Song 03: "Movin' Out (Anthony's Song)"
Annie was slow to follow, but Rita never rushed her. She made sure the old dog took her time on the stairs, all the way up to the third floor, and showed her which doggy door was theirs. Annie found herself in a small but peaceful one-room apartment. True, it was a bit dingy, but to a dog who'd spent her life sleeping in alleys, it looked perfect.
Three other dogs were inside the apartment, three male dogs — a Chihuahua, a Bulldog, and a Great Dane — which disappointed her because she'd hoped Rita's friends were all girls.
"Why, Rita, who on earth is this? A new friend?"
"Qué cojones, Rita? Whatcha bring her here for?"
The one who hadn't swarmed her the moment she arrived was the gray Great Dane, and for that, she was grateful. He was an older dog, like her, content to sit in his chair and smile pleasantly. Annie liked him already.
Rita led her away from their stares to a doggy bed and blankets currently unused. "Here, sister. All yours." She collapsed on the comfortable bed, then her stomach growled.
Rita must've heard because she brought her one of the food bowls from the kitchen.
"Oh, I can't… Ya don't got much as it is. I can't impose."
"Don't be ridiculous. Our food is your food." Rita didn't relent until she ate. She nodded to her companions. "Guys, this is Annie. Annie, this is Tito, Francis, and Einstein. Consider us your new best friends." She winked at the old mutt. "We'd never let a good dog starve."
"Thank you all so much. I've never had friends before."
Old Einstein hopped off the recliner and leaned down to look her eye to eye. He smiled wide. "It's our pleasure." She'd had run-ins with horrible big dogs, but this one felt different.
"I'm gonna like having another girl in the gang again. These boys drive me crazy."
Annie laughed, gazing at Rita with pure admiration. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed for nothing — it was a wonderful feeling. Lying in the doggy bed, her paws on her stomach, Annie thought life couldn't get more perfect.
Warm and full, she fell asleep and didn't wake until the late hours of the morning. Annie thought she'd open her eyes in an alleyway and realize Rita and her friends had all been a dream, but she was still in the apartment. Annie nearly cried with relief. Rita told her their owner was a poor man named Fagin who was often gone to work, but she promised her Fagin never turned away a dog and wouldn't start with her. Everyone was happy to have her, Rita said.
She hadn't considered the dog who'd stepped out yesterday.
"Get along, little doggies! The Dodge has returned." As anticipated, Dodger returned to the apartment wearing black sunglasses he hadn't had before. He wasn't paying attention to who was in the room. "My day was too awesome, guys. I teased this Golden Retriever babe, then I stole a fat corn dog for breakfast and chilled in Central Park. It couldn't get any — "
He froze when he saw her. He lifted his sunglasses to make sure it was really her — and it wasn't her smell or her looks that made him remember. It was her muddy brown eyes, identical to his own. His lips curled into an ugly snarl. "What are ya doing here?"
Annie gaped at him. "I don't believe it… You're alive."
"No thanks to ya. Ya left me to freeze to death."
"I know… and I'm so sorry. I promise I can explain."
"I don't want excuses, Momma."
The skidding of tires, of slammed brakes, rang in his mind.
He'd gone full-on aggressive, back arched and fur bristled like he had when he'd put himself between Oliver and the Dobermans. But he wasn't defending anyone this time. Rita had never seen him like this, so she threw herself between him and the old girl. "Whoa, whoa, hold the phone! This is your mother?" Looking at them both, Rita realized the resemblance. His fur was white and hers was sandy, but their build, their ears, their spots — it was uncanny.
"I wish she weren't," he spat. "She ditched me when I was a puppy."
The Company fell silent. It was an understood rule amongst street dogs that you didn't ask about each other's pasts or parents — usually it wasn't a pretty story. In New York, no one cared what you did yesterday. Everyone was running from something, and that was no one else's business. The rest of the gang felt witness to a scene they had no right to see.
As for Dodger, he'd spent too long running from yesterday. When he was a pup, he used to dream that his mother would find him again, that she'd snuggle and lick him and say it was all a big misunderstanding. He'd given that dream up after a few weeks in his basement.
"So did ya stalk me? Track down ya long-lost son?"
"No, I… I wasn't looking for ya."
"Why is that not a surprise?
"I didn't know ya survived. If I did, I would have." Annie gazed at him wide-eyed, jaw trembling. Her ears were sunken, her tail between her legs. "Please, son, hear me out."
"Don't call me son. Ya gave that up when ya gave me up." He marched decidedly around her, no longer aggressive but no less calm. "Go find someone else's life to barge into."
"But this is a miracle. Rita finding me, bringing me here to ya. Don't ya see?" She laid down before him in submission. "New York is giving us a chance to make things right."
"Why should I make things right? I didn't do anything wrong."
"Of course not, but if ya just let me explain — "
"Ya said ya didn't want me."
"I did want ya," she sniffed, laying her head on her legs. "But it was winter… there was no food. I was starving, and ya were starving… I ran out of milk. I knew that it was just a matter of time before ya…" Her voice became a whisper. "...I couldn't stand to see that."
The sound of muffled tears came from Tito and Francis, who held each other in distress. Einstein hated to see any dog upset. Rita frowned, unsure what to think or who to be mad at. "You told your own puppy you didn't want him?" She tried to imagine.
"I only said that because I didn't want ya to follow me. I'm so sorry."
"Sorry ain't good enough," he growled. "Ya didn't even give me a name."
"I couldn't," she whimpered. "I couldn't get attached."
"Well, I'm Dodger now, no thanks to ya."
"Dodger… That's a good name."
He could close his eyes and remember how it felt to huddle in an alley with nothing but newspaper to keep him warm. Other puppies had their mother's body heat, but he got newspaper. Dodger had worked so hard to bury these feelings beneath a carefree attitude, to pretend he never worried and never cared, but she'd unearthed them all like a volcanic eruption.
"What I did that night was selfish, but please understand… I've lost pups before. I couldn't go through that again." Annie took a hesitant step towards him. "But now that we're together again, I — I wanna make it right. I wanna show ya I care."
Annie was a foot away from her son, and for a moment, she thought he was going to embrace her. She swore he moved closer to her for a split second but then backed off.
"I ain't falling for this," he muttered. "I want nothing to do with ya."
All those nights alone. Cold and hungry. Fending for himself. A pup crying for his mother. Angry. Abandoned. His memories were volatile inside him.
"Ya don't mean that. I know ya upset with me, but — "
"Oh, I absitively posolutely mean that."
The afternoon sun was streaming through the open spaces in the boarded windows, throwing rays of lights into their ugly little apartment. Dust was visible in the sunbeams. Rita thought it gave the reunion a mellow atmosphere. "Dodger baby, I get why you're angry, but don't you think forgiving her would feel better?"
"We all do things we regret, old chap," Francis added. "But forgiveness — "
"Forgiveness? Ya guys serious?" He looked at them with such disgust, like they were moldy bagels in an alley. "Ya didn't grow up alone in tha Bronx cause of her." Now he stood resolute. "She ain't staying here. I don't want her here."
"You want us to throw an old lady out on the streets? Really?"
"I'm tha president, ain't I? It's an executive order."
"No way, José," Tito barked. "That ain't right."
Einstein stood beside Annie firmly. "She needs our help."
Dodger let their words sink in. They were all standing around his mother, a dog they didn't even know. They were choosing a complete stranger over him, their leader, after they'd heard what she had done to him. He had been disappointed that they wanted to stay inside and not go about the city, but this was something else entirely.
He'd never truly been angry with the Company. They'd been friends for years, the best friends he'd ever had, but this was a line in the sand. The gang had crossed it.
"As long as she's here," he growled, "I won't be."
The Company gawked as he put his new sunglasses back on.
"What are you saying?" Rita frowned. "You're quitting the gang?"
He shook his throbbing head. He'd thrown the sunglasses on so they wouldn't see the panic in his eyes. "Yeah — No — Maybe. I dunno. I just can't stay here. Not with her." He marched to the doggy door he'd come through moments ago, head held high. He looked back at them with a snarl. "And I hate tha Bronx."
He shoved through the doggy door and was gone.
Rita was surprised to find salty tears welling up in her eyes. She wiped them away, hoping the gang hadn't noticed. No one spoke. No one knew what to say, or what had just happened. Annie hung her head, and it seemed she blamed herself for the whole mess. Einstein must have sensed this because he rubbed his head against hers for comfort.
"How long till he's back, ya think?" Tito rolled his eyes, plopping back on the mattress beside Francis. "I give him a week. He's all talk. Tener mala leche!"
"Dodger has been irritable before," Francis mumbled, "but never like this."
When Rita's eyes were dry, she turned to face them. They needed her to be strong, as much as she wanted to fall apart. "You're wrong, Tito." Before, she thought she knew Dodger like she knew herself. Now, she couldn't say. "I don't think he's coming back this time."
He shivered as he raced down the sidewalk, hardly looking where he was going. After all this time, he still knew every block and alley of the Bronx. He had to get out.
Among the stray dogs and cats of New York City, he'd become known as the Artful Dodger for his stylish street savoir faire. That was the dog that a hundred others followed in the streets, interrupting traffic and singing his song. Every canine's favorite scoundrel.
The Artful Dodger didn't cry. What would his fans think?
"Get it together, man." He had to leave this neighborhood, and fast.
So Dodger hopped on the back of a southbound taxi cab and climbed on the roof, surfing his problems away. Soon they'd crossed the Harlem River and left the northernmost borough behind. "I'm sorry, gang," he muttered, looking past the riverside factories and warehouses. The Company was back there somewhere. "Why'd ya have to go and change?"
He jumped off the taxi on a sidewalk in Harlem. This neighborhood wasn't much cleaner than the one he just left, but it was more musical. Kids who should've been in school — except that school was boring — partied in the streets, carrying massive boomboxes on their shoulders for the breakdancers to perform to. He was mesmerized by their moves.
Sunglasses on, the Artful Dodger joined in the performance, shaking his tail and jumping onto a breakdancer's shoulders for an unrehearsed combo. He barked when the song ended. The kids cheered, scratched his head, and threw him beef jerky.
"Do my eyes deceive me, or is that tha Artful Dodger?"
A dog barked at him across the street, and Dodger's eyes lit up.
"Charlie?" He laughed, raising his sunglasses. "What are ya doing here?"
"Me? I live in tha Bronx," she chuckled. "I oughta be asking ya that."
His old friend was a Collie mix, black-and-white fur and a self-satisfied sneer that Dodger knew too well. She had a raspy voice like engine exhaust and brown eyes that radiated mischief. Her left ear was white, her right black, and both stood happily to see him. Most dogs assumed she was a guy, and Charlie never bothered correcting them.
She circled him and sniffed his nose, his side, and his rear. "Haven't seen ya in ages, man! Whatcha been up to?" she asked. "Practicing ya dance moves?"
"I've been… around, I guess. Living with tha Company, but things got complicated."
"Ah, tha old gang! Ya guys still live in that boat by tha Brooklyn Bridge?"
"Nah, Fagin moved us to tha Bronx and I hate it, man."
He told Charlie about the crummy new apartment and how to find it — east of Yankee Stadium in an area called Melrose, across the street from the Latino liquor store, third floor with the doggy door — in case their old friend wanted to visit. Dodger suspected she might when she asked, "Hey, and just between ya and me… is Rita still in tha gang?"
"Ha! Ya naughty girl." He grinned. "She sure is. Might like to see ya."
"I might like to see her." Charlie smiled like a fool.
Dodger didn't explain that he'd been distant from the gang ever since they decided to be normal house dogs, and he certainly didn't delve into the situation with his mother. Dodger didn't want to think about all that anymore. He wanted to catch up with his friend — no worries, no cares, and no thoughts of anything stressful. He was officially done with stress.
"Ah man, have I got a surprise for ya…" Charlie led him through the graffitied streets of Harlem. Dodger didn't know them well, but she certainly did.
They passed rows of apartments that had jack-o-lanterns on the porch steps. Shops had hung plastic spiders and bats from phony cobwebs in their windows. One of those mysterious Halloween stores had popped up on the corner, which in a few days would vanish until next year. Dodger hadn't realized the monstrous holiday was so soon.
"Right over here is where we live." Charlie nodded to a gloomy-looking stairwell that led to a subway station, only there was yellow caution tape over the entrance.
"Who's we?" Dodger ducked under the tape, following her downstairs.
The abandoned station was dimly-lit by flickering lights, which had dead bugs trapped in them. The station was damp and gray, concrete pillars and walls tagged with graffiti, with some benches that looked to be homes for the homeless. There was newspaper everywhere and faded wall posters. Charlie led him to the end furthest from the homeless folks' benches.
Lying there on moth-eaten coats and blankets were two dogs he hadn't seen in a lifetime. "Noah! Nancy! Great to see ya. I didn't know tha three of ya still hung out."
Noah was much as Dodger remembered, a large purebred Bullmastiff with dark gray fur and a patch of white on his underbelly. He had a scrunched-up face as if someone had deliberately punched it in. His floppy cheeks were a lighter gray, as were his legs. He had the friendliest smile of any dog with that many scars. "What took ya, buddy?"
"Life took me." He sniffed noses with his old friend. "Bad excuse, right?"
"Nah, we understand." The other old face was Nancy, a mixed-breed a bit like a Spaniel, with mud caked in her yellow fur and floppy golden ears. She never spoke much to Dodger back in the day, but that was because she never spoke much to anyone. She had a sweet face, a flower growing through cracks in the pavement. "Life gets away from ya."
Dodger couldn't stop staring at the three of them. He could never express how happy he was that they'd reunited. "Ah geez, how many months has it been, guys?
"Since we left tha Company?" Charlie mused. "I dunno… Nine? Ten?"
"It was tha first night Sykes came," Noah reminded them.
What a terrible night that had been. Back on the houseboat in late January, they'd been partying on the houseboat, watching TV, snacking on stolen pretzels — the entire gang, all eight of them — when Fagin stumbled down the stairs and fell on the floor. At first they thought he was drunk, then they realized he'd been pushed. "What a dump," Bill Sykes had said.
They'd been introduced to Roscoe and DeSoto. They'd tried to protect Fagin when the gangster began to beat him, but the poor man begged them not to interfere. They'd learned how much debt Fagin was really in that night, how much he was asking of them.
Which was simply too much for Charlie, Nancy, and Noah to keep living there.
"Us three have been down here ever since," Nancy said.
"Fagin made his bed," Noah sighed. "We didn't wanna lie in it."
"Ya not still mad at us, are ya?" Charlie asked trepidly.
"Mad at ya?" Dodger thought back to that night. He remembered saying some unkind words to his friends, and now he longed to take them back. "No, course not. Ya didn't wanna end up as Doberman chow. I can't fault ya for that, and I'm sorry I did back then."
The three of them wagged their tails to hear that.
"Actually, I, uh… kinda sorta just left tha Company myself."
That raised their eyebrows. There was no sound in the abandoned subway station but the buzzing of the broken light and the footsteps of people passing above ground.
"Ya left them? Like forever?" Charlie frowned.
"I ain't sure," Dodger admitted. "They're in tha Bronx now, and I can't live in tha Bronx. Too many memories." There was so much that he'd wanted to catch up with them on, so many stories to share and triumphs to relieve, that he was ashamed to have brought up his woes. He stretched and walked around the rundown station. "Least ya guys got a nice place."
"Sure do. Roomy, private, and away from humans. Those homeless fellas never bother us." Charlie glanced at the other end of the platform where they slept.
"If ya quit tha Company, why not join us full-time?" Noah suggested.
"Yeah! Ya know what they say: Three's a crowd, four's a gang."
"I dunno, guys... I ain't much of a joiner."
"Just think about it," Noah said with his friendly, familiar grin.
The dogs made him agree to at least spend the night in the subway station with them, just to see how he liked it. They assured him trains hadn't run on the tracks in over a year. Dodger couldn't say no to hanging out with them. He couldn't let the whole day be bad.
They went above ground to steal some dinner, and with Dodger's skills, they had an entire pepperoni pizza to themselves, fresh from the back of a delivery bike. They ran the streets of Harlem, howling like wild dogs, eager to stretch their legs. When they returned to the station, they reminisced about the good old days. "Remember that time we had a wrestling tournament on tha boat?" They all laughed, and Dodger and Noah demonstrated some moves. "How about when Frankie made us act in his play?" That'd been a cringeworthy performance.
When the stories ran out, they called it a night. The end of October was chilly, so the dogs gathered as many newspapers and cardboard as they could find for their beds. A few homeless men had appeared, but like Charlie said, they were no bother.
Somehow Nancy wound up beside him, and when the others were asleep, she whispered to him, "I'm glad ya came. I missed ya." Nancy hadn't said much to him all day, but Dodger knew that didn't mean she disliked him. That was just her way.
Her eyes said more than words ever could.
"I missed ya, too." They'd shared something on the houseboat, each time he'd caught her staring at him and she'd looked away. A blush, a secret smile. "I miss everything."
Sometimes Dodger wished he could freeze all of New York in time.
He'd slept in so many places recently that when his internal clock told him it was morning, Dodger wasn't sure where he was at first. He usually chose alleys, not subway stations. Then he saw Nancy and Charlie beside him and remembered yesterday.
Dodger tiptoed across the platform so he wouldn't wake the girls. An early morning walk sounded nice, so up the stairs he went. Noah the Bullmastiff was sitting on the top step.
"Morning, buddy." He nodded for Dodger to join him under the caution tape.
"Why'd ya get up so early?" He sat beside Noah. "Patrol tha block?"
"Something like that. I guess ya heading out now, huh?"
"I'll wait till tha girls wake up and say bye."
"Haven't changed ya mind about joining us then?"
"I have not. But I'll visit again for sure."
They turned their eyes to the city. The sun was just beginning to rise, throwing orange light over the building tops. Dodger knew the morning rush would start soon. People would catch the subway and head to work downtown — not from their station, of course — and the excitement always made his tail wag. Noah didn't look as thrilled.
"I know ya think tha Company is lame for staying inside like ordinary pets, but nowadays… they may be safer indoors. These streets are getting dangerous."
"No more dangerous than usual, right?"
Noah grew quiet. "Have ya ever heard of tha Purebreds?"
"What, like purebred dogs? Tha kennel club set?"
"These ain't no kennel dogs." He licked a scar on his front leg — not because it hurt, just out of habit. "Tha Purebreds are a gang, but they ain't a family like the Company. They've been claiming territory in Lower Manhattan, starting at tha Battery. Once they stake out their turf, they don't let any other street dog eat or sleep there… unless they're purebred."
"That's so stupid. Why do they care about anyone's breed?"
"I dunno, but they say mutts are inferior. So when they catch a mixed-breed on their territory…" Noah lowered his voice, "...one less mongrel in New York City."
"I don't believe it. That sounds like an urban legend."
"I'm telling ya, this ain't like alligators in tha sewers."
"Hey, there really are gators down there."
They sat at the top of the steps watching the city living and breathing before them. Cars sped past fuming from their exhaust pipes, which mixed with the steam from the street vents and people's breath visible in the cold. Dodger knew this city inside and out. Sure it was dangerous, but it'd always been. Streetlife wasn't for the faint of heart.
Dog gangs were nothing new. Strays ran in packs for protection, claiming this neighborhood or that, marking all the fire hydrants and street lamps. There was always an alpha and his lackeys. The more violent gangs sometimes tried to expand their turf, but they never got far — the bigger the territory, the harder to keep.
"Just be careful," Noah warned. "Tha city is changing fast."
