Chapter One

A quaint little town, found somewhere or other in charming New England, was abuzz with the energy and laziness the start of late summer brought.

Young children ran around in the front yards of their homes, in the not-too-busy streets of the town, or really, in any other place that struck their fancy. The kids laughed as they jumped up and down in a game of hop-scotch on the town's many sidewalks. Down by the river, overlooked by the tall wooden bridge and train tracks, a little girl sat on a picnic blanket reading a book by the light of the afternoon; a little boy ran up to her from the riverbed and threw his newly-caught frog on her, hoping to either impress or scare her (the two actions were really quite interchangeable at their young age). All of the local children were enjoying their remaining, relaxing hours of summer break, glad to be away from the boredom of homework and the musty reek of ancient textbooks.

Far across town, in a rather wealthy part of the neighborhood, a dog yawned to the lazy afternoon. The yawning canine was laying on the front porch of a large white house, a relaxing spot where he nowadays often enjoyed snoozing away the daylight hours.

This was, however, no ordinary dog yawning on his owners' porch. In what seemed like a lifetime ago (but was in reality a matter of months, almost a year now), he had been held in high esteem among the numerous collar-free street dogs of the town. To them, he had been the Tramp.

Ah, yes. The King of the Junkyard Dogs, the greatest street dog this town had ever seen, the Tramp thought to himself, almost laughing at the absurdity of his reputation as the "greatest" of those poor dogs who had no consistent supply of food, no promise of safety on the dangerous streets, no real place to call home.

That really was a lifetime ago. But hey, I've never been one to dwell on times of old, the now-collared, now-tame dog thought.

"Dad!"

But he was more than a collared house dog now; he was a father to three well-mannered daughters and one poorly-behaved son.

Said son had come running around to the front porch from the backyard, looking for his dad. Like his father, the young dog - still just a puppy, really - had the floppy ears and scruffy, scraggly gray fur of a Schnauzer. Despite looking exactly like his mixed-Schnauzer mutt of a father, little Scamp was actually half purebred Cocker Spaniel. You'd just never know it by looking at him.

"Dad! Have you seen Angel around anywhere?" Scamp worriedly asked his father.

"Can't say that I have, Whirlwind… but I did just sleep all morning," the Tramp shrugged, doing little to calm his worried son, "Why? Is she missing?"

"I don't know! I saw Angel yesterday, but I haven't seen her all day so far, and…" Scamp started to say, but trailed off sadly.

"And what?" his dad pressed.

"…and I don't think she's been feeling well the past few days," Scamp admitted.

"What? Is she sick?" the Tramp asked with immediate concern.

"N- No… but I think she's sad."

To this, the Tramp had no immediate response. His son's upsetting news about Angel came as no real shock to the Tramp, for he'd been worried that this would happen. He had feared that Angel would not like living in their house, or that she might feel as if she didn't belong. Whatever the exact reason, it concerned him that Angel was upset.

"Do you know why she's sad, Whirlwind?" the Tramp asked, jumping off the porch to join Scamp in the yard, "Has she talked to you about it?"

"No. She's never actually told me she's sad, but… I can just tell. It's the way she's acting," Scamp tried to explain.

"She acts depressed?"

"Kind of, yeah. At least, she has been for the past couple days… but today I can't find her!" the puppy worried, his eyes darting all over the yard in the hopes that Angel was hiding there somewhere.

"Okay, son. You've gotten me worried now, so let's go see if we can track her down," he suggested. Scamp nodded his head and followed his dad around to the backyard. The two mutts searched all around but couldn't find her in the yard.

They next entered the house, first checking the living room. Their owners, Jim Dear and Darling, were sitting with their little son, Junior, on the couch. Lady, their lovely Cocker Spaniel and the mother of the Tramp's puppies, was lying down on the carpet with their three daughters, Annette, Collette, and Danielle. Just like how Scamp looked exactly like his dad and nothing like his mom, the three girls had the same long, beautiful golden-brown fur as their mother, but looked nothing at all like their father. It was strange.

But for the moment, all that mattered was that Angel was not there with the rest of the family. The Tramp and Scamp moved on to check the kitchen, the hall, the parlor, and the rest of the ground floor, then walked up the staircase to see if she was upstairs. Angel was not to be found in the master bedroom, and when they entered Junior's bedroom they found it empty as well.

Before they left, the Tramp heard quiet breathing coming from Junior's closet. The door was left slightly ajar, and when Scamp slowly pushed the creaky closet door open, there lay Angel. She was curled up as if she were asleep, but her eyes were open.

"A- Angel?" Scamp quietly asked.

"…Hey, Tenderfoot," Angel sighed.

The little dog, barely more than a puppy like Scamp, was really quite lovely. Her short fur was a soft cream color, her ears pointed, and her tail curled and very fluffy. Angel even had a brand-new yellow collar the family had bought her when they adopted her off the streets. However, Angel's lavender eyes gave away her sadness.

"Angel, what's wrong?" Scamp asked her, looking ready to burst with worry, "Have you been hiding up here all day?"

"Yeah… Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you," Angel apologized, then got up and walked out of the closet, "Just wanted some alone time."

"Angel, are you sad? Depressed? Please, tell us what's wrong," the Tramp asked her, every bit as concerned as his son.

"…No. No, I'm not sad. I've just been… thinking," Angel explained half-heartedly, "I guess I'm just a bit troubled."

Scamp started to ask what was troubling her, but his dad shook his head for him to stay quiet. Taking a deep breath, the Tramp asked, "Angel… is it about you living here with us now? Aren't you happy here?"

"Of course I'm happy here. You all have been so nice to me… It's just that I…" Angel started to answer, but fell silent. She sighed, then answered, "…I've just been in one of those moods, y'know? Just been feeling quiet lately. That's all."

She smiled and shrugged as he told them this. Not entirely buying it, the Tramp asked, "Are you sure that's all there is to it?"

"Yeah. I'll feel better tomorrow, I'm sure," Angel smiled again, then left Junior's bedroom and made her way down the stairs.

Scamp turned to his dad and sighed, "I hope it really is just a mood."

"Maybe it is. I'm sure she's fine, Whirlwind," the Tramp grinned.

From downstairs, they heard Jim Dear call out, "Tramp! Where are you?"

It sounded like Jim Dear was ready for their afternoon walk. As the mutt came down the stairs, the man smiled, "Tramp! There you are! Let's go, boy!"

The Tramp was very glad that Jim Dear and Darling had decided to simply name him "Tramp" when they took him in from the streets. Sure, it was an awfully big coincidence, but it saved him the trouble of having to get used to a new name for himself (He'd already had to deal with Butch, Mikey, and Fritz).

When Angel entered the living room, Junior happily called out her name, "Angel! Angel!"

She put on a smile and went to play with the child; out in the hall, Tramp laughed to himself as he thought about what an even bigger coincidence it was that their owners had decided to name her "Angel," the name she had already been going by on the streets. Well, it was easier for everyone this way.

Jim Dear and Tramp walked out the door together, leaving for their afternoon walk around the neighborhood. Scamp, glad that Angel was okay after all, went back outside to run around the yard for another hour or so.

Once Tramp and Scamp were both out of the house, Angel slipped away from Junior and walked back up the stairs. She really did hate lying to the two of them, especially to Scamp, but she just didn't know how to tell them why she was feeling so sad, so depressed in this wonderful family that loved her.

Back up in Junior's closet, Angel curled up once again. She sighed, closed her eyes, and tried to fall asleep.

They wouldn't really be able to understand… They don't know what it's like to have gone through five different families, each exactly like this one here… none of those worked out, so why should… Angel thought with a heavy heart, sighing again. It should be so easy to be happy in this kind, loving home, so why couldn't she be? Everyone's been so nice to me… but I just don't know if I can call it home… when I've never had a real home before.