It wasn't a strange thing to see Peter Burke walk into the office with a leash in hand, on the end of which was a grey and white husky.

The dog had become a sort of mascot for the White Collar Division. He even had his own little corner that everyone called "Neal's desk".

Jones always kept treats in his pocket for him, and even Diana had grown to like him, though she still made it clear that she was a cat person.

Neal had been discovered a few years ago on the Burkes porch, shivering in two feet of snow. He had no collar or microchip, and after a few weeks of advertising, no one came to get him, so he became part of the family.

He was almost scary smart, knowing how to open doors and sneak around so that you didn't even know he was there. His aqua blue eyes held a spark of mischief, and when you talked to him, he seemed to listen carefully to every word.

Last year, Peter had been out on a walk with Neal when Jones called about a tip. There was no time to take the dog home, so Peter brought him with, knowing he'd behave himself.

The scene was horrendous. A young woman had been shot in her home, and she was currently being seen to by EMTs outside. Her grandmother's painting, she said, had been taken.

Peter spoke with her briefly, getting the details of what had happened, but other than that, there wasn't much he could do. Jones and Diana had already checked out the crime scene, finding nothing.

"Come on, Neal," he ordered, tugging on the leash.

Neal stayed stock still, ears pricked and gaze set firmly down the street.

"Neal," Peter repeated, "Let's go home."

Neal pulled against the leash with a soft growl, and that was when Peter knew something was up. Neal never growled, not even a little.

He let the dog take the lead, and set off, holding the leash loosely in his hand. Jones followed as well, curious, and they moved at a quick and steady pace down the street. Neal never faltered once, nose to the ground and sometimes to the air and he trotted along.

He didn't stop until they reached what looked like an abandoned house. The for sale sign in front of it was old and weathered. Neal turned sharply and went right up to the door, then glanced back at Peter.

Peter and Jones exchanged a glance before drawing their guns.

Inside, they found two men, and the painting, right in plain view. Peter wasn't sure how Neal had known, but that night, it was nothing but treats and scratches for him, especially from Elizabeth.

Ever since then, he'd practically become a part of the team, and that wasn't the last time he helped them catch a bad guy. They fitted him with a special tracking collar so they could follow him much quicker, and that was when they found out about his late night habits.

His tracking data showed that he got out of the house almost every night and wandered around the city, sometimes in a fixed pattern.

It became a popular topic around the office, everyone coming up with more elaborate explanations for the clever behavior. Peter was convinced Neal had been trained as a search and rescue dog. It explained how smart he was and how many commands he knew. It also explained his knack for finding things or people.

Neal seemed quite happy to run with the team, especially when he got attention from the people he helped. He was becoming the most popular dog in the city.

One night, Peter was woken up by Neal whining at the door of their bedroom and Elizabeth mumbled, "He probably needs to go out."

Peter got up with a sigh, and he headed downstairs, Neal bouncing at his heels excitedly.

"Alright, alright."

Peter opened the door to the backyard, but Neal stopped right outside and looked up at him, whining some more.

"What? Go on. You wanted out."

Neal spun in a circle, then pushed his way back inside through Peter's legs, only to head straight over to the front door to whine some more.

Peter sighed heavily. "No, Neal. Go lay down."

Neal barked sharply, making Peter jump slightly. "Neal! No!"

Neal only barked again, more demanding this time, if that was possible, so Peter went over and opened the door. Right away, Neal dashed off down the street, only to run right back, dancing in place with another high pitched bark.

Peter was extremely tired, but he now knew his dog was trying to tell him something, so he grabbed his coat and followed him.

Neal didn't lead him far, just to a construction site a quarter mile down the road. Peter could barely see in the dark, but after a moment, he spotted Neal's white fluffy tail further down the fence, and when he got close, he could see something else.

It turned out to be another dog, its short, tan fur covered in dirt. It wore an old, ratty collar, which was stuck on the fence pretty good.

Neal licked the dog's floppy ears, then glanced up at Peter, who was already working the collar free. It took a moment, and the stray dog tucked its tail between its legs, looking at him in fear.

It took a minute to get him free, and when he did, he took a look at the collar. There were no tags, but there was a name etched into the fabric. 'Mozzie'.

"Hey, Mozzie," Peter soothed. "Good boy."

And that was how the Burkes acquired another dog. As with Neal, they put up posters and called local animal shelters, but no one ever came for him. Neal was happy, Peter was sure. The two got along famously, and it wasn't long before they were wreaking havoc on the city during their nightly escapades.

Mozzie refused to set foot in the bureau, but that was fine with Peter. They already had one mascot. There was no need for two.

"What are we gonna do with you guys?" Peter muttered, sitting in his office while Neal lay at his feet, chewing on a ball Jones had made him out of rubber bands. But he glanced up at Peter's voice.

And was it just him or had the dog just grinned at him?