doorframe from the living room into the room Fang laid in. He had a dog food bowl in his jaws, or at least one end of it, making the other end hang down, letting the puppy-chow slop drop onto the floor a little as he swung his head from side to side, eyes wide with playfullness, a smile curling at the corners of his muzzle. His puff of a gnarled tail slung itself back and forth, exuding contentment with his situation, even happiness.

"Sca-amp! Come back here!" Angel's voice sounded from the living room with her breathy half-laugh. It made Fang's tail wag, but he quelled it quickly, irritated that he still felt a spark of affection for Angel. Couldn't he get the pomeranian out of his head? Look what she'd done to him! He was wearing that stupid red collar, and a cast. He was a Street Dog, and he'd show them that sooner or later--as soon as he could walk.

Scamp stopped a few feet from Fang, not noticing the Golden Retriever puppy. He laughed his Scamp laugh, shoulders moving up and down, eyes scrunched, mustache hairs quivering, half-snorting, "Hmmk-ha-ha!"

Angel bounded into the room prettily, her fluffy tail bouncing up and down as she did so, yellow collar jangling. Her one crooked ear fell over a cornflower-blue eye, and she blew it up again.  "Scamp! Gimme back my dinner!" She giggled. "I'm starving!"

Starvin'? Yeah, sure. She don't know the meanin' of the word, Fang thought annoyingly.

Scamp was on the bottom step of the staircase now, setting the bowl down for a moment so he could answer, "You can have it--if you can catch me!"

"That's it!" Angel cackled, springing after him.

"Yipe!" Scamp cried, grinning and picking up her food bowl again, scrambling up the steps.

Angel caught up with him with all the skill of a Street Dog. She pinned him down as they reached the landing, the flat place where the stained-glass window was, then it turned to the right up another set of stairs. Angel panted, her collar's liscense almost touching Scamp's belly fur. "I win!"

Fang watched, heart wrestling with his pride.

"Hey, hey, hey, whirlwind," Tramp appeared, pale burgundy collar rumpling the gray-tan fur around his neck. "Look at the mess you've made, pal!"

Scamp winced. Puppy chow was littered throughout the bottom row of steps below them. He brightened almost instantly. "We can clean it up, Pop!"

Scamp darted a few steps down and began licking up the dog food. Angel, giggling, joined him. Tramp was joined by Lady. The two adult dogs smiled lovingly at the pups, unable to hide their contentment with their lives. Fang snorted.

The front door in the living room swung open, the sound echoing through Fang's long, golden ears. The three triplet Cocker Spaniels leapt towards him, their polite daintiness forgotten.

"You're awake! He's awake, Annette!" cried Danielle, tongue hanging from her mouth.

They proceeded to surround Fang's bed.

"Are you okay now?"

"Does it hurt?"

"You must've been so brave!"

"No Street Dog acts like that!"

"Can we see your leg?"

"Tell us how it happened!"

Fang lifted his head, smiling without showing his teeth, eyelids lowered, raising his chin so he could look at them out of the bottom of his scarlet eyes. "Ladies, ladies, c'mon. You're wearin' me down."

"Pleeeeaaase?" Collette went into the begging position, pale crimson collar dangling.

Fang, eyelids still lowered, cocked his head downward to the right, eyes looking down with the smile still on his muzzle. "Heh. Okay, girls, it was like this."

Annette laid down, trying to get comfortable on the kitchen floor in front of his basket-bed. Collette lay down beside her, head on her paws, huge brown eyes sparkling up at Fang. Danielle stayed sitting up, tails sweeping across the floor in anxious excitement, tongue still flopping out of her mouth, her eyes wide.

"Picture the scene." Fang swept his uninjured paw across their faces. "Shadowy alley, middle 'a the wrong side o' the tracks. Me an' the gang, y'know, Affy an' Skip and Rose, we come t'a dead end fence. We hear Miss Priss over there," he jerked his head toward Angel, still with Scamp on the steps--Danielle snickered--and Fang continued, "we heard her barkin' it up on the other side. The gang's all tripping, not knowin' what t'do. So I give 'em a little pep-talk. Then I climb to the roof of one of the buildings. I look down, an' there's dollface," again he gestured to Angel, "cornered by the ugliest mutts you ever saw."

Collette gasped. Annette's eyes widened.

"So I jump down there t'save 'er, y'know, an' I get 'er outta the way while me and the brutes go head-t'head, bitin', snarlin' rippin' at each other. I saved the gal, kicked those fleabags clear outta the alley, but they left me a little gift for my heroics." Fang lifted his injured leg.

The Cocker Spaniel triplets sighed dreamily in unison. 

"You were so brave!" Collette exclaimed.

"How big were they?" Danielle asked, ears jumping.

"Big enough t'leave me like this." Fang hid the pain when he set his bandaged-up paw down. "Next thing I know, I'm in that vet building, wearin' this," he lifted his chin to show them the red collar around his neck, "an' my paw's casted up so's I can't get out."
 

He caught sight of Angel watching his stories with a bemused smile on her muzzle while she licked up the mess on the stairs.

"Alright, you three," Tramp said, padding up with Lady beside him. "Time for bed. You too, whirlwind," he winked at Scamp. Scamp rolled his eyes and groaned, but Lady trotted over and nudged him toward his bed.

"You can talk to Fang in the morning, girls," Lady said in her sweet, honey-coated voice. The girls brightened and trotted daintily to bed.

Fang watched them go, grinning.

"You got them hooked, huh, champ?" Tramp passed by Fang's basket, stopping to wink at him. 

Fang looked away, disgusted. 

Tramp sighed and continued walking, saying over his shoulder, "You'll come around soon, pal. That leg can't stay broken forever."

"Ch'yeah," Fang scoffed. "You ain't the one wearin' it."

Tramp lifted his eyes to the cieling and smile hopelessly, shaking his head. He walked into the living room, Lady right behind him.

"Angel," Lady called. "You need your sleep too, dear."

Fang gagged.

Angel smiled at her. "Coming."

When the other pups were asleep and Lady and Tramp had gone out, Jim Dear and Darling walked through, carrying a sleeping Junior, and turning out the lights as they went.

Fang sat alone, awake in this soft, too-cushiony bed. He laid his head on the edge, letitng his ears flop over the sides.

"How's it going, 'champ'?" Angel giggled, whispering as she tip-toed toward his bed, stopping in front of him. She smiled.

The Golden Retriever pup's heart pounded, but he refused to show how much he still felt for her. She'd hurt him, but he didn't ever want it to show. She'd rejected him, and he'd reject her failed attempts to make peace in the one way he knew how: cruelty. Sarcastic, knock-down-drag-out cruelty, pricking her right where it would sting in the meanest voices possible.

Fang mimicked her smile nastily, throwing back a sarcastic retort, "Aside from th'broken leg, doin' swell. Need anything before yer tucked in, 'dear'?" He sneered meanly at her.

Angel blinked rapidly twice. She closed her mouth, looking at him from the bottom of her cornflower-blue eyes, eyebrows lowering angrily. "I thought you'd be okay after you got some rest. I guess not." She turned to go.

Fang sat up. "'Ey, 'ey, wait a minute, there, doll."

"What now?" Angel looked over her shoulder at him.

"You gonna help me get this thing off or what?" Fang displayed the red collar around his neck.

Angel gave hima cute little smile. "Figure it out on your own, Fang." She began walking toward her bed again, only to stop and lower her eyelids, the half-smile still on her face as she turned to look again at him before continuing on, "That's only if you really want it off by the end of the week."

Fang's head jerked backward, ears swinging with it. "End 'o the week? Is that when this leg's gonna be better?"

"That's what Jim Dear guessed." Angel shrugged. "Who knows--maybe you'll think a little differently by then."

"Yeah, well, don't hold yer breath, dollface," Fang scoffed, laying down and resting his head on his paws again.

"Sweet dreams, Street Dog," Angel smiled and walked to the bed in between Scamp's and his sisters'.

Chapter 11


 

 (5 Days Later...)

 "I don't know, Pidge," Tramp murmured, squeezing shut one eye and ducking quickly as a splash of water narrowly missed the end of his nose. "He just can't get used to it."

"None of the others were ever this bad," Lady fretted at his side.

"What about me?" Scamp growled at her left, licking a patch of rumpled fur on his shoulder, shaking himself one more time.

Tramp grinned and winked at him. "No one was as bad as you, pal."

Angel giggled. The dogs were all looking up at the table in the kitchen. The edge of a newspaper--a wet one--was dangling over the edge. On top of it sat a tin basin.

Splashing and angry noises sounded from above.

"Settle, settle," Jim Dear was saying.

Lady lowered her head hopelessly. Tramp snorted, and Scamp elbowed Angel, both of them bracing themselves.

Jim Dear's hands set down a ruffled, clean lump of Golden fur.

Fang shook himself twice, showering the remaining indoor dogs to his left.

"There is no good way to take a bath, huh?" Scamp panted a doggie grin at Fang as he walked past.

Fang stopped, that stupid red collar tightening as he spoke, glaring scarlet daggers at Scamp. "Shut. Up."

"Hey, calm down, champ. Around here we don't act that way," Tramp said.

Lady's eyelids lowered, glancing scornfully at Fang. She knew Tramp had told the Golden Retriever pup this time after time--what was it going on now, twice each day?--but he always came back with a...

"Oh," Fang smirked at the former Street Ledgend, "I noticed, Kennel King."

...smart-aleck retort. Lady sighed.

Jim Dear, wiping his hands, left the room and walked outside.

Fang made faces behind his back as the human exited the household.

"Lighten up, will you?" Angel rolled her eyes at him. "It was just a bath. It's not like it killed you."

"We can only hope," Scamp muttered out of the corner of his mouth in her ear. Angel blinked, resisting a smile.

"Newsflash, Chew-Toy," Fang grumbled, lumbering up to Scamp and bristling. "Only weiner dogs mumble. You got somethin' t'say, speak up, and we'll see who--"

"That's enough," Lady interrupted, fighting the urge to curl her lip and snarl at Fang. When would he learn his manners?

 Tramp pushed between Fang and his son. "Get a clue, champ. You've been a stick in the mud for the past five days since y'got here. I suggest you perk up, or there's gonna be issues. Got it?"

"Make me, why don'tcha?" Fang muttered under his breath.

"Now who's mumbling?" Scamp countered, ears pricked. He steadied his legs, head sunk below his shoulders and his teeth bared. He, like the rest of them, were getting sick of Fang's dark attitude. Lately, the three triplet Cocker Spaniels had been the only ones to brighten his mood. But then, they adored him, so what did he have to be mad about around them?

"You wanna go, Chew-Toy?" Fang snarled, bouncing on his paws. He let out a barrage of barking.

"Cool it!" Tramp snapped, again intercepting him. "I've got an idea. You," he nudged Scamp towards the door to the living room, "go out that way. And you," he glared at Fang, "go out the other way. Upstairs maybe. I don't want to hear anything else out of either of you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sure thing, Pop," Scamp muttered reluctantly. He began growling insults to Fang under his breath, but the Golden Retriever didn't hear it.

Fang curled his lip, not moving, rolling his eyes slowly upward and keeping his gaze on the cieling, eyelids lowered. "Ughhhh..."

"Look at me when I talk to you, champ," Tramp growled.

Fang glared into his eyes. This was no Street Ledgend. This was a wannabe goody-two-paws playing 'House' with a bunch of pups at the Park--and he played the role of 'daddy'. Wimpy alley-reject.

"I said, do I make myself clear?" Tramp said, in a warning tone no ordinary pup would talk back to.

Fang wasn't ordinary. He smirked, nastily faking a good-natured smile. "Crystal." He turned, tail in the air, and went to walk up the stairs, stopping at the mirror at the bottom.

He curled his lip again, eyeing the red collar with venom in his gaze. When in the name of the dogcatcher's truck am I gonna get this thing off? He crouched, keeping the weight off his injured paw, and pushed his hind legs against the collar. It pushed his extra neck fur against the back of his head, but it didn't slip off. Stupid collar.

 He trudged slowly up the stairs, ears dragging. He limped. His injured leg was getting better, but it still wasn't fit enough for him to even run anywhere.

He stopped at the landing where the huge stained-glass window. Fang looked down into the yard. If only he could get outside, he'd get out of here! Two days until his leg was fully healed. He'd seen so much stinking happiness and contentment, he was well past tossing his disgusting puppy chow. Fed in a bowl, sleeping in a basket, taking baths every day. When the other pups went for a walk, he wasn't allowed to go with them.

"Hey, stranger. How's life treating you?" Angel softly came up behind him, sitting next to him.

Fang groaned inside. Another of her attempts to be friendly and nicey-nice. Gag me. But her sentence made him swing around, standing up, ignoring the fresh wave of pain shooting up his leg. "Life?" he scoffed. "This ain't no life! You're eatin' slop, sleeping in a basket with a pillow in it--who are you tryin' to kid? You're under house arrest, doll, and they're lettin' you think you're living? Gimme a break!"

"Well, that's a matter of opinion," Angel shrugged, not fazed. "You call it prison. We call it home."

"Uh, no, wrong, I call it torture, and so should you." Fang turned his back on her and sat down again.

There was silence. Angel sighed heavily, then stood up and walked until she was standing in front of him, at the base of the set of stairs that led to the top level of the house. She lowered her head and tried to look into his eyes. He looked away.

"What's so bad about it?" Angel asked gently. "You're out of the cold, dry, well-fed, and you're surrounded by friends that care about you..."

He snorted and turned around again.

She followed. "...No matter how much you act up."

He lifted his head. "Care? If you nimrods cared at all, you'd at least lemme outside."

"We can't do that, Fang."

He glared at her. "Yeah? An' why?"

"Because. You'd run." Angel's eyes were sincerely sorrowful. "We're not stupid, Fang. We know you're not happy here."

"Y'know me that well? What has it been, no more'n four days? You oughta call me brother by now, don'tcha think?" Fang's sarcasm practically dripped from his tongue.

"You can't run from your family, Fang."

That did it. Fang's patience snapped. He lurched forward, wincing slightly at the pain in his injured paw. "Hey, I didn't ask for no family, doll. You got one o' yer own--leave me out of it!"

"Why don't you want a family? Don't you miss it?" Angel begged.

"Miss what?" Fang raised his head high, towering over her. He looked at her out of the bottom of his eyes. He turned away again, head hanging, ears lowered, tail tucked between his legs.

"Fang, won't you talk about it?" Angel followed, eyes wide.

"Can't."

"Why not?" Angel asked.

"B'cause," Fang blinked three times, rapidly, fighting the wetness in his eyes. "Y'can't miss somethin' you don't have."

Angel let the breath out she didn't know she'd been holding. Her puff of a tail sagged. She couldn't imagine what he meant. What he was thinking.

"Y'can't miss something you don't remember." Fang sighed, feeling hollow.

Angel fought the urge to let out a doggie whimper herself. She left him alone in his memories for a moment, then brightened. Her voice soft, gentle, she walked up beside him, cream-colored paws relishing the feel of the carpet, and nudged him with her nose gently. "Hey. I know something that'll cheer you up."

Fang shook himself, recollecting his cool. He grunted. "You finally decided to dump yer puppy chow into Jim Dear's slippers?"

Angel laughed. "No, you monster! What kind of twisted canine would do something like that?"

A slow smile crept up Fang's muzzle. His eyelids lowered. He moved his eyebrows up and down, gaze wandering as if looking into an imaginary video camera.

"No. No--Fang, no!" Angel laughed harder. "Don't even think about it."

Fang shrugged. His tail began to wag. He didn't want to still like her, but who could not? Those blue eyes, that crooked ear, that powder-puff tail--her laugh--puppy love was cruel.

"If yer leadin', lead." Fang grinned at her.

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

He was outside! The front yard! Yes!

 Fang took a deep breath of the outdoor air. "Am I dreamin'? I think..." he he closed his eyes, stood on tiptoes, stretched his neck, and smiled as he took in another whiff through his nose. "...I smell..." he sniffed again.

Angel chuckled.

"...Is it...(sniff)...it is!...fresh...air! Ahhhh!" Fang took in a huge breath through his mouth.

Angel laughed out loud.

Fang suddenly coughed, gagging. He staggered, tripping on a T-Bone on the front porch. He yelped in pain, still coughing, stumbling on his injured, bandaged-up-in-a-cast paw and leg.

He landed in a jumble of ears and paws on the sidewalk leading to the gate.

Angel, mouth open in an O, eyes widened, hurried to his side. Seeing he was okay, she snorted a half-laugh. "Oh," she said, "that was smooth." She grinned. "What happened?"

Fang gagged, standing up, fur hot, his eyes crossed, mouth open. His voice was high-pitched, frail, and hoarse as he said, "Higack--swallowed a bug."

Angel arched a brow. "Just a bug?"

"They're pretty good this time 'o year." Fang cracked.

Angel laughed.

The doggie door swung open. Scamp stepped out onto the porch. His eyes went from Angel to Fang and back again.

"What's up out here?" Scamp asked, voice cold. He trotted smoothly down the three green, wooden porch steps and confronted the two other pups. "Heard a crash."

"Slick Move here fell down the porch," Angel smiled, winking at Fang. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth in a smile, moved his shoulders upward to the side of his head, and tilted his head to the left, appearing fake-modest.

"Yeah?" Scamp circled Fang, eyebrows lowered, still ice-cold. "Getting soft?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Fang's smile dissapeared, and he sprang at Scamp, snarling. Angel leaped out of the way, too suprised to do much else, it was all happening so quickly.

Scamp lowered his eyelids, smirking, and took one swinging step to the side.

Fang tripped on his hurt leg, yelping a puppified howl of agony, and stumbled nose-first into the grass.

"Scamp!" Angel cried, rushing to Fang's side. "How can you take advantage of him like that? He's," she glanced down at Fang, who was trying to get up but falling back down on a jellified injured leg. "He's hurt!"

Scamp grunted. "He wouldn't be if he'd minded his own buisiness." He looked away, obviously ashamed and struggling with pride and a case of jealousy.

"Would I still be here if he'd minded his own buisiness?" Angel growled.

"Well, uh, yeah but, Angel, I mean...I didn't mean..." Scamp stuttered.

Angel turned, huffing, "You're hopeless!" as she stormed inside, through the doggie door.

Fang finally shoved himself to a sitting position, a grass blade balancing on his nose. He sneezed, and it fluttered to the ground.

"Losing your touch?" Scamp growled.

Fang narrowed his eyes. "If my leg weren't throbbin', Chew-Toy, I'd grab you up an' shake ya till ya couldn't stand."

"You and I both know that scene in the alley with Angel wasn't all you. You had help; she didn't just sit there and do nothing." Scamp circled Fang, blue-green collar dangling slightly. "Damsel in distress, that's not the Angel I know."

"You weren't there, muttfuzz, an' it's about time I taught ya what a real Street Dog can do. Come a little closer an' I'll begin Lesson One." Fang stood, his injured leg trembling a bit. He tried not to show how much pain it was giving him.

"Yeah. I'm shaking." Scamp snorted. "Just stay away from her. She doesn't need some slick-move alley pup to take her back to her nightmares. Leave her alone. She's happy here with us."

"With you, y'mean." Fang growled. "Face it, Chew-Toy, I ain't welcome here, am I?"

Scamp hesitated. He knew he was the one in the wrong here; his father would never have delibrately baited Fang when he knew he was too hurt to defend himself. That was being a bully. But what about Ange? He couldn't just let Fang charm her into taking her back to life on the streets! She might never come back to him! Okay, maybe he was a little bit jealous, but what did that have to do with Angel's safety? The streets weren't for her anymore.

"When your leg's better," Scamp murmured, turning away, "just go." He strode up the porch and into the house after Angel.

Fang's eyebrows raised. What wimp would give up on the opportunity to take advantage of a pup who could barely walk? Scamp had Fang where he could torment him verbally--maybe physically, but he hadn't. Was he scared, even though he knew Fang was out of commission for any damage? Not likely. It seemed that Scamp had been through something, something that made him stronger. So why had he spared Fang? The Street Dog didn't get it.

 Three orange-brown bundles hurled themselves at him. Annette, Collette, and Danielle swarmed around Fang, shooting questions at him.

"Where's Scamp going?"

"You're outside! They let you out!"

"Like our yard, Fang?"

"He's seen it, Danielle."

"Oh, yeah."

"Have you been in the doghouse?"

Fang ignored the gloominess surrounding his thoughts, pushing it away and grinning handsomely at the girls. "Seen it. Been in it."

The girls gave him puppy-dog pouts, their big brown eyes gazing up him pleadingly. "Can we show you anyway?" Collette asked sweetly, her long, coffee-brown ears rippling past her shoulders and down to her paws.

"A'ight, but go slow, gals. Leg's actin' up," Fang shrugged.

"Gotcha!" Danielle spluttered, forgetting what he'd just said and tromping ahead in wide gallops.

Collette and Annette flanked him, both competing for his attention.

"How was your bath, Fang?" Collette asked kindly.

"Your fur is so silky--it did you good!" Annette crooned.

Fang lifted his head as he limped along. "Lemme tell ya, girls--they can force me into th'tub, but they ain't gonna make me like it."

"I love getting a bath!" Annette cried, looking surprised at her hero's obvious dislike of her favorite activity.

"Nahhh," Fang shook his head, eyes scrunched shut firmly. He opened them again, head still once more as they walked, Fang still limping. "Baths're fer House Dogs. First step to lettin' 'em take you in--likin' the baths. Ain't no soap's gonna keep me clean."

"But you kept the collar!" Collette pointed out, eyes fixed on his shining red one. "And a licsense!"

Fang rolled his eyes. "Look, girls. I can't get the stupid thing off, that's all. It ain't like I wanna wear it!"

"Whatever you say." Annette shrugged. Collette copied her.

"Here it is!" Danielle called out. A foot ahead, she stood proudly at the doghouse entrance, her paws hidden by the grass Jim Dear had blatantly forgotten to cut.

Fang humored the triplets, ducking into the doghouse, surveying the soft little throwrug on the floor of it, the blue wooden walls, the roof so patched up it wouldn't leak.

He stepped out. The girls were awaiting his reaction with eager anticipation. He shrugged, forcing a smile. "Cozy." They squealed. A stream of steady chatter, then arguing, followed shortly thereafter.

"Pssst! Fang! Fang, over here!"

Fang's head jerked. Could it be? That voice! Oh, yeah! Music to my ears!

Two heads showed from the other side of the fence, through that one fatal hole in it.

"Uh, you gals go on inside. I'll catch up." Fang nodded to the door on the porch. The girls let out whines, which began to test his patience, and then gave up and went inside.

Fang's tail wagged ninety-miles-an-hour as he sprang toward the fence. His leg gave way, the injured one again. He barked in pain, then stood up again, trying to recover and hoping his visitors hadn't noticed.

"Hey, gang, how's pickin's?" He coughed.

"Fang! You're okay!" Rose cried, pulling herself underneath the fence and into the yard, hurling herself at him.

Usually he wouldn't have given her a second thought, but he'd actually missed them--the company of real dogs--that he was even happy to see Rose.

She bowled him over, licking his face rapidly. He shoved her off, injured paw spiking stinging pain through his thighs. He yelped, then clamped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth and trying to pretend he hadn't.

"You're hurt!" Afghanna pushed underneath the fence, through the hole, and into the grassy front yard, bolting toward him and dragging Rose a few feet away by the scruff of her neck. "Lay off, kid, he's in bad shape!"

"You mean worse shape than before?" Skip grunted, squeezing through the hole in the fence and joining them.

"Hey, Skipper, how's it goin' Affy?" Fang sat up, lifting his injured paw off of the ground, wincing at the throbbing. "Naw, this? Just a sprain. Honest."

"It's a cast, Fang. It's broken, isn't it?" Afghanna sniffed at it worriedly.

"They treating you okay here?" Skip asked, looking with obvious disdain at the Darling house.

"It's been a nightmare, Skip, lemme tell ya. Moldy food, cushioned beds--in a basket, for cryin' out loud--baths--"

"You can cut the act, Fang, it's okay. We're your friends." Afghanna frowned at him.

Fang's eyes popped open. "Huh?"

"We saw you with those Spaniels. They took a shine to you. You treated them like--well--sisters."

"Like family, y'mean?" Fang spat the word out like it was poison. "Yeah right! I hadda get 'em off my tail. Don't get the wrong idea, Affy, I ain't a House Pet."

"Oh, you're not?" Skip growled sarcastically.

"Precisely. Ease up, knucklehead." Fang growled right back at him, louder.

"Fang," Afghanna said gently. "You're wearing a collar."

Fang glared at his new collar with more hatred than ever before. "Yeah? So?"

"Why didn't you take it off?" Rose asked, cocking her head. Her eyes were dark, with an emotion he couldn't read.

"I can't," Fang said simply. "Won't come off."

"Angel's could. Scamp's did. Why not yours?" Skip snarled suspiciously.

"If yer sayin' I kept it on 'cuz I wanted to, you've got a serious mental issues, pal," Fang snapped.

"You don't want to stay here?" Rose demanded, no hint of a smile, eyes still cold, her face a picture of anger. "With your precious Angel?"

Fang's heart pounded. "No way."

"Really?" Afghanna countered. She edged to the hole in the fence. The other two followed. "Then come with us."

"Uh...huh?" Fang blinked slowly.

"Prove you really hate it here--with them--and come back to the streets with us. Didn't you always tell us this was the wrong side of the tracks for our kind?" Afghanna wasn't smiling either. She looked calm, neutral.

Fang leaned away. "I, er, yeah, I did, but..."

"But what?" Skip scowled at him. "What's so hard about this?"

"Please?" Rose's blue eyes were wide and begging.

Fang kept his own gaze on Afghanna.

"Choose, Fang. You can't have both," Afghanna murmured.

Fang looked back at the house. Then back at his friends, his gang. Back to the house. His gang. He stifled a sigh. "A'ight, a'ight, I'm comin'. Move over."

They all parted to let him through. Fang limped to the hole, sliding onto his belly, ears lifting on his head. His dumb collar tightened, making the fur around his neck hot. He tride to slide through--his shoulders were too broad to make it through the hole, as usual, so he wouldn't be able to get through without sliding his front paws forward.

But one of those paws were broken just now.

"Yipe!" Fang cried out, gritting his teeth and jerked backward, tumbling into the yard.

Rose rushed towards him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine," Fang sucking in through his teeth and lifting his casted paw off the grass, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a tiny, short, "Ah," after sucking in air. So, if you want specifics, it sounded like this: "Sst-ah".

"You're not fine, you're hurt," Skip said matter-of-factly, circling Fang and stopping at his right.

"I told ya, Skipper, I'm--" Fang stopped, whining softly as a random jolt of pain shot up her foreleg.

"Fang? Can you still make it out?" Afghanna asked. She knew the answer; it was obvious that if he pushed hard enough, he could.

Fang knew it too. But before he knew what he was saying, he barked, "Nah, I don't think so, Affy. I think I'll stick around this prison awhile longer, just till, y'know, the end o' the week. My leg'll be fine then."

Skipper, Rose, and Afghanna all stared at him coldly. They gathered at the hole in the fence, blinking at him.

"We both know you coulda made it out," Skip growled before ducking underneath the fence and dissapearing.

Rose glanced at Fang, eyes dark, then at Afghanna, then squeezed through the hole and wasn't visible again.

Afghanna turned to go.

"A-Affy," Fang blurted, wincing as he raised his injured paw higher.

"You could've made it," Afghanna murmured. "You chose to stay."

"Nah, it ain't like that, I'm--" Fang protested, breaking off and trying again. "I want--"

"I get it, Fang. Don't worry." Afghanna crouched, the front half of her body lowered, ready to go under the fence. "Hey, you're lucky. No one else in your precious 'gang' was wanted. Look at you now." She gave him a sad half-smile, but it was a weak attempt.

She was looking just below his head. Fang followed her gaze to his scarlet-red collar.

"Afghanna," he pleaded, losing it. "Wait. I wanna come, don'get me wrong," he cleared his throat, eyes desperate, "I ain't a House Pet, Affy, c'mon."

"You made it pretty clear which side of the tracks you belong on now," Afghanna interrupted again. "We had a great run. Maybe we'll..." she paused, eyes misty, "...ahem, maybe we'll catch you later."

"Affy," Fang murmured. "Don't go, Aff', I promise I don't wanna..."

"Just don't forget us. Okay?" Afghanna smiled, eyes wet, and ducked under the fence.

Fang stumbled toward the hole, squeezing his head under. "Guys? Wait, gang, don't go!" He strained to see them around the corner, down the alley, anywhere. They were gone.

He pulled out, backward-tumbling into the grassy yard again. He got up, wincing at his paw. "No, no, no no no!" he snarled, baring his teeth. "It ain't endin' like this!"

He crouched, pushing again with his hind paws against that idiot red collar that ruined everything. He shifted his weight to his uninjured paw. How did he do it with Angel, when he had tried to be all heroic and save her from the dogcatcher--a plan he had hatched and put together?

Oh yeah!

He bent his head, forcing his neck fur to lie flat. He pushed as hard as he could with his hind legs.

Fwhoop! Tingle-ing!

The collar slipped off, turning over in the air and landing with a jangle in the grass a few feet away.

Yes!!

Fang grinned slyly, and limped to the hole in the fence. He crouched, trying to see through it. Getting underneath wasn't an option anymore. His gang still hadn't reappeared. If only they could see him now, without that collar, remember what he used to be! He wasn't a House Dog. He belonged on the streets, leading a gang of skilled pups, dogs who knew what it was to live free.

He didn't need a family. He needed them.

Fang's shoulders sagged. But there was no way out of here. Until his leg healed at the end of the week, he was stuck in a world he didn't belong to.

He moped around, limping, to the back of the house, flopping down, miserable, in the grass near the birdbath.

Trapped.

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

Scamp pushed through the doggie door outside, standing on the front porch, afternoon sun turning his gray-brown fur to tan. He had apologized and made up to Angel, teasing her and giving her big brown eyes until she laughed and was calling him 'tenderfoot' again. Now he had to apologize to Fang. Where was he?
 

"Uh...Fang? You out here?" Scamp called. He trotted into the yard.

He gasped. Leaping over near the doghouse, he bent his nose to the grass and lifted his head back up. Around his nose was a red collar. Fang's.

Flipping it into the air, he caught it in his teeth. Dad needs to know about this. And Angel.

"Pop! Angel! Come quick!" Scamp lunged toward the porch, collar still in his mouth, and ducked into the house.

Chapter 12

(Two Days Later...)

 Fang glanced down at his injured leg, still admiring that it wasn't bandaged up anymore.

"Why'd you do it?" Angel asked for the fortieth time. Fang was curled up  on the porch, refusing to sleep in the house. It was pitch-black outside, but Angel insisted on keeping him awake with deep-feeling questions.

"It didn't belong on me, okay? Get used to it. If yer prison wardens come an' put it back on, I'll take it right back off. They gotta get the message." Fang growled.

"I don't know about Jim Dear or Darling, but I get the message. Loud and clear." Angel muttered. "Look, Fang, haven't you noticed what goes on here? Warm beds, good food, strokes and kind words?"

"Yeah. It's called torment."

"It's called love, genius, and you need to get with the program before they--"

"Before they what?" Fang sat up. "Put me on a chain?"

Angel didn't answer.

"That's what you were gonna say, wasn't it?" Fang challenged. "Ain't no humans gonna put this Street Dog on some stupid chain. Forget it." He flopped back down. "I'm done talkin' sentiments, powder puff, and I suggest you do th'same."

"I know why you're acting like this." Angel continued, ignoring his last sentence. Fang groaned.

"What, what?" He snarled. "Go ahead an' tell me."

"You're mad at me."

There must've been a full two minutes of silence as Fang stared at her.

Finally:

"No?" Fang gasped, overdramatically slipping in sarcasm. "What a novel idea!"

Angel rolled her eyes. "I know what you wanted from me. You'll never get it, Fang. If anyone was ever for me, it's Scamp, period. You'll never, ever, get what you want."

"Don't you get it?" Fang snarled. He advanced on her, stepping forward while Angel stepped back. "I don't care anymore! I don't care about you, I don't care about the Chew-Toy mutt, an' I don't care about those three sappy triplets, either! I don't care." He lay down again, turning his back on her. "When the end o' the week comes, an' you wake up in the mornin' lookin' to make me into a groomed-up House Dog again, I ain't gonna be there. I'll be long gone, and I ain't never comin' back!"

"Well..." Angel spluttered, furious and hurt, "Well, good riddance, 'champ'!" She stormed toward the dog-door. "I don't want you to come back. Ever!"

"Yeah? Well, fine, then, I won't!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Angel sprang through the doggie door and into the house.

Fang was laying in the pool of light from the window, a golden diagonal square on the wooden porch, and he noticed that three shadows had fallen across his resting place.

He looked up, gazing at the window.

Collette, Anette, and Danielle were there, their front paws on the windowsill from inside, standing on their hind legs. They all glared at him, hurt. Fang stiffened. How long had they been standing there? Had they heard everything? They must've.

Annette turned her nose up in the air, eyebrows lowered, eyes closed firmly. "Hmph!" And she hopped down from the window, disappearing.

Danielle shortly followed. Collette gazed Fang a moment longer, then grumbled, "I knew strays were bad news," softly to herself, and then she too disappeared into the household.

Fang blinked. Aw, no, it's not like that. "I care," he murmured, resting his head on his paws. Angel's cornflower-blue eyes filled his mind. Scamp's grin. Tramp's wink, Lady's smile. The three triplets blinking with adoration up at him, like little sisters would to a heroic big brother. He could almost feel Jim Dear's hand caressing his back fur with gentle strokes, and Darling's honey-dipped voice as she complimented him on what a 'handsome li'l pup' he was, how strong he felt. Junior's pudgy little arms wrapping around his neck, giggling.

I care.

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

"He didn't even try," Skip growled, pacing behind Tony's.

Rose glared at her paws. "He could've if he wanted to. He doesn't give a stinking garbage can about us anymore."

Afghanna, resting on top of a crate, sprang to her paws and hopped down. "That's not true, you two. That dog was broken-hearted."

"As if!" Rose scoffed. "He wants to stay with his pretty little Angel." Bitterness welled up in the young pup's eyes. "He never even noticed me."

Afghanna pressed her side against Rose's. "Hey, come on, just forget about him. He's happy where he is, and we're..." she swallowed a lump in her throat, "...we're better off...without him."

Skip hung his head and didn't reply. Rose swayed a little on her paws, but turned her face away, ears swinging, and didn't look up.

"You know what we have to do, don't you?" Skip spoke up, raising his head with a jerk, determination written all over his face.

"What's that?" Rose asked.

"We gotta find a new leader. Or try to get him back."

Afghanna stiffened. "Without Fang, are we really even a gang anymore?"

"Of course we are." Skip growled. "Who said he kept us together anyway?"

"Well, you could start with the fact that he taught us everything we know," Afghanna tilted her head to the side in one rapid motion and straightened it again, looking into the distance as she spoke.

"Except you, Aff'," Rose pointed out sweetly. "You knew just as much as he did when we met."

"No doubt," Skip agreed, in a low, reluctant voice.

"Look, we don't need a leader." Afghanna ignored their compliments frostily. "We're fine as we are."

"Who even told us we were a gang at all?" Skip scoffed.

"Fang." Afghanna growled at him, feeling defensive of their absent leader.

"I don't have to put up with Fang anymore," Skip snarled. Rose gave a tiny gasp at his savagery. "I don't need him. You're both wrong; the only thing he taught me was not to trust anyone."

"Knock it off," Afghanna barked. "This is tearing us apart."

"If I ever thought anyone would always be a Street Dog, it was Fang," Rose murmured sadly.

"Well, he's not now, and he's gone." Skip stuck his nose in her face, fed up. "Get over him."

"It's easy for you to say, you never--" Rose shot back, blue eyes flaming.

"Shut up!" Afghanna howled. They both froze and turned their heads to stare at her, eyes wide. Skip's eyebrows were still lowered like a dark cloud, though, as usual. "Just shut up. You two have no more sense than a couple of house cats. I'm surprised you're not still wet behind your ears!"

Skip blinked. Rose opened her mouth, then closed it again.

"Forget Fang. Forget him. We'll stick together and move on without him." Afghanna snapped. "Okay? Now Skip, let's get Tony out here for some bones and hit the hay."

"Huh." Skip grunted. He trotted over to the door and scratched on it with both front paws, sitting down on his haunches. Now all they had to do was wait for Joey and Tony to arrive, spot them, and feed them. Piece of cake.

Afghanna sighed, gazing down the alley. Where was Fang now? Curled in some comfortable little pillow, being hand-fed and stroked? It didn't matter.

Yes it does. Afghanna thought miserably. We need you, Fang.

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

Fang's eyes widened. Thunder crashed overhead. The sound of rain outside whatever dark place he was in pelted his ears. Speaking of them, they seemed longer than usual, and his paws were clumsy just now. He glanced around wildly. He couldn't see anything but pitch-blackness! The sound of a door creaking open a few feet away made him jump.

Lightning flashed outside, illuminating every drop of rain in the space of two split seconds. It showed the dark, shadowed form of something else, a human standing in the doorway. The human held an object. Long, pole-like.

POW!

The sound radiated in Fang's ears.

His eyes popped open. He jolted awake. He was still on the front porch of the Darling house, but he could barely see a thing. The lights inside were off, so everything was dark.

"Haven't had that dream for a while, huh," Fang panted quietly to himself.

A twig snapped in the yard. Fang's head raised. What was that? A bird? Had to be. He lay his head down again.

"Shhh!"

Fang's ears leaped up on his head. He sat up. A voice. Human? Canine? He couldn't tell.

"Stow it, y'nitwit, or you'll get us both arrested!" A British voice said somewhere in the darkness.

"I am stowin' it, bagel-breath, but if'n you keep on doggin' me, I've a mind to--" Sounded another British voice, breaking off as the first one interrupted.

"Sshhh, be still, mate, an' follow my lead."

Fang stood now, paws splayed firmly. Humans. They were coming his way.

Two black-cloaked figures, one skinny and another big, masked, were creeping up the porch. Fang let out a low growl.

The figures froze. They both turned slowly and squinted in the dark.

"Hey, er, Tim, m'lad, izzat a dog?" The skinny one asked. He licked his lips anxiously.

"Aye, mate, looks like it. What d'we do, Horace?" The fat one replied nervously.

"Can't see it quite right innis light, hoi? Or lack of it. Er, ah, light th'lantern, we'll see." The skinny human ordered briefly.

Fang lowered his eyebrows. Whadda they want?

A light suddenly blazed in a lantern the fatter one was carrying. The porch was lit up, but only a circled portion of it. Fang squinted against the light, backing up--staggering, really--two steps before opening his eyes wider as they adjusted and taking in the humans' positions.

The skinny one, still whispering, cackled softly. "Aw, come off it, it's just a li'l one!"

Fang growled loudly. The cackling ceased.

"Li'l or not, Timmy m'boy, we'll 'ave t'dispose of it." The skinny one, Horace, began advancing on Fang. He beckoned the Golden Retriever pup with a finger. "'Ere, puppy, puppy," he crooned in a somewhat creepy voice.

Tim, the  big one, joined his partner in creeping forward.

Fang crouched, corner of his mouth bared, showing his famous fangs. "Yeah, I'll give ya yer 'puppy puppy'. C'mere yerself, bonebag."

Of course, the two oafs couldn't understand him, only hearing more growling.

Fang tested his injured leg. It wasn't casted up any longer, so--this being the end of the week since he broke it--it had been healing nicely and was in working order. It worked almost as well as before he'd saved Angel in the alley. It was a little stiff, that was all.

What ever these goons're up to, it ain't gonna be pretty when they try t'get into the house. Fang smirked. I ain't givin' 'em an invitation inside, so I oughta personally through 'em out.

"Hey, boys," he sneered, knowing they couldn't understand him, "Lemme show y'the door."

The two robbers crept up on him still, now Horace was holding a big, cotton sack. Fang guessed what he planned to do with it.

They lunged for him.

Fang sidestepped out of the way. "The door--"

Horace fell on his stomach. Tim leaped for Fang. Fang sprang over Horace and slid away from Tim. The overweight burglar toppled sideways over Horace, grunting.

"--it's that thing with the handle. Back away from it an' scram!" Fang finished. He grinned widely. This Street Pup still had some moves left in him.

"Grab 'im, Tim, don' lettim git away!" Horace shrieked. They both scrambled to get up.

Fang snapped a their ankles, sliding away from them before they knew it, and making them trip. A thought burst into his head: Make as much noise as y'can, Fangster!

 He barked, over and over. Howled. Growled and snarled, jumped up and down. Tim let out a gasp and glanced at Horace, who turned and began making a mad dash for the stairs of the porch, desperate to get out before they were caught. Fang grabbed a hold of Tim's pant legs, growling and tugging until the man kicked at him enough to fall forward, slamming chest-first onto the sidewalk of the yard. Horace followed suit, stumbling over his partner and free-falling backward, hitting his head on the bannister of the porch and slumping, unconscious, to the grass.

Fang grinned even more. Then he turned to the door of the house and howled. "Yo, calling all House Pets! Calling all House Pets! This ain't a drill, Kennel Club, repeat, this ain't a drill! Report t'the porch immediately! Report t'the porch immediately, heh-heh!" He smiled as he barked, tongue hanging out.

A light flickered on in the window. Then another. And another. The whole house lit up, and Fang heard Jim Dear's voice as he shouted, "What's going on out there?"

Seonds the later the whole household emerged onto the front porch, humans as well as dogs. Darling flung a hand up to her mouth and instantly cried, "I'll call the police!"

Jim Dear examined the unconscious robbers and turned to Fang. He reached down and scratched him behind the ears. "Good job, Fang, good dog!"

Angel and Scamp, along with Annette, Danielle, and Collette, all sidled over to him, grinning broadly.

"You beat them?" Scamp asked, raising his eyebrows, tail wagging. "On your own?"

"How is that possible?" Angel asked, half-laughing.

Fang shrugged. "When y'got it, y'got it."

"Tell us how it happened!" Collette begged.

"Oh, yes, please tell us!" Annette added.

Danielle nodded, tail wagging and rapid-fire speed.

Fang blinked, then murmured, "Ah, later," he chuckled nervously, then edged away.

Angel and Scamp met him, side-by-side, smiling with their eyelids lowered.

"Listen, uh..." Fang cleared his throat. "Leg's feeling fine now, an' uh, I gotta...y'know. I'll jus' be goin'."

Angel's smile wilted. "You're...leaving?"

 "What, how come?" Scamp asked, looking worried. "If it's, er, about what I said--"

Angel glanced his way but didn't comment.

Fang began backing away. "Nah, nah, it ain't like that. I just..." He sighed. "Look, I'll never belong here. Hey, the gang needs a leader, and the cushy-pillow life ain't for a rogue like me."
 

Jim Dear sidled back out into the yard, joining the dogs. "Well, I think the police will be here any minute, dogs." He knelt down in front of Fang, smiling beneath his brown mustache. "Looks like you'll become a town hero, huh, boy?" He reached his hand out to stroke Fang's head.

Fang backed away, crouching. Jim Dear's affections didn't belong to him anymore. He was a Street Dog again.

Jim Dear blinked, confused. Then his eyes cleared and he pulled his arm back. "We'll miss you, pal." He understood. If any human could speak dog in the near future, Jim Dear would be the first.

Fang drew himself up, edging along the grass toward the gate.

Darling emerged from the house with Lady and Tramp, Junior in her arms. The whole family huddled in a group in front of the house, looking at him with loving eyes. Family. He could've had it all.

But he didn't need it. He wouldn't forget them easily. What a family!

A large smile bloomed on Fang's muzzle, eyes sparkling with the old mischief as his eyelids lowered. He walked toward the hole in the fence, every step like a bob to an invisible beat that no one but the Golden Retriever could hear.

"Stay out of trouble, will you?" Scamp called, grinning.

"Can't promise anythin', Chew-Toy." Fang winked at him.

"Come back and visit, dear," Lady smiled sweetly.

"He promised to tell us about the burglars!" Annette whined. Collette agreed, glancing at Fang with large, sad eyes. Danielle looked at Fang, then to her sisters, and back.

"Hey-hey, I'll be back, don' worry. Lotsa moves t'show you gals b'fore y'get 'em right." Fang called to them.

"Take care of yourself, champ." The Tramp barked. "If you don't know what it is," he lowered his own eyelids and winked. "Don't eat it."

"Check." Fang nodded.

Angel darted forward until she stood in front of Fang. Slowly she brushed her head against his and nuzzled him. "Sure you can't reconsider?" she murmured.

His fur tingled. He ignored it, heart aching. He glanced at Scamp, who watched without any emotion showing.

Fang looked into Angel's conflower-blue eyes. "I'll visit, doll, but I ain't comin' back for keeps. But, ah," he turned around, digging into the ground and pulling out his red collar. "Y'can keep this."

Angel stared at it as he dropped it at her paws. "Really?"

"Hey, it ain't like I'm gonna use it again." Fang shrugged.

Finally, he ducked underneath the fence, poking his head back in as he was on the outside now. "Freedom's callin'." He winked.

Angel trotted prettily back to Scamp's side and the Darling family looked on.

"He certainly makes an exit," Darling remarked to her husband.

"A good dog, that one," Jim Dear replied.

Angel just smiled next to Scamp.

As Fang kept doing his invisible-music swagger down the dirt alley, across the street from the Darling house's fence, he heard Jim Dear's cry:

"Hey! Who put dog food in my slippers?!"

And then Angel's laugh hit his ears.

Eyelids lowered, Fang turned his back on the Snob Hill street and began running. Freedom! King o' th'Streets.

THE END!!!