Song 17: "Summer, Highland Falls"

After a long drive through congested city traffic, Fagin's motorcart was speeding across the Brooklyn Bridge. As they passed over, Rita gazed at the docks below. She remembered a wooden houseboat that was no longer there. But that was then. This was now.

"We're Brooklyn bound." Charlie's tongue flapped out of her mouth.

"This is ours, fellas!" Fagin announced as the small moving van parked up ahead. The motorcart screeched to a halt. "It ain't nothing fancy, but it's a house. A real house."

The Company could hardly believe it. Before them was a small white house, one story, with a driveway, mailbox, and a front porch. They barked excitedly and ran to the door, getting under the mover's feet. The inside was even better. There was a stained-but-comfy carpet and a modest kitchen. There was a bedroom for Fagin and a doggy door around back.

"There's a yard! We have a yard!" Stud, Kitty, and Billy immediately ran out the doggy door, and Rita and the rest followed them out. To her great surprise, there was already someone waiting for them in the small, fenced-in backyard. A man and his dog.

"Dodger! What are ya doing here?" Rita was speechless.

Dodger was in the yard with Mr. David Foxworth, playing tug-of-war with a rope toy. Dodger tugged it out of his hands, holding his trophy proudly, until Mr. Foxworth scooped him up in his arms. Dodger licked his mustache, making the man laugh.

Rita was speechless because with his navy blue bandana, red collar, and neatly-groomed fur — not to mention playing like a carefree pup — she hardly recognized her friend. Dodger was a completely different dog that the one she'd known all these years.

"We wondered when you'd all get here." Mr. Foxworth had slobber on his mustache and grass stains on his pants, but he still looked dignified. "Glad to see you, Alec."

Fagin had joined them in the backyard. He shook hands with Mr. Foxworth. "Your movers are getting the last of the furniture. I can't thank you enough, David — err, Mr. Foxworth, sir. Not just for finding me an affordable house, or being my co-signer, or even for buying me all this furniture — but for the job. It's changed my life, sir."

"You're a family friend, Alec. We'll always help you out," Mr. Foxworth shook his hand firmly, "because as I keep telling you, you saved my daughter's life."

After horsing around outside for a bit, Rita led everyone back inside the house. The furniture was nothing special, a new couch and a recliner chair for Fagin, but there were some surprises, too. An actual bed for Fagin and a washer and dryer in the utility room. There was even a new television set that the movers went to work installing.

"Aww, you didn't have to get us a TV!" Fagin said, smiling profusely.

"Consider it a housewarming gift." Mr. Foxworth reached into the closet and pulled out several dog beds. "These are some beds that Georgette deemed too uncomfortable."

They set the doggy beds in the living room, all around the couch and recliner, and it was as cozy as anyone could have hoped for. Tito snuggled into one bed and sighed happily.

Francis shot him a haughty look. "Would you look at that? Two things Georgette deemed not good enough for her in the same room."

"Hey, shut it, Frankie man!" Tito yapped. "I ain't about to be insulted by some nerd who don't know what it means to fall in love!"

"I know perfectly well what it means to fall in love!" Francis was turning an odd shade of purple. "It means no matter how much someone drives you crazy, you can never stop thinking about them. It means you love them even if… if they shall never feel the same."

The two seemed unaware the rest of the Company were also in the room. In that moment, it was just Tito and Frankie. Everyone else didn't matter.

"Think that's what love is, man?" Tito sniffed. "Ya wrong. Love is feeling a burning passion for someone, even if they're totally out of your league. Like a prizewinning poodle… or a super-smart cultured artist."

Francis was silent. "I wasn't aware you were into… cultured artists." Then the Bulldog smiled. "You know, the music you listen to is… rather cultured in it's own way."

"Really? Estoy bien feliz!" Tito bounced up and down. "Some of your plays are cool. Like tha one where tha dude and his wife kill everyone so he becomes king."

"Oh, the Scottish Play! One of the Bard's finest works. You see, we never refer to it by its real name. To do so it highly unlucky in the theatrical world. Why, if you're interested — "

"Geez, get a room already," Dodger loudly interrupted.

"I beg your pardon?" Francis blushed. "I can't say I know what you mean, old chap."

"Oh, c'mon, guys!" Rita laughed. "I've watched you two argue like an old married couple for years now. You can be honest with us."

"Honest? Why, it's honestly none of your business!" Francis snapped.

"Yeah, man, what Frankie said!" Tito added.

Tito and Francis were both blushing red. The Chihuahua bolted under Fagin's new bed while Francis disappeared into the closet. Rita took a few steps after him, but Charlie stopped her. Reluctantly, she left them to sulk.

"They'll come around. They always do," Dodger said to alleviate the awkwardness in the air. He bumped heads with his three siblings, Stud and Kitty and little Billy.

Fagin emerged from his bedroom, having changed into his janitor uniform. Mr. Foxworth had told him that a job with his company meant good benefits and promotional potential — meaning that if he did well, he could end up with an office position.

Fagin shook hands with him again and left on his motor-cart. Mr. Foxworth beckoned for Dodger. "Come one, boy. Time to go home." He looked at his dog expectantly.

Dodger gazed at the Company, then looked at his new master, Mr. Foxworth. He whimpered a little, not for any physical pain but for heartache. "Gee, guys, this feels like goodbye, don't it?"

"This isn't goodbye forever." Rita's voice cracked a little. "I know Brooklyn is a long ways from Fifth Avenue, but you just gotta take a few subway stops. No biggie."

Dodger rubbed muzzles with Rita. He bumped shoulders with Charlie. He licked his brothers and sister on their heads, smiled at silly old Einstein, and stared after where Tito and Franckie had run off. "Ya guys will always be my friends, know that?"

"Absitively posolutely," Rita said with a grin.

Dodger grinned back, then followed Mr. Foxworth out the door and down to the driveway. The car door slammed shut and the house was quiet. "Well, gang," Rita said at last, "I think we're gonna be happy here."

Never again would they be homeless.


The days were warmer and sunnier with each passing week. Spring was coming fast, with flowers blooming in Central Park and the green returning to the trees. The weather was much more pleasant when Mr. Foxworth took Dodger on his daily walk around the block. He stopped at a local newspaper vendor and picked up a copy of The New York Times.

When they returned to the Foxworth mansion, he sat down on the living room sofa with Dodger's head in his lap. He munched on half a bagel and gave Dodger the other half.

"Why, look at this story, boy!" He showed Dodger the newspaper, as if he could read. "Stray dogs found dead in Yankee Stadium, believed to be the result of a territorial battle between different dog packs on the streets. Isn't that the most terrible thing?"

Mr. Foxworth looked over his own dog, who had several new scars that were still taking time to heal. "I don't suppose you'd know anything about this, would you?"

Dodger whined innocently, and his owner laughed and scratched his head.

"Well, I'm just glad you made it out in one piece." He folded the newspaper up and laid it on the coffee table. "But it does highlight the problem of stray dogs in our city. You know… perhaps there is something we can do about the issue."

There was an abandoned parking garage on the east side of Midtown, near the waterfront, that had been under renovations since the start of the year. The rubble had been cleared away, the floors repaired, heat and lighting fixed, and all run-down cars removed from the premises.

The parking garage was sure to be claimed by some company to be made into a series of condos or office buildings, but everyone was surprised when Mr. David Foxworth, one of the wealthiest men in New York, declared he would be purchasing the property.

Months later, the Foxworth Home Adoption Shelter was nearly complete. The floors were tiled, the walls painted, and parking spaces turned into rooms for stray dogs and cats. Mr. Foxworth insisted on separate rooms instead of cages.

And when he was looking for a manager to help run the animal shelter, he knew just the janitor for the job. "I can't thank you enough. This new manager job is just what I needed!"

"Don't mention it, Alec." Mr. Foxworth walked through the halls of the shelter beside Fagin. "They've done a marvelous job renovating it. We should be open in a few weeks."

Fagin's office-to-be was a good size, with a window and room for a desk, chair, and filing cabinets. "First, I want you to place an order for supplies. We'll need dog beds, litter boxes, food and water bowls, and lots of kibble. I have another manager ordering desks and office supplies. Foxworth Home will be cleaning these animals, giving them shots, and spraying and neutering, of course. We'll be working with local vets on all that."

He looked up at Fagin, wearing a sad smile. "All those stray dogs fighting is what made me see the need for a shelter like this. And I'm glad you agreed to help me." Mr. Foxworth put a gentle hand on Fagin's shoulder. "I know you've had a rough life. But I'm terribly impressed with how you've gone from homeless to a hard-working homeowner."

"It's all for my dogs. Giving them a home… nothing makes me happier. They're like my kids. My sons and daughters." Fagin had to chuckle. "I know that sounds silly."

"Not at all," Mr. Foxworth laughed too. "Not at all."


Everyone was quite at home in Brooklyn by now. Stud, Kitty, and Billy had chases each other through the house and backyard for hours, Charlie needed time to process that she had an actual home to live in, and as always, Rita supervised everyone. Tito discovered how to change channels on the TV and spent hours watching Scooby-Doo.

"Ahhh… peace at last." Francis sunk into a warm and fluffy dog bed. He turned the TV to a rerun of The Joy of Painting and watched Bob Ross paint a cactus beneath a red desert sky. "It's just you, me, and your masterpieces."

The living room was dark, save for the light of the TV. The rest of the Company was quiet for once. Stud and Kitten had come in from playing outdoors and hopped onto Fagin's bed. Rita and Charl were asleep on the couch. The only dog unaccounted for was…

"Whatcha' watching, Frankie man?" Tito approached, more hesitant than usual.

Francis stuck his nose in the air. "I don't feel like talking to you right now, thank you very much." He turned his eyes back to the television. Tito's bat-ears drooped, and he began to walk away solemnly. Francis's heart sank. "Wait, Ignacio—I mean, Tito. Perhaps you can stay after all. As long as you don't talk over his soothing voice."

They watched Bob Ross put the finishing touches on his superb painting, bringing the image to life. To Francis's great surprise, Tito actually watched the television program quietly. Quietly at first, anyways. "What's wrong with his hair, man?"

"I hardly think you fit to question his afro when you have bright red hair unseen on any other Chihuahua in the world." Francis licked his paw and flattened Tito's messy hair.

Tito promptly messed it up again. He pointed to the painting. "Hey, that's beautiful! Look at tha colors! An' that cactus! This looks like it could be in my beloved Mexico."

There was an odd silence. The episode ended, so Francis pressed the power button. The television snapped off. "I hate to ask this, but have you ever actually been to Mexico?"

"No... I've never been outside tha city." Tito looked up, invigorated. "But my owners were Mexican! I listened to their music all tha time… until they tossed me in an alley."

"I'm truly sorry." Francis moved over to make room for Tito in the doggy bed. "I suppose we've all been abandoned at one point or another."

Tito was sniffing back tears now. Admittedly, Francis had never seen him so emotional and was unsure exactly how to respond. So he said nothing at first, waiting for Tito to speak. "Ya my best friend, ya know that, Frankie? I'm sorry I call ya Frankie."

"And I'm sorry for what I said earlier, about Georgette."

"Ah, it's cool. Besides…" Tito sighed, "...ya ain't wrong."

"Why, that's balderdash. You aren't not good enough for Georgette. She isn't good enough for you!" Without thinking, Francis leaned down and licked Tito's cheek.

Tito looked at him funny, and for a second, Francis's heart stopped. Then Tito licked him back. They were both red in the face, but then both of them were smiling and cuddling.

"You are more than my best friend, Ignacio," the Bulldog whispered.

"I was gonna say tha same thing," the Chihuahua replied.

"I'm glad to hear that." Francis broke away and started rummaging through one of the cardboard boxes of their belongings. He pulled out a miniature sombrero and placed it on Tito's head. It nearly fell over his eyes. "Would you like to go to Mexico?"

"Huh?" Tito frowned, raising an eyebrow. "What do ya mean?"

"Not anytime soon, of course. Years from now, when Fagin is financially sound, we could sneak aboard a bus bound for the border. No one would know we were there, and it'd take us straight to Mexico." Francis got misty-eyes just thinking about it. "We would come home, of course, but what an adventure that would be! Just for the two of us."

"That's estupendo, mi amigo." Tito shuffled his paws, blushing again. "Mi amor."

Francis's stumpy little tail was wagging behind him. "I may not know many words of Spanish, but I do know what that roughly translates to." He returned to his doggy bed, curling up comfortably. He beckoned for Tito to join him. "For now, we'll visit Mexico in our dreams."

Tito yawned and crawled back into bed with him. He snuggled against Francis, burrowing in his fat rolls. His sombrero slid off. "Ya can call me Ignacio if ya want."

Francis laid his head down. "And you may call me Frankie. Everyone's called me Frankie for years now, so I may as well be used to it." He wrapped his front paw around Tito, pulling him close. "But it's not so bad coming from you."

Tito snickered. "Neither one of us are really lookers, huh?"

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind." Francis licked him again, his eyes blinking sleepily. "That's Shakespeare."

"With ya, I figured." Everything was quiet for a minute, then Tito lifted his head again. "Just cause we're together don't mean we're gonna stop making fun of each other, right?"

"Heavens, no. Our banter keeps this place alive. What would they do without it?"

Tito laughed softly, and soon after, he was still save for his chest moving with his breaths. Francis shut his eyes, dozing off himself. He'd have never guessed going from homeless to Brooklyn would be the least eventful thing to happen that day.

He didn't care what the gang thought. He didn't care what anyone in New York or Mexico thought. Francis had wrestled with his feelings long enough. He loved Tito and his love was returned. It had been a good day for Francis Canis Bulldog.


One day, Dodger had come to work with Mr. Foxworth. They were at the opening ceremony of Foxworth Home Adoption Shelter with a small crew of local news anchors covering the story — the latest in billionaire philanthropy in New York City — and it was playing quite well with the public, which had boosted Mr. Foxworth's company stocks.

But truly, Mr. Foxworth didn't care about stock prices or public popularity. He was doing this for the love of stray cats and dogs all over Manhattan.

As it turned out, one of the first dogs to be adopted was one that Dodger recognized.

"Skippy!" he woofed happily. "What are ya doing here, man?"

"I was captured by the city's dog catchers and brought here," Skippy explained. "I thought it was gonna be the pound again for me, but this is so much better."

The scarred Rottweiler, who had a new collection of healed wounds from the gang war, had replaced his spiked collar with a nice blue one instead, complete with a name tag. His new owners were calling him Brutus, but he'd always be Skippy Dawg to the Underdogs.

"This is the happiest day of my life," Skippy said to Dodger. "Ya know, my old owner was a drug dealer. That's how I got this knife in my side," he showed off the jagged wound in his flank, "protecting him from a deal gone bad. I can't believe I've got a family now."

There was a happy African-American couple who wanted a nice dog for their new baby, and while everyone else at the adoption shelter had steered clear of the scary-looking Rottweiler, there was something special about him that the couple fell in love with.

There were many former Underdogs and Purebreds who wound up at Foxworth Home, and they all got good homes everywhere across Manhattan. Finally, the life of territorial battles were far behind them — they traded claws and fangs for collars and flea baths.

"This is a good deed, boy," Mr. Foxworth said to Dodger, giving him a doggy treat. "This is good for the city." Dodger woofed in approval.