Chapter 3• Number Five
I slept like a log that night, and I woke up three hours before my alarm usually got me up.
There was something so beautiful about knowing you don't have to get up, drinking obscene amounts of water, flipping to the cool side of the pillow, and going back to my dreams.
In my waking world, however, the other pups were taking great care to check in on me daily and made sure I was never alone.
Even something as simple as running to the hardware store was enough for one, if not all of them to volunteer to accompany me.
The errands kept me busy enough, but I still wanted some solitude.
So, I retreated to a café in the town interior that had served as my safe haven of sorts.
Marshall saw me on my way out.
"Rocky, where are you off to? Want me to come with?", he asked.
I smiled, "No, that's okay Marshall, I'll be back soon. Don't worry."
He nodded.
In all honesty, it still felt weird to hop into my vehicle with absolutely 0 sense of urgency.
It only took about 4 minutes to get there; My own little hideaway.
Just walking through the door made me feel better.
The natural light, the mellow music- light piano over snares, the smell of international coffee (which I hate as a drink but adore the smell of).
I hope heaven is just like this.
The tiny shop was easy to miss, sandwiched between a bookstore and a bike shop. I myself had rolled past it a good dozen times without giving it any thought.
The café was owned by Cynthia, a middle-aged woman related to farmer Yumi. She came into town for Yumi and Al's wedding and never left- as it turns out.
The only person there at the time was a teenage employee named Marcus. He was the first person who I actually told my troubles to when they first started, just because I knew he wouldn't say anything to anyone.
I was the only one there, as usual. Since I don't like coffee or tea, he made me a pup-friendly hot chocolate.
"Rocky, you look slightly happier than usual", Marcus remarked, snapping me out of my trance.
"Oh, yeah. I uh... actually told the others how I was feeling. Like, really feeling", I replied.
"Aw, my little introvert is making steps, isn't he?", he teased.
"I'm not an introvert", I snapped.
He rested his head in his hands and leaned over the pastry counter.
"You cried, didn't you?", he asked.
"Shut up, Marcus", I said.
"Oh, that reminds me, since Cynthia's out, I'm going to open the second floor, you can get your usual spot in the sun", he said.
"Sweet", I remarked, "If only you could be this useful all the time!"
"Haven't been fired yet. Do you want me to throw a cinnamon roll your way in about ten minutes? They're half-off", he pitched.
"Make it twenty please", I said, heading up the stairs. "And quit leaning like that, you'll break the glass, and it isn't very professional."
I heard him mimicking me as I left his sight.
The second floor was an outdoor terrace located on the café's roof, but Cynthia never wanted it opened for whatever reason.
It was nice when she stepped out though, not that I hated her or anything, but I loved the atmosphere.
My peace was interrupted by the ringing of the front door's entry bell below.
The rooftop was hidden from the ground by an awning, but I was close enough to hear what was going on below.
Marcus had indeed warned me about the deal on cinnamon rolls, which meant there would eventually be a crowd.
Another, then another.
*RING
*RING
*RING
*RING
*RING
*RING
*RING
Pretty soon, there was a line out the door.
Wow, too bad for you Marcus, I sneered to myself.
It was playful teasing between us, but we each knew that we adored one another.
Because of my acute hearing, I caught whole conversations from the café-goers in the line, without them noticing me.
Maybe a little creepy, but at least I wasn't aiming my ear or craning my neck to eavesdrop.
I couldn't help but do it, however, when I heard two kids talking about the PAW Patrol.
"I don't know, I mean Marshall is cool and everything, but Chase is a police officer AND a spy, you can't beat that", said one.
Ah, the good old 'who's the best pup in the PAW patrol?' debate.
I'd heard it a million times. 9 times out of 10 it boils down to Chase vs. Marshall, especially with boys.
Girls either picked Skye or picked the one they think is cutest (which was usually Zuma or Rubble).
I shuddered; they probably won't even mention me.
"Chase is so boring, like it isn't even a surprise anymore. He never even shoots anybody with anything other than tennis balls and nets", said the other.
I couldn't help but chuckle, as they sounded too young to understand that if Chase had to go around shooting people on a regular basis, then there probably wouldn't be much opportunity for leisurely chats outside of cafés.
"Well, who's your favorite?", asked the first.
"Well, I don't know. They all do so much, but I really like Zuma's attitude. Like, you don't see him as much because not many water-related incidents happen, but he always delivers. Like, there's no panic whatsoever in his body. Plus, he's the first one I ever got to meet and he's so chill", said the second.
Even I had to nod at his assessment, Zuma was a cool customer to say the least. I always wondered what it would take to be like him in those high-pressure situations, but I always thought that the more you know about something, the less you'd fear it.
"Wow, Zuma? I wasn't expecting that, especially since your favorite color is green", said the first.
The second kid groaned.
I frowned, Uh oh.
He elaborated, "I don't want to be mean, but like what does the green one even do?"
"He…like… recycles things. Oh! And he fixes stuff, but with things that people have already thrown out"
"I mean, it's cool, for the environment and stuff. And like, I remember thinking it was cool that his truck turned into a tugboat, but…. That's, uh, all I really remember. Like, I forget his name…."
"It's Rocky, dummy"
"Oh, yeah, Rocky"
They concluded. Or rather, I just stopped listening.
I just sat there, staring at my empty mug.
The Green One? That's what some people refer to me as? The Green One, I thought.
I wasn't enraged, no. I was just, deflated.
I'm positive that there are people who know who I am and what I can offer. But, on the other hand, there are probably plenty who don't even remember my name.
Still, hearing it out loud was always hard.
I heard the ding again, which meant the kids had gone inside. I had parked my truck in an ally that wasn't visible from the street.
I decided I'd take the back-way home.
As I drove back however, I couldn't help but be impressed by how much the second child knew his stuff.
The Air Patrol variations of our vehicles and gear weren't exactly widely known things, in fact, if there was PAW Patrol trivia anywhere, those would be expert-level questions.
We only used them when there was an incredibly specific threat worth leaving Adventure Bay in its entirety for.
Of course, since I can't even get off the ground under normal circumstances, my specialty stuff was stuck sitting in moth balls for sure (Metaphorically speaking).
The only positive I could glean from this was the fact that my likelihood of getting wet was astronomically low.
As I rolled into the lookout, Marshall was washing off his own vehicle- probably from a spectacularly exciting mission.
"Oh, don't tell me- "
"Hey Rocky!", Marshall yelled and turned to me without turning off his water cannon.
He soaked me (of course).
"Ugh…. Wet, WET, WETTTTTTT!", I howled.
I knew I shouldn't have thought about it.
"Oops, Rocky I'm so sorry", Marshall said, handing me a towel.
"Thanks Marshall", I said.
"No, really, I'm gonna work on it. I just wasn't thinking", he said.
"Marshall, it's fine. Really", I assured.
Marshall raised an eyebrow, "I don't think I've ever asked you, why does water gross you out so much?"
"Oh… well, it just feels… I don't know: Wrong. Like every cell in my body is uncomfortable, and sloppy, and gooey and-just-ugh", I shuddered.
"Oh boy, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have even brought it up", he said again.
"It's okay", I smiled, "one of these days I'll beat this weird thing. It's not really a phobia anymore, just a strong apprehension."
I could tell Marshall was still slightly confused.
"It's kind of hard to explain", I added.
"Well, as long as you're happy- and dry", Marshall replied.
Just then, Skye and Everest bounded around the corner.
Jeez, I thought, it's as if there's a silent alarm that triggers every time I'm within twenty feet of the lookout and everybody has to come check on me. But Everest being there was an atypical occurrence.
"Hey Rocky!", Everest beamed, "long time no see!"
"We just finished up a rescue in the mountains, Wanna play some Pup-Pup Boogie?", asked Skye.
"Oh, yeah, sure", I said.
I guess I was so spaced out on my drive home, I completely missed the call- which meant that I was missing in the line-up. Thank God they didn't need me.
We played Pup-Pup Boogie for hours. I wasn't that good at it, but Skye was a good teacher. As soon as Zuma joined in, though, I knew that there was no way any of us were winning.
For the moment, I was completely distracted by what had previously been bothering me. I just enjoyed being in their presence, it reminded me of why Adventure Bay was the home I never wanted to leave.
**Flashback**
When Ryder found me, I was just another stray, trying to find somewhere to make memories. Dodging dogcatchers and making sure not to befriend the wrong dogs on the street.
Sometimes I really, truly feel that I don't deserve to be where I am now. I met dozens of strays out in the world that would have killed (literally) to even have the smallest corner of our spacious lookout facility to call their own.
Some of them were actually very nice to me, as nice as a stranger can be to another stranger. I often wondered where they ended up.
Of course, I was so young that I didn't pay much attention to anything else. Just basic survival and keeping out of the rain.
But Ryder saw me for what I had to offer, he'd jumped at the chance to recruit a pup with both street-smarts and practical know-how.
I still remember the first time we met. Ryder had come to the Wullard Institute for canine rehabilitation located in a city 4 hours from Adventure Bay called Newharbor (neither the city nor the institute were as nice as they sound).
If you think of the pound, Wullard was like that place on steroids. It was basically Dog-Jail. The stats they didn't like to share with the public included the following; Only 60% of the dogs admitted ever got released, those who were released rarely lived past 5 years after returning to their homes, and that dogs with pre-existing medical conditions who went in had a 17.8% survival rate (pups especially).
Again, young me wasn't in any way aware nor concerned with the tall odds, mostly because I had already cooked up a plan to escape my individual cage.
I had fashioned a tiny tool out of stuff I had found and things the staff thought I had thrown away.
I was technically recycling, although I wasn't aware of it at the time. As soon as I picked the lock, a spiky-haired kid was being led on a tour to see the better-looking pups. I don't know why I was lucky enough to do it then, my brain told me to wait, but I couldn't.
Every alarm in the place screamed as I ran towards the door. I managed to dodge the two orderlies that were with the boy, but I ended up running right into him (or rather his embrace).
He smiled, "Woah there, someone's got some spring in their step!"
I squirmed against his grip, but I knew it wasn't happening. Ryder's hold was strong, and I was tiny.
And then, that instant, our eyes met for the first time.
I stopped struggling.
The orderlies apologized to him profusely and offered to take me away. But this kind, angel of a boy stopped them.
He asked me if I had made the tool that broke the lock.
I nodded.
He asked me where I was from.
I didn't say.
Then, he asked me the question that saved my life.
"Do you want to come live with me?"
Pretty soon, I was being taken to Adventure Bay. Unbeknownst to me, I was going to be the 5th member of a crazy project that would put a preteen boy and a gang of puppies in charge of the safety of an entire town alongside thousand-dollar equipment and technology.
I would end up learning the true importance of friendship, hope, and loving others as if they were just like me.
I would be the recycling pup, in charge of making the old and damaged into something useful- just like a great friend I know.
It was me, Rocky, who would be pup No.5.
You, know. The Green one.
/
AUTHORS NOTE/DISCLAIMER: This is very likely to come up again later on, but I just want to remind you that this is a story and "Pup-friendly/dog-friendly" are just things I add in relating to foods that dogs can't have in real life.
Just to be safe- DO NOT FEED CHOCOLATE IN ANY FORM TO YOUR DOGS IRL!
Please!
Also, I hope you all are enjoying and thanks for sticking around, Until next time!