Title: Path Not Taken
Rating: G
Summary: What if Buster hadn't held a grudge against Tramp? And what if Scamp hadn't gone home?
~*~ A year. That's how long Scamp had been gone. Seven years to a dog.
"Oh, Scamp," Tramp sighed, looking out into the yard. Scamp's old toys had disappeared; Jim Dear had packed them away into the basement. He had talked with Darling, who insisted that Junior wouldn't forget the lost puppy if he saw the toys.
Tramp seriously doubted the toys were the problem.
"Tramp," Lady sighed, walked up to her mate.
"Oh, Pidge," he sighed at her. "How could I have been so hard on him? He was just a puppy! And now.he's gone!"
"I know, Tramp, but he'll survive."
"What if he doesn't? Scamp wasn't meant for the streets! He belongs here!" Tramp protested. Lady sighed and said,
"That may be, but if Scamp's anything like you, he'll be fine. Maybe he just doesn't want to come home."
"Why wouldn't he want to come home?" Tramp asked, confused. Who wouldn't want a warm bed, food every day, and a loving family?
"If he felt that he didn't belong here enough to run away, maybe he feels that he wouldn't be happy if he came back." Lady said logically. Tramp sighed and laid down on the floor.
"Maybe." He agreed reluctantly. ~*~
Scamp, the only son of the legendary Tramp and the purebred Lady, had done well for himself on the streets. He had a girlfriend; another two-year-old named Angel. He stayed in the junkyard, with Ruby and the other dogs.
Buster, their former leader, had been tramped underneath a horse on the previous 4th of July. They had all voted Scamp and Angel the joint leaders, but Angel and Scamp often referred to the others for help.
"Scampster," Angel said, using Buster's pet name, "What are we gonna have for dinner tonight?"
"Roger's back in town," the slick Scamp answered. He was almost as tall as his father, though the hair on his head had gotten a little longer. It gave him a handsome, michevious look.
"The hot-dog vender?" Mooch asked.
"Yep!" Scamp declared. Mooch started yowling happily.
"Shall we go, then?" Angel asked Scamp. Scamp, who had been chewing on a bone, got up, stretched, scratched once, and bounded off. For all of his growing, he was still a pup at heart.
The junkyard dogs followed, yowling and bouncing. ~*~
Rating: G
Summary: What if Buster hadn't held a grudge against Tramp? And what if Scamp hadn't gone home?
~*~ A year. That's how long Scamp had been gone. Seven years to a dog.
"Oh, Scamp," Tramp sighed, looking out into the yard. Scamp's old toys had disappeared; Jim Dear had packed them away into the basement. He had talked with Darling, who insisted that Junior wouldn't forget the lost puppy if he saw the toys.
Tramp seriously doubted the toys were the problem.
"Tramp," Lady sighed, walked up to her mate.
"Oh, Pidge," he sighed at her. "How could I have been so hard on him? He was just a puppy! And now.he's gone!"
"I know, Tramp, but he'll survive."
"What if he doesn't? Scamp wasn't meant for the streets! He belongs here!" Tramp protested. Lady sighed and said,
"That may be, but if Scamp's anything like you, he'll be fine. Maybe he just doesn't want to come home."
"Why wouldn't he want to come home?" Tramp asked, confused. Who wouldn't want a warm bed, food every day, and a loving family?
"If he felt that he didn't belong here enough to run away, maybe he feels that he wouldn't be happy if he came back." Lady said logically. Tramp sighed and laid down on the floor.
"Maybe." He agreed reluctantly. ~*~
Scamp, the only son of the legendary Tramp and the purebred Lady, had done well for himself on the streets. He had a girlfriend; another two-year-old named Angel. He stayed in the junkyard, with Ruby and the other dogs.
Buster, their former leader, had been tramped underneath a horse on the previous 4th of July. They had all voted Scamp and Angel the joint leaders, but Angel and Scamp often referred to the others for help.
"Scampster," Angel said, using Buster's pet name, "What are we gonna have for dinner tonight?"
"Roger's back in town," the slick Scamp answered. He was almost as tall as his father, though the hair on his head had gotten a little longer. It gave him a handsome, michevious look.
"The hot-dog vender?" Mooch asked.
"Yep!" Scamp declared. Mooch started yowling happily.
"Shall we go, then?" Angel asked Scamp. Scamp, who had been chewing on a bone, got up, stretched, scratched once, and bounded off. For all of his growing, he was still a pup at heart.
The junkyard dogs followed, yowling and bouncing. ~*~
