Chapter 1: The Hot Dog King

The little dog always got free hot dogs at the corner convenience store. Seriously, it was like he owned the place.

It was pretty much a running joke with the clerks—Peanut would trot in, tail wagging, and someone would call out, “Hey, here comes the regular!” They’d toss him a hot dog, and he’d snatch it right out of the air, paws prancing with pride. The regulars at the counter would laugh, shaking their heads like they’d seen it all before. Only in a place where everyone knows your name—and your dog’s, too.

To keep things fair, I strapped an old FitBit to his paw. Yeah, I know how it sounds.

I’d tried everything else—coins in a pouch (he hated that), a Velcro wallet on his collar (lost in a day), even Venmo (don’t ask). But the FitBit was my last resort, a digital piggy bank strapped to a furry wrist. Every time he took a step, it logged his journey to the store, and I’d square up with the cashier at the end of the week. It was ridiculous, sure, but somehow, it felt like we were both playing by the rules.

There was a daily limit of $3, but somehow, it was never enough. Go figure.

I’d set the cap thinking, "Three bucks a day? That’s plenty for a dog." But Peanut was a social animal, and somehow, his appetite, and his big heart, always outpaced his allowance. The store clerks would wink at me, sliding him an extra treat on the sly. “Don’t worry. He’s got a tab.”

One day, my little dog was stolen by a backyard dog dealer—the kind you hear about on Facebook, snatching pets from porches.

It was the kind of nightmare you see in neighborhood posts. One minute, he was sunning himself on the porch; the next, he was gone. My stomach dropped. I ran up and down the street, calling his name until my throat was raw, neighbors poking their heads out to help. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. What if he was really gone?

While I was frantically searching for him, the boss of the neighborhood strays—a big yellow mutt named Duke—came strutting down the block.

Duke was a legend on our block—a big, broad-shouldered hound with one ear chewed and a crooked tooth that stuck out when he grinned. He sauntered up like he owned the place, ears perked and eyes sharp. The other dogs parted for him, tails wagging in respect. Even the kids knew: you don’t mess with Duke.

"Hey, human. Let us help find your dog." That deep, gravelly voice echoed in my head—the inner thoughts of the big yellow dog in front of me. Wait, did that dog just...talk?