Street Mutts

(July 8th, closed to Toughy and Dodger)

Toughy strolled along the heroes' camp, a hop in his step and his fluffy tail rapping rhythmically against the dusty ground. The storm was over, the sky was bright blue, and white puffy clouds streaked the sky. The day couldn't have been more perfect. Yet...Toughy paused, sitting down and just tapping his paws. "Boy, whadda day!" he said to no-one in particular. "Yeah...sure is nice..."

His eyes trailed down. The mutt realized the tune that he had been tapping was none other than Peg's little ditty about the Tramp. He smiled a melancholy smile that soon turned into a look of dismay. It had been a while since he'd seen everyone from the pound, he realized. He was getting old- his time left on Earth wasn't long and he still hadn't seen the Tramp, or Buster, or even Boris and Peg! Old dog sighed sadly, lowering his head.

"Man, I'd give an'thing to see the ol' dogs again...wish there was anotha' street dog 'round this joint taht I could talk ta..."

This particular day, Dodger had a bit of a spring in his step and a smile on his face. The day had started out well, and the streetwise New York mutt finally felt like he was in a good place in his life. What would have made things even more perfect would be the rest of his gang coming to join him. That, of course, seemed unlikely. The chances that Francis and Einstein coming out to find him were very slim, and Tito seemed to have vanished completely. Dodger, admittedly, would have liked to have come across any other street dog. Anyone would have done. All he really wanted was a little companionship to make the day complete.

His stroll seemed to have been cut short when the presence of another dog caught his attention. Dodger couldn't help but look Toughy's way when he caught what the other stray had said. It looked as if both of them were going to get their wish, after all.

"Look no further, my friend. One street dog, at your service." Dodger said as he strolled forward. The scruffy dog stopped when he was about a foot away from Toughy and sat down, offering a flashy Dodger grin before deciding to speak again. "Haven't I seen you around here before? Back when Mayson returned from his absence?" Dodger asked.

At the sound of the New Yorker's voice, Toughy lifted his head, obsidian eyes glancing in Dodger's direction. A slow smile began to form on his maw as he rose to his paws, padding closer to the terrier-looking mutt. He sniffed him over, giving a bit of an examination. The scent...the speak...his ragged looks...

"Well well," Toughy started, a smirk on his maw and an eyebrow raised. "Looks like we got a New Yorker here!" He chuckled a bit, his intentions warm. "Now that'sa place ta be a street dog...yeah..." The question that Dodger had asked registered, and Toughy sat once more to think. Come to think of it, the other dog did look mighty familiar. He thought back to the day of when Mayson had returned to the camp, which was the day that he had come to camp and met Crescent, that lovable little Dalmatian puppy. And yet...he had seen Dodger there!

"Ya sure did." he replied, winking. "Taht was the day I came to join th' war." He gave an easy breath, reminiscing in that day Then, he realized. He never got the other dog's name!

"Say...what's yer name, kid?" The mutt smiled. He had a feeling that they were going to get along just fine.

"I thought that was you. Just didn't get a chance to introduce myself before. Clearly, that's about to change." Dodger said. He thought he had recognized Toughy from that day, and admittedly he was glad that he hadn't been mistaken about his identity. That would have been more than a little awkward. "Anyway, the name's Dodger. New York's coolest quadruped." he said. It had been a long while since he'd used that greeting. Not that it was a bad thing, though. Dodger was grateful to have a chance at using a more cheery greeting as opposed to the usual greeting he'd become accustomed to.

"So, you got a name?" he asked. A dumb question, really, as everybody had to have some kind of name to go with their appearance, but it felt safe enough to ask all the same. After all, they were going to have to know who they both were if they wanted to really consider each other friends.

Toughy gave a genuine smile. Dodger, eh? Those street dogs in New York always had particularly good names. He liked Dodger. The name suited that mutt. A chuckle escaped his lips. "Dey call me Toughy," he replied. "Not as cool as Dodger, but it's ta name I was giv'n back when I lived on th' streets." A twinkle sort of appeared in his eye as his smile widened.

"Back in those days I w's able ta outrun 'nything that came my way. I had th' best pals I could ask fer, even in th' pound." He looked Dodger's way once more, curiosity starting to build. "Say Dodger, wha' happened ta you? I bet New York's the best place fer a street dog. Always wanted ta go there- it was my gang's dream."

(Bah, short post is short ><)

"Good to meet ya, Toughy." Dodger said. Toughy. It may not have been as cool as Dodger, but it suited the slightly older street mutt. He certainly looked like he could have been a tough old dog. Living on the streets would have done that to any dog, though. There was no doubt about that. It sounded like Toughy had had a pretty good life, even if he had wound up in the pound somehow or another, while living on the streets. As for Dodger, well... he would just have to answer Toughy's question regarding his own life.

"Guess you could say I had a pretty good time of it in New York. Got myself a gang back home and a human called Fagin. He kind of looks out for us, but mainly it's us dogs looking out for each other." Dodger said. He idly wondered how Fagin, Einstein, and Francis were holding up back in New York. He hadn't exactly been keeping up his attempts at staying in contact with them, after all. "Yeah... things were pretty sweet back home. Can't really say the same for being out here, but you know how it is here. War isn't exactly a picnic." he said. Oh, he wished it were easier at times. It would have made his problem relating to Rita so much easier.

"It'd be so much simpler to just go back to bein' street dogs, you know? Then we wouldn't have much to worry about again. Aside from living, of course."

"Aye, ya got taht right. War ain't no place for a couple'a street dogs like us." Toughy sighed. "Things just ain't as they used ta be. Bu' yer story 'bout New York...man, tha' jus' sounds like th' good life. Although, I'd be wary havin' a human 'round, but taht's just me." His mind wandered back to his days on the street. He'd never think to trust a human. He couldn't help but wonder just how the Tramp might have done it, seeing as how he moved with Lady and her human.

"Say though, 'm curious. Howd'ya get 'long with a human? My group could nevah. Nevah in a'hundred years- wes were always dodgin' th' dogcatcher or somethin'. Could never 'magine how ya did it."

Thinking about it, Dodger wasn't really sure how they had come to trust Fagin. As long as he could remember they had always been together. "Dunno, really. I guess we just sorta found each other. Street dogs, a guy toughing it out on the streets... we kinda clicked. So we've been workin' together." Dodger replied. It had never occurred to him that street dogs trusting a human might have been strange before. They weren't really Fagin's pets, though. More like companions. "Never really thought about it much before. It's just the way it's always been. Us trusting Fagin, I mean." he said.

"Never thought I'd run into another street dog out here, either. I was beginning to think Tito and I were the only ones in the Pridelands." he said after a moment. He was glad that wasn't the case. Having Toughy around was a good thing, he thought. Dodger liked the idea of having another dog that had had to live a tough life around. Maybe they could start talking to the pups and other pets that had come to the Pridelands and give them advice.