In the days since his arrival to the barge, Francis had come to realise that there was little reason to fear his new companions, despite his initial nervousness around the potentially dangerous street dogs. The realisation did not, however, mean that he was any more enamoured with them, and it had been with great displeasure that he watched as young Tito happily integrated himself with the older dogs. Albeit reluctantly, Francis had become very attached to the feisty little dog who'd become his shadow when he was lost and alone, and he was by no means thrilled with the pup's being influenced by riff raff like Dodger and his little fan club. It hadn't taken long for Francis to discover that Dodger had gained quite the reputation, and it certainly wasn't a reputation for being someone who could ever be considered as an appropriate role model for a growing pup.
Tito, in contrast to the pompous bulldog, had no qualms about his new friends. He'd very quickly established that Dodger was a whole lot of fun, always up for a game of rough and tumble and more than happy to show off his daring and acrobatics during the long summer days they spent working on the streets. When it came to making mischief, Dodger was a pro, and he was quite happily idolised by Tito. From the beginning, Tito had a great playmate in Einstein, and couldn't care less that he could so easily be accidentally crushed during their raucous games, it was all part of the fun. He'd found that Rita could be a lot of fun as well, so long as you caught her in the right mood. When she wasn't in the right mood, she was rather fun to annoy, though Tito had received several hard bites after pushing her tolerance levels too far. Tito was smart enough that he soon managed to grasp when the line had been crossed.
As agreed, that morning Dodger pulled everyone together so that he could try and work with Francis. He'd rather be doing his own thing, but there would be some merits to making a proper street dog out of the newcomer… though he expected it wouldn't be something that just happened overnight. "Okay, Francis, time for your crash course in street savoir-faire. You'll be pleased to know that you'll be learning from the very best." Dodger smiled his smug smile, unperturbed by the sulky look on the bulldog's face.
Rita wagged her tail expectantly. Finally, a chance to actually get somewhere with poor old Francis. He didn't look too pleased with the idea, after all he had spent most of his time just riding around with Fagin as he didn't seem keen to go out of his comfort zone, but there was no reason why he couldn't make some progress.
Francis' face was set. "It is not the place of a ragamuffin adolescent to order me around. If you wish to bring me down to your level, you are going to be sorely disappointed."
"Oh, Frankie! You can't keep this up forever. If you want to get by, you're gonna have to make an effort." Rita said, frustrated. This stupid dog just didn't want to help himself.
"It's 'Francis', insolent child!" he shouted imperiously.
"What's your problem, Frankie man? Do you wanna eat tonight or not?" Tito yipped, "This is fun, man. Just give it a chance!"
"Come on, Francis, Dodger will show you everything you need to know," Einstein said with a friendly grin.
Dodger was not, however, put out. He casually scratched at his ear. "So what do you want to do, Francis? You think you should run the operation?" There was a hint of a smirk on his face.
Francis was taken aback for a moment but then gathered himself. "Well, it would make rather more sense to have a mature adult at the helm. If you have no objections?"
"Fine with me. I'm just a ragamuffin adolescent, it's all too much for me to handle," Dodger shrugged, and noted the horrified look that Rita was giving him. "Maybe you could show us a thing or two."
Francis narrowed his eyes suspiciously, wondering if Dodger was up to something, but was not about to suddenly opt out of getting his own way. All the same, he found himself unsure of what to do next. "Well, er… will you please go off and find something to eat. If you could do so without pulling it from the rubbish that would be excellent."
Rita raised an eyebrow and looked back at Dodger, still bemused by whatever game he might be playing. So much for his sorting Francis out. "I'm not sticking around to be told what to do by someone who doesn't have a clue," she said, frowning, and turned to Francis. "If you're going to stop making life difficult for yourself, come and find me." She turned, with one last exasperated look Dodger's way, and slipped off into the traffic to try and get some work done.
Watching the young hound disappear, Francis huffed moodily. At least Dodger was making an effort to be cooperative.
"You might want to mind your manners with Rita if you want her to take direction, especially seeing as she knows more than you anyhow," Dodger laughed, "So, where do you want to start?"
It did not take long for Francis to realise that he would not be in for an easy ride. Dodger's being cooperative extended so far as doing what he was told, but he kept demanding precise instruction, quite obviously trying to make a point.
"You keep saying you want me to go and get you something to eat, but you're not saying where you want me to get… or how… or what you're hungry for. I'm not a mind reader, you'll have to help me out here." Dodger said, reclining on his back and watching as the new 'leader' became all the more flustered.
"Oh for goodness sake! You are being deliberately unhelpful. Just go and do whatever it is that you do." Francis drew himself up importantly, "It's attitudes like yours that give dogs of your kind such a poor reputation."
"Maybe if you just showed me what you were after… leading from the front and all that," Dodger smirked, knowing full well that he was getting to Francis.
Not helping matters for the bulldog was Tito's persistent jabbering on, nor his attempts to run off to find some female company. As if Dodger weren't being enough of a nuisance, he quickly joined the younger dog in making passes at leashed ladies who came by their poor attempt at getting work done. Tito was more than happy to be deliberately troublesome in order to highlight Francis' incompetence, and on several occasions they all had to make a quick getaway after the little Chihuahua stirred up strange dogs whom they'd run into. Every now and then Rita would make an appearance, apparently curious as to whether Dodger had worn poor Francis down yet, and feigning deafness whenever the bulldog attempted to order her into submission. Einstein, at least, was trying to be helpful, and busied himself with rifling through the contents of trashcans while Francis looked on. Intermittently, Einstein would turn around to remind Francis in earnest that they hadn't really found much. It occurred to Francis that he might have had a more enjoyable day if he'd just swallowed his pride from the outset, but he certainly wouldn't admit to it. He sniffed sadly at a partially deflated old basketball that the Great Dane was now merrily rolling up and down the alleyway.
Several very tedious hours later, Francis finally admitted defeat. If he wanted to eat, he'd just have to come down off his high horse. "Dodger, I'm afraid I've had to reconsider my stance. It seems," he took a deep breath before reluctantly continuing, "that in spite of your youth, you have far greater capability than I to bring out the best in our comrades. If you'd mind resuming your position?"
Tito fell around laughing- they'd cracked him.
Dodger grinned. "Guess I could take back the reins, if it's all too much for you. I take it you're up for your masterclass tomorrow, then? You could use a few pointers."
Francis scowled a great scowl, but nodded.
Dodger shook himself and got to his feet. "All right, time for some food I think. Your regime left us all starving."
The dogs ended up picking through the trash to find dinner, something that previously would have been met with much resistance from Francis. Now, however, he just quietly got on with it. They were soon joined by Rita, who had been lurking a short way away. Having opted out of taking direction from the newcomer, she'd already eaten, and lay atop the overturned bin chatting and laughing with Dodger- who was rather impressed with his own handling of the situation.
"Hey Francis," Dodger picked up a half-eaten burger and flung it to the still-sulky dog, "try this, don't think it's been in there too long."
Francis sniffed gratefully at the offering, and swallowed his pride enough to take it. At least the mutt wasn't gloating. Any hostility from Rita seemed to have faded as well; her attitude towards him was once again friendly, as though she hadn't just spent the past few hours being purposely difficult. It occurred to Francis that young or not, neither pup would be easily undermined, and he'd just have to learn to accept their unsavoury behaviour and influence over the younger Tito.
Francis sat on the deck in the afternoon sunshine, lost in thought. He failed to see a way out of his predicament, but remained loathe to just give in and accept the situation in which he found himself. Occasionally, he heard a shout or a bark from down below; apparently the others were in high spirits. The events of earlier in the day had dented Francis' pride, and he just stared out to the shimmering water as though no one else were around.
Inside the barge, Einstein was merrily tumbling around with the battered old ball that he'd picked up on their collecting mission, while Tito gnawed at his muzzle and ankles in attempt to get him to surrender the prized position. Einstein could barely feel him there. Dodger was quick to join in the game and was soon tussling with the other two as they rolled the ball over the floor and crashed into anything that stood in their way. The lopsided ball rolled into Rita's bed, just past the green curtains that hung around it. Tito approached, unperturbed by the hesitation of the other two.
"Where do you think you're goin'?" Rita called from her vantage point up on Fagin's chair, stopping Tito in his tracks. She jumped down and moved to block the puppy, her lip raised in feigned aggression. Dodger was eyeing her expectantly and had sunk into a play bow in anticipation, to which she responded with a moment's bow and a quick dash to take possession of the ball.
Dodger got to the ball first, having decided to push his luck and intrude on Rita's personal space, and bolted up the stairs and on to the deck with the others in hot pursuit. He made a beeline for Francis, who was still resolutely pretending that no one else was there, and dropped the ball in front of him. "Are ya in, Francis?" he laughed, certain that he could get the stuffy bulldog to join in the fun.
Francis looked at the ball and then to Dodger. He was not well used to play; his previous master had always been far too busy to engage him in such frivolity and there had never been other dogs around. Before Francis could really consider the invitation he was bombarded by the other three, who jumped around, barking, and ready to run in to challenge him for the pathetic old ball with which he'd been bestowed. Though the seeds of interest had been stirred, he was not willing to give in and engage with his companions, and he knocked the ball to one side with a swipe of his paw.
For a long while, Francis watched the wild game as it unfolded. They'd headed up from the barge to a space with more room to play without so much risk of the ball being lost into the water, and Francis had followed and seated himself a little way away. What was it that made him continue to hold back from, if not his situation on the whole, but the companions with whom he now shared his life? Dodger was arrogant- and if the day's events were anything to go by, manipulative, but at the same time it seemed like he very much wanted Francis' friendship. And it seemed that Rita was trying to help him, though not in any way that the bulldog actually found helpful. 'Well-meaning but stubborn' was Francis' take on the young hound. He knew that his initial harsh response to the little gang of street dogs had been unfair; they were just making the best of the lives they'd been given, something that he himself was struggling to get to grips with. Now Dodger was locked in play combat with Tito and both were snarling loudly, while Einstein just kept missing his chance to pull the ball away from them, not made any easier by the fact that Rita had gotten herself up onto his back and was biting at his neck. It certainly looked as though they were enjoying themselves.
The rumbling, spluttering sounds of Fagin's scooter pulling up pulled Francis' attention away from what the others were doing. He hauled himself over to greet his… not master, he was not quite ready to accept the scruffy man in that role, but, perhaps, friend.
"Good boy, Francis," Fagin said cheerily, scratching the bulldog's head. "Keeping out the way of those goofballs? They're all right really, buddy." He strolled over to where the other dogs were caught up in their scrapping, "Come on, boys! Let's see what you've got."
Within seconds, Fagin disappeared under a writhing mass of dog as Dodger, Tito, Rita and Einstein rushed to greet him. Dodger dropped the ball so he could frantically lick his beloved master. Fagin picked it up and struggled back to his feet, peeling the dogs off himself. "Are you ready? Go and get it!" he threw the ball away and watched as the four of them tore after it.
For a moment Francis hesitated, but then he took the plunge and raced after the others as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. He was unsure of himself, but the draw to be a part of it all had gotten the better of him. Einstein turned with the ball in his mouth and bounded merrily over to Francis, thrilled to have him joining in the fun. Francis found himself wagging his corkscrew tail as he playfully grappled with Einstein- and soon the other three as well.
Dodger flung himself joyously at Francis, thrilled that he'd finally started to get the hang of having fun. It might take some time to make a street dog out of him, but at least the newcomer was starting to feel more at home. Already Dodger thought of him and Tito as family, and he knew he'd have to redouble his efforts to make it all work- even if it came at the expense of the carefree days on his own that he'd become so accustomed to.
All five of them laughed as they played, and they carried on until the sun dipped below the horizon. Francis struggled to catch his breath as he ran alongside Tito, trying to trip him up with his paw. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so relaxed and, strangely, happy.
Rita trotted up beside him, "So, Francis, you've gotten over your superiority complex, huh?" she grinned, her tail high and waving. It seemed to her that maybe Dodger did know how to get through to him.
Francis gave her a reluctant smile, but was panting too much to speak. He walked back to the barge with his friends- the only ones he'd had for quite some time, surrounding him. In spite of everything, he found himself looking forward to the experiences the next day would bring.