Chapter 2: The Stray Alliance

It was like low thunder rumbling behind my ears, so clear I nearly jumped. Duke’s eyes locked on mine, steady and full of something like wisdom—or maybe just the confidence of a dog who’d seen it all. I blinked, wondering if I was losing it, but I knew exactly what he meant.

"C’mon! Follow me!" He led me to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. Seven or eight stray dogs were already waiting there. When Duke brought me in, the little strays forgot their usual fear of people. They howled, anxious and wild.

The warehouse smelled like rust and old rain, the air gritty and cold, shafts of sunlight cutting through broken glass. The dogs crowded around, fur bristling, voices rising in a chorus of nervous yips and whines. It looked like a scene from a kids’ adventure movie—except the fear in their eyes was all too real.

"That’s Peanut’s mom! Peanut got grabbed here!" "It was a bunch of huge guys who jumped out of a white van." "They also took Missy!"

Their words tumbled over each other, panic and hope all tangled up. Some of the younger pups pressed close to my legs, looking for comfort, while the older dogs paced restlessly, ears flattened. I realized, right then, this was their own neighborhood watch—and I was their only shot at getting their friends back.

I knew who they meant by Missy. She was my neighbor’s little sister’s cat—a calico with a splotch of orange on her nose and a tail that never stopped twitching. She always slipped out on her own, hated being picked up, and sometimes left half-dead mice on the porch, her idea of a gift.

Missy was the terror of the backyard, queen of the fence line. She’d strut past Peanut with her tail in the air, pretending not to notice him, but I’d caught her sharing a sunbeam with him more than once. The neighborhood kids would laugh about her "gifts," but her family just shrugged and called them love tokens, even if they were gross.

That afternoon, the little girl next door had knocked on my door, sobbing her eyes out.

She stood there, clutching a faded plush rabbit, cheeks streaked with tears. Her voice was so tiny, I almost missed it over the AC. The sight cracked something inside me; I knelt down and hugged her, feeling her little shoulders shake.

"Ma’am, have you seen Muffin? Muffin’s gone."

She could barely get the words out, hiccuping through her sobs. Muffin was all she had left since her grandma died. I felt my stomach twist, cold and sharp. There was nothing I could say to make it better.

I realized right away what had happened and called the police. Turns out, the security cameras on that block were down for maintenance. Three days. Minimum.

I begged, but the officer just shook his head. "Sorry. We’ll do what we can." Three days felt like forever. I hung up, fists clenched, staring at the useless blinking cursor on the police report form. It felt like yelling into a thunderstorm—nobody listening.

When I left the police station, dusk was settling in. Duke and his crew were waiting for me on the steps.

Their shapes glowed under the streetlights, tails down but eyes shining. Duke gave a little huff, as if to say, "We’re in this together." Seeing them—dirty, battered, but loyal—gave me a glimmer of hope I didn’t know I still had.

"You okay?" "If you need to cry, you can use my fur."

The words made me laugh, even though I wanted to cry. I pictured myself sobbing into Duke’s fur, and for a second, it didn’t seem so crazy. The dogs shuffled closer, offering silent comfort the way only animals can.

I met the worried eyes of the pups. They looked at me, like I was the last grown-up left in the world. It was humbling.

Out of nowhere, a memory surfaced.

It hit me, sharp and sweet, like summer grass. I remembered Peanut as a puppy, his tiny tail wagging as he looked up at me with those big, hopeful eyes.

Peanut used to get a $1 allowance every day. He always saved it—too thrifty to spend it, until one day...

He’d stashed crumpled dollar bills in a coffee tin under his dog bed, refusing to touch them for weeks. Then, all at once, he’d splurged, and I found myself counting empty hot dog wrappers, wondering, Was I raising a canine stockbroker or what?